There is something deeply satisfying about a day of administration. There’s something
enlivening about striking lines through that list of things to do, and setting up meetings with people I like about matters I enjoy. Even paying bills is a pleasure. Seeing the red flag markers disappear after replying to long overdue emails is pleasing. Futurity is good because the present is now. The entire day strikes me as confirmation.
I went to a poetry reading tonight at Oxfam in Marleybone, read there too. Note to self, beware those who use the term Experimental poetry. Nothing a poet likes more than reading in a bookshop. I love it. I would forgo the stage any day, for the bookshop. To be surrounded by them while reading from them is a big hearted pleasure. I’m amongst friends.It reminds me of when I began reading poetry to audience in the late 80’s. Independent bookshops with their scraggly critical customer base and eccentric dedicated
workers used to be the lifeblood of new poetry. Poets are scraggly too, independent and dedicated..
The reading ended after the audience had enough of being pummelled with the self regarding personality of Oxfams Poet In Residence and I crossed the road with National
Poet of Wales, Gwyneth Lewis where we met up with The Journalist and ate at Strada till our hungry hearts were contented. Now if you want to see a poet, there’s a poet, Gwyneth Lewis. Lewis shall be on a fellowship at Harvard University for a year from September.
So there we were writers the three of us, fed up. By fed up I mean, we had just eaten! A cab was hailed, Gwenyth went to her hotel in Kings Cross while the journalist and I continued. Home draws closer under a full, full moon. The best performance of the evening goes to The Full Moon.