A poet for a day
In some ways this was a great day. Spent most of it working hard on my poems, and late in the afternoon, was asked to do more freelance days later in the week. I am very lucky at the moment, as work is walking in the door.
But I am intoxicated by the luxury of being able to think about poetry all day. This is different from writing the stuff. I am still working on editing my collection so that the poems are more than the sum of their parts, and this is taking an enormous amount of thought and time - but of the most enjoyable chin-stroking, book consulting sort - which is resulting in me seeing my work very differently. Today I felt as free as a student again, and I can't believe my luck - and this time I won't blow it with horseplay.
Ken called around just before lunch, for a coffee and a writerly chat, telling me more about his Mabley book (mentioned here on the 1st Jan) and other projects he is working on, and dropping around two nice Christmas presents. Ken was telling me that when he was a child growing up in Staffordshire there were only two books in the house: an etymological dictionary, and a song book. Interests that have lasted all his life. Made me wonder what would have happened if one of those books had been different. Would he have been a scientist if one of them was, say, a book of plants.
After he left I baked some bread (to a Ken and Janet recipe) and worked a bit more before taking myself off for a refreshing walk by the sea, trying to filter some of the the sixteen different approaches I have for my poems.
Still a bit tired when I walk, so I was home within the hour. It seems easier in my deafened state to talk on the phone than face to face. Spoke to the Gnome, Anton who is unsuccessfully trying to get me to go on a 30 mile walk this weekend, Anna, and Lorraine who is enjoying her new job.
Anton has lent me Frasier series 10 DVD, and I am currently watching several episodes an evening. It is fantastic, like sliding into a warm and comfortable sofa. Fortunately my new neighbours haven't moved in so the Crane brothers can have their thunderous sway last thing at night.
Below the wind gusting through the yacht masts, you'll have to imagine the sound of chinking.
But I am intoxicated by the luxury of being able to think about poetry all day. This is different from writing the stuff. I am still working on editing my collection so that the poems are more than the sum of their parts, and this is taking an enormous amount of thought and time - but of the most enjoyable chin-stroking, book consulting sort - which is resulting in me seeing my work very differently. Today I felt as free as a student again, and I can't believe my luck - and this time I won't blow it with horseplay.
Ken called around just before lunch, for a coffee and a writerly chat, telling me more about his Mabley book (mentioned here on the 1st Jan) and other projects he is working on, and dropping around two nice Christmas presents. Ken was telling me that when he was a child growing up in Staffordshire there were only two books in the house: an etymological dictionary, and a song book. Interests that have lasted all his life. Made me wonder what would have happened if one of those books had been different. Would he have been a scientist if one of them was, say, a book of plants.
After he left I baked some bread (to a Ken and Janet recipe) and worked a bit more before taking myself off for a refreshing walk by the sea, trying to filter some of the the sixteen different approaches I have for my poems.
Still a bit tired when I walk, so I was home within the hour. It seems easier in my deafened state to talk on the phone than face to face. Spoke to the Gnome, Anton who is unsuccessfully trying to get me to go on a 30 mile walk this weekend, Anna, and Lorraine who is enjoying her new job.
Anton has lent me Frasier series 10 DVD, and I am currently watching several episodes an evening. It is fantastic, like sliding into a warm and comfortable sofa. Fortunately my new neighbours haven't moved in so the Crane brothers can have their thunderous sway last thing at night.
Below the wind gusting through the yacht masts, you'll have to imagine the sound of chinking.
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