poem index


F. S. Flint

Printer-friendly version
Related Schools & Movements: 

F. S. Flint was born in London, England, on December 19, 1885. He grew up in poverty and finished his formal education at age thirteen. In 1904, he began a career in civil service as a typist, and in 1908, he began writing reviews and articles for the literary journal New Age.

Flint was the author of three poetry collections: Otherword, Cadences (Poetry Bookshop, 1920), Cadences (Poetry Bookshop, 1915), and In the Net of Stars (E. Matthews, 1909).

A leading member of the Imagist movement, he was closely associated with H. D., T. E. Hulme, and Ezra Pound. In 1913, he published a note on “Imagisme” in Poetry, writing, “The imagistes admitted that they were contemporaries of the Post Impressionists and the Futurists; but they had nothing in common with these schools. They had not published a manifesto. They were not a revolutionary school; their only endeavor was to write in accordance with the best tradition….”

Flint was also a translator of French poetry, including The Love Poems of Emile Verhaeren (Houghton Mifflin, 1917), and was known for his literary criticism, which he published in Criterion, The Egoist, and other literary magazines.

He worked at the Ministry of Labour from 1919 to 1951. He died in Berkshire, England, on February 28, 1960.

Selected Bibliography

Otherworld, Cadences (Poetry Bookshop, 1920)
Cadences (Poetry Bookshop, 1915)
In the Net of the Stars (E. Matthews, 1909)

by this poet


Immortal?... No,
they cannot be, these people,
nor I.

Tired faces,
eyes that have never seen the world,
bodies that have never lived in air,
lips that have never minted speech,
they are the clipped and garbled,
blocking the highway.
They swarm and eddy
between the


London, my beautiful,
it is not the sunset
nor the pale green sky
shimmering through the curtain
of the silver birch,
nor the quietness;
it is not the hopping
of birds
upon the lawn,
nor the darkness
stealing over all things
that moves me.

But as the moon


Under the lily shadow
and the gold
and the blue and mauve
that the whin and the lilac
pour down on the water,
the fishes quiver.

Over the green cold leaves
and the rippled silver
and the tarnished copper
of its neck and beak,
toward the deep black water