under another sun

Feeling free today. At my desk doing lots of poetry related emails one to Live Cannon, following up about a meeting before Christmas after my recently shortlisted collection.  Finding the advice that Sarah Barnsley gave me last week continuously resonating with me at present: be on your own side. Looked at my phone as I mooched, and my emails were all from poets.  Lorraine out to join Penny and another head teacher for a walk around Ditchling.  I went for a walk of my own, and signed up at the nearby sports centre so I can use their gym. Got a Christmas deal so I got three months for the price of one. Friendly place, and I got chatting to an elderly lady at reception who was off to do Tai Chi. From there I walked about for a bit, listening to the In Our Time podcast about Wilfred Owen.Wandered over to a bit of Seaford Head, wind surging off the sea in a way that makes you feel a bit roughed up and buffeted, which I liked a lot..  Home and had a chat with Mum, and arr...

Men dying like the leaves Up at 6:30 again thanks to the kitten, then an early start. More erection copy. Only a few more days this before I can get onto glaucoma. Remembrance day today. Lots of stuff on the radio and TV about the first world war, and the Spanish flu pandemic afterwards which one expert was saying killed 50 million people globally. Picked up my copy of The lost voices of World War 1 edited by Tim Cross. This had been given me by World War II poet Victor West who was a friend of mine but is now dead. The 11th hour always makes me think of Wilfred Owen's parents getting the dreaded telegram as the bells for armistice rang out in Shrewsbury, or one of my all time favourite poets Edward Thomas, when asked by a friend having enlisted in the Artists rifles at the age of 37 what he was fighting for, picked up a handful of soil and crumbled it between his fingers, saying "literally, for this." All that nobility lost, a generation of poets, for what seems today ...