Today’s poem has been chosen and introduced by Mrs Corrigan, Teacher of English & Learning Support

I’ve always loved ‘Poems on the Underground’. There’s nothing quite like being on a busy tube, squished in the middle of a carriage and trying to read a profound poem that’s caught your eye through the bobbing heads of your fellow commuters. If, like me, you travel to Sloane Square on the District Line, you may well recognise today’s Poem of the Day.

Roger Robinson, a British-Trinidadian poet, wrote this as part of ‘A Portable Paradise’. It’s a powerful and personal collection in which he explores the lives of people from the Windrush generation, speaks out for those affected by the horrors of the Grenfell Tower fire, and writes with moving gratitude to the NHS after his baby son was born premature.

In this particular poem, Robinson considers the idea of ‘paradise’ – something treasured and soothing to us, and how we can return to that place in our minds in times of struggle. Paradise might be a real or imagined location, or it could be a memory of a person or a special time. He writes of being in an uninspiring or impersonal space, a ‘hotel, hostel or hovel’, and using your own personal paradise to calm yourself and reconnect with your surroundings.

And so I wonder, what is your paradise? What memories can you conjure up at this time to sustain and fortify yourself? If you are staring around the four walls of your bedroom or living room, perhaps lacking motivation, what wonderful things can you gather into your mind to keep you going? ‘Empty your paradise onto a desk’, as Robinson writes, ‘and shine the lamp on it like the fresh hope of morning’.

I hope that you enjoy this poem and that it prompts you to start your day with your own thoughts of paradise: whatever, wherever or whoever that might be.

‘And if I speak of Paradise’
by Roger Robinson

And if I speak of Paradise,
then I’m speaking of my grandmother
who told me to carry it always
on my person, concealed, so
no one else would know but me.
That way they can’t steal it, she’d say.
And if life puts you under pressure,
trace its ridges in your pocket,
smell its piney scent on your handkerchief,
hum its anthem under your breath.
And if your stresses are sustained and daily,
get yourself to an empty room – be it hotel,
hostel or hovel – find a lamp
and empty your paradise onto a desk:
your white sands, green hills and fresh fish.
Shine the lamp on it like the fresh hope
of morning, and keep staring at it till you sleep.