A dream of Champions Strange vivid dreams connected to 1966. I was being given some kind of commemorative medal to do with the World Cup Final that in the dream had belonged to Dave my grandfather (who I watched the final with as a six year old). I was very pleased to get them, then I felt a wave of sadness that he was dead and then woke up. I'm guessing that working on my poems so intensely over the last few days is dredging up all kinds of associations. The work I'm assembling stretches over 25 years. It's like a biography of fragments and symbols. Whatever happens with the collection, it is quite a fascinating, if self-indulgent, process. I am, however, making immense progress. Also finished the Brenda Maddox book Georgie's Ghosts about Yeats later years, which I really enjoyed. Yeats really was a chump in many ways, and believed all kinds of weird stuff, but if I had to take one poet's work to a desert island it would be his. A hour or so ambling around town, vi...
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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 calle...