under another sun

The longest day. Interview with Gregory at 5pm in New York who I have corresponded with intermittently for several years. Fascinating guy, and I really liked him. We shared an early love of Yeats, and like existentialism. Funny to hear birds singing outside his open window, and thinking how those were birds a continent away. Modern tricknology eh? Otherwise a day of getting my ducks in a row for the aforementioned interview, communicating with solicitors, and cooking this evening.  Below, and the sun goes down in the west on the longest day, and a cheeky screen grab of Gregory.

Woke this morning feeling positively ill: shakily exhausted, weak limbs and liquidly explosive guts. I spent the day on the gold sofa, sleeping through a series of podcasts. Only Calliope delighted, as she sat on me most of the day. Particularly galling was that I was unable to co-host the telltale poetry night in Lewes which was an opportunity to see my poetry pals, meet new ones as well as craftily promote my play. The day a complete write off from any kind of working perspective. Chats with Mum on FaceTime and later Janet, back from the hospital. By coincidence Bryn is in the next bed to Ken, which made things a bit easier. Also Ken actually slept the night before and was a lot brighter. At tea time I watched an excellent documentary made by Bob Geldof about W.B. Yeats on BBC iPlayer. Lorraine having a positive week. Beth rehearsed with Kitty tonight, which went well.

Lorraine thankfully not on such an early start so a slower start. Lorraine glimpsed the eclipse through the velux window in the upstairs bathroom and called me up. I looked at the sky for a while and saw nothing, then through a thinning in the cloud I saw the sun's outline with a substantial chunk taken from it for a few seconds. I lined up my iPhone to get a snap but the cloud did not break from that moment till it was all over. The temperature did drop, but it never got absolutely dark, just the kind of lifeless grey typical of England. It is also the spring equinox too, which always makes me feel more lively. A day devoted to Centaur project I am doing with Helen. Bused over to Hove this afternoon and we worked for a few hours together. She has got an amazing amount already written, and music is flowing out of her. Her enthusiasm is infectious. I supplied some more words, and we discussed where they would fit the overall pattern. Also we listened to what she has got down so ...

Up early to buy some fixin's for breakfast as the Tobster was here. Had a leisurely breakfast, coffees and so on, and some discussion about what to do while Toby and Lorraine toyed with their iPads. In the afternoon Lorraine drove us off to Steyning, where she had seen some little glass vases for our wedding. Toby, L and I wandered about this lovely little town rubbernecking in the sun like tourists at the house WB Yeats stayed at for example, or popping into the local museum, which had many treats including a dried rats carcass riddled by woodworm, a skeleton, and all kinds of artefacts dug up in fields, plus two women who were a fund of local knowledge. Emerging from the museum the weather had changed and after some wandering about, we repaired to a little café for scones and tea as the rain fell briefly but heavily on the people outside. Then to a jewellers where Lorraine had been recently to look at peridots, which are a semi precious stone with a lovely green colour so...

Another mild mannered journey in and was on time again. Last day in Tavistock Square, and of sitting next to First Matie. Sloped off to a local cafe with Nicola at lunchtime, and got myself some strangely chewy but pleasant lasagna and salad to take away. While we were waiting, and Nicola was smoking a fag, she pointed out the plaque across the way in Woburn Walk, which I'd walked through loads of times, saying that W.B. Yeats had lived there. It was near a sign for a place called Wot The Dickens, which seemed appropriate. I was released back into the wild at six and hoofed it in the pouring rain to the station, and back to Brighton. Feeling a bit coldy and sore throated all day. Home and found Lorraine and Beth both fast asleep on the gold sofa. Lorraine with a cold and Beth with a cough. When these two sleeping beauties roused, we shuffled off for a restoring curry at The Shahi. Below the Yeats plaque in Woburn walk. Also this Korean song by an artist called Psy is ...

Jabba Wide awake half the night. Finally fell asleep shortly before it was time to get up. Then Calliope infuriatingly bit my hand hard to wake me up, then hid under the bed so I couldn't kill her. Tetchy morning working on the useless brief, which I had to complete before midday. Luckily the client liked the results. Off like Jabba the Hut to the gym. Cross trainer for half an hour. Home and was phoned up for the 30th time by an Indian call centre. Today they were the 'cheque clearance' department. Lost my rag and swore at them. The man called back shortly for round two. Coming off worse in this, he called me for round three, which I did not answer. The number is always of course withheld. Beth and Mark came around to discuss Wrong and I took photos of them, which I will treat and redesign into the poster for the play. Also got some dates in the diary for reviews etc. Felt good to have the first project of the year underway. After they left, and I cooked myself some Quorn...

Long-Legged Fly Wrote thousands of words of my Skelton Yawngrave book. Ate homemade chicken soup and leftover apple pie with custard. Ventured into the Twitten with a tin of white paint and painted over last night's nearby graffiti. A few calls, arranging to interview the MD of the Brighton Festival next week, for On Track magazine. Also a long and charming conversation with a French contact Mas put me in touch with, which should be another income stream. Also some fairly abusive texts from Carl and Mad dog drinking somewhere up North. Carl insisting on comparing me to Stephen Fry for reasons best known to himself. But mainly it was about sitting quietly thinking and writing and drinking coffee. Put me in mind, rather grandly, of one of my all time favourite poems: W.B. Yeats Long-legged fly . And here it is for your delectation. That civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent Where the maps a...

The meaning of this happy hour Reading Paul Klee's diaries again today. I was reading about a trip he made to Tunisia, which was something of a turning point in his artistic career. His diary entry for 16th April 1914 suddenly bursts out into this declaration: I now abandon work. It penetrates so deeply and so gently into me, I feel it and it gives me confidence in myself without effort. Colour possesses me. I don't have to pursue it. It will possess me always, I know it. That is the meaning of this happy hour: Colour and I are one. I am a painter. As for me, I haven't abandoned the feeling of working. In fact the business of refashioning so many poems, and writing new ones is some ways the most difficult work I have ever done. I used to be able to draw quite well when I was at school, and every now and again I still have a go. Each time I pick up a pencil again I'm amazed at how rusty I've got. I'm beginning think you can get rusty at writing poems too, but I ...

Moondays Monday and the moon near full. Spending a couple of days as God's own copywriter, writing some guidelines for a Christian church and charity. Despite this being quite an interesting project, I felt antsy all day. Unshackled myself from my desk and went down to the seafront, feeling vaguely irritable. The beach was still littered with timber, and intermittent signs "Warning - pollution on the beach". Watching television and writing about skeletons in the evening before, fatally, beginning to read my book about W.B. Yeats. This I did till 4:30am due to moonish insomnia, and coughing. However George's Ghosts is a terrific account of Yeats, and I am learning loads from it, especially the gossip about the numerous ladies in his life. Also about the writing of A Vision. I wrote my university thesis about this in the dark ages. Ah! Fond memories of sitting in the scriptorium scratching away with a swan's feather. Tuesday, and the moon full. Woke up this morning...

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...

Poets, astrologers and mindful sweeping Dragged my butt to the quack - who was in a cheery mood, told me there was a lot of it about, and gave me antibiotics to cure The Ears, which are painfully bunged up and howling with tinnitus. My brain is working a bit better however. I printed out my poems and shuffled them about, although I am finding it hard to see the wood for the trees. I also read some Yeats, and Ted Hughes - and quite enjoyed this. As someone who briefly, and not lucratively, cast people's astrological birth charts for a living, I am interested in how astrology has influenced poetry. W.B. Yeats was of course interested in all things occult. For example on honeymoon he forced his wife Georgie to conduct bouts of automatic writing: to go into trances and channel spirits and write down what they said. Bizarrely, the results were used as source material for a book of occult systems called A Vision . A Vision's systems are essentially quite astrological. There are house...