Have I not seen the loveliest woman born...
Still chipping away at the Bardic coalface. I am making really good progress with the poetry manuscript, although as a blog subject this I know lacks pizazz: got up, had breakfast, sat at my computer and wrote poems for hours. It's not up there with, say, battling the Japanese whaling expedition which requires the slaughter of 1000 cetaceans for, er, scientific reasons. Perhaps the Japanese have had a bellyful of their relaxation tapes. Anyway, back to the poetry... I just can't convey how cheery this all makes me feel.
Off to the Jubilee Library in Brighton, which is still new and spiffy, although it could do with more books in it. I can't remember the last time I joined a library, and enjoyed being signed up by a friendly librarian, and discovering new fangled things like that checking books out is all automated, with touch screen computers and so on. Instantly rewarded by being able to borrow a new biography of WB Yeats called George's Ghosts by Brenda Maddox. I had been fingering this in a bookshop only minutes before. It is good too - in it I learned that Willie did finally bed Maude Gonne who had made his life a misery by rejecting his marriage proposals. He compared her to Helen of Troy and half a dozen other archetypes of female beauty, and called her the loveliest woman born. I felt like cheering.
Still chipping away at the Bardic coalface. I am making really good progress with the poetry manuscript, although as a blog subject this I know lacks pizazz: got up, had breakfast, sat at my computer and wrote poems for hours. It's not up there with, say, battling the Japanese whaling expedition which requires the slaughter of 1000 cetaceans for, er, scientific reasons. Perhaps the Japanese have had a bellyful of their relaxation tapes. Anyway, back to the poetry... I just can't convey how cheery this all makes me feel.
Off to the Jubilee Library in Brighton, which is still new and spiffy, although it could do with more books in it. I can't remember the last time I joined a library, and enjoyed being signed up by a friendly librarian, and discovering new fangled things like that checking books out is all automated, with touch screen computers and so on. Instantly rewarded by being able to borrow a new biography of WB Yeats called George's Ghosts by Brenda Maddox. I had been fingering this in a bookshop only minutes before. It is good too - in it I learned that Willie did finally bed Maude Gonne who had made his life a misery by rejecting his marriage proposals. He compared her to Helen of Troy and half a dozen other archetypes of female beauty, and called her the loveliest woman born. I felt like cheering.
In the evening Anton called around for a chat as I was enjoying a bowl of Guernsey bean jar. He has been working in London and sat on my sofa gathering the strength to head up the hill as I spooned the goodness down. And then, shortly after Anton had left, Lorraine popped around for a bit, and asked about my poetry manuscript. I told her, and then had to revive her with a refreshing glass of sparkling water with a squeeze of lemon. Later talked to Mum for a bit, who'd been to a disappointing art show, before my thoughts turned to bed.
Below Maude Gonne. Cor!
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