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Hello and welcome to the Spectator's Book Club podcast. I'm Sam Leith, the literary editor for

The Spectator, and this week I'm very pleased to be welcoming Paul Muldoon, who is often and rightly described as one of the most significant living poets in the English language.

And his new book is called Howdy Skelp. Paul, welcome.

Thank you so much. I'm delighted to be here.

Now, one of the pleasures of having a poet on is we can ask them to read. So I wonder, would you be able to read us a poem from Howdy Skelp to kick us off?

I'd be delighted to you. Thank you so much. This is one called Bramleys, not Grenadiers.

Both of these are types of apple, as I'm sure you realize. Where I was brought up in Conti Aramae,

North Armagh, the Bramley is very much to the fore. In fact,

there is such a thing as an Arma Bramley, which has its own, which is no one else is allowed to sell.

It has its own terroir, as it were. So this is a poem that uses, I suppose, on some aspects of the difficulties, let's call them,

that we've experienced in Ireland in recent years. Bramleys, not grenadiers. The apple trees are put

up against a wall and shot at dawn. The bodies lie where they fall.

These are Armagh Bramleys,

not grenadiers, given their russet tinge.

That's blood coming out of an ear.

At the heart of the espalier

is the stick to which the branches are bound with panty

holes to allow for a little given tick. The apple trees are put up against a wall almost as often

...