<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rivers of Switzerland<\/strong><\/p>\n My geography teachers are dead: Even the student with the boots Only the rivers of Switzerland remain: the Rhine, the Rh\u00f4ne, the Inn, the Aar, seeping into meadows where the cows <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Duncan Chambers<\/strong> is a University researcher living in York and working in Sheffield. He has been writing poetry since the 1980s and has been published in various magazines including Ambit, The Rialto, Stand, The Interpreter\u2019s House <\/em>and The North.<\/em> He was shortlisted in the 2016\/17 Poetry Business Pamphlet Competition.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Rivers of Switzerland My geography teachers are dead: their mountains, forests, oxbow lakes, the small hands that could squeeze the life out of anything. Even the student with the boots she said were crocodile is terminal moraine now, like my books, like all I ever knew of calico. Only the rivers of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15280","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15280","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15280"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15280\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15405,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15280\/revisions\/15405"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15280"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15280"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15280"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\ntheir mountains, forests, oxbow lakes,
\nthe small hands that could squeeze
\nthe life out of anything.<\/p>\n
\nshe said were crocodile
\nis terminal moraine now, like my books,
\nlike all I ever knew of calico.<\/p>\n
\ntucked discreetly under bridges
\nin Geneva, racing white-flecked
\nbeside the Rhaetia Bahn:<\/p>\n
\nthe Ticino: and those whose names
\nonly the locals know, their sources
\nlost in the heart of boulder fields,<\/p>\n
\nstill wear bells; or just round the corner,
\nflowing from the mouth of Bacchus
\nbehind a gate marked \u2018Private\u2019.<\/p>\n