Miriam Miriam.

I bike it down to Marleybone today to  meet friend Whitney. We have coffee and talk the world into manageable bites.  Then I cycle down to Radio One to do an interview  for Rob Da Banks Radio one show. It’s all regarding The Latitude Festival I’m doing in a couple of months. . I just googled him – he seems cool. Then I race to kings cross. Stop for coffee, call a few friends who work there – noone to have coffee with. Have a coffee and speed home for 4.30pm interview with Henry Bonsu of Colourful Radio.  It’s a wonderful interview based on the question “Marxism or capatilism which is the most beneficial for the ethnic
minority”.  Sounds boring right. Wrong.  Sounds quite angular doesn’t it. But the  conversation flowed with an agility that made it more a dance – the perfect interview,actually,  and pleasurable. This interview was with regards to The Marxism Today event whcih I am reading at on Sunday at The Marxism Today reading with Mcihael Rosen.  If someone could bottle what makes the perfect interview they would be a millionaire – some are –  But when it happens it makes both the interviewee or the interviewer or the audience richer for the moment.  As they used to say in my Lancashire childhood post a compliment  “you can’t say more than that”.  

There’s a few suprises at home. The Journalist has gone to Liverpool to The Literature Festival up there. She’s doing a reading from her book. But that wasn’t the suprise.  I get a letter from a couple whom I met in Greece, where I was reading,  years ago. They are the parents at the wedding of their child now. They have sent me pictures and told me that Invisible Kisses, my poem, was read at their wedding.  Just this week three people here in London have approached me and  told me that they are reading Invisible Kisses at their wedding.  There is something wonderful  about how this poem is growing beyond me.  Another suprise, my publishers canongate read the first instalment of my next book of poems. I lost sleep previous to meeting the editor – it’s six no seven years since i brought out a book – after our meeting i pased over the work and today I received the most encouraging text. I nearly fell on the floor. Whatever I do out there, there’s nothing more precious to me than my work. It’s hell to give it over, but damn I am proud. The book is coming out next June.  Another little note. Canongate are bringing out a NEW Charles Bukowski book! That’s the late Charles Bukowski.  It’s going to cause a mini storm here. In poetry terms its going to make some noise.  And finally I did an event once at Lambeth Library South London. it was in October. The audience was packed and it was one of the most enjoyable readings of 2006 and was connected to Presiding Spirits an event where writers talk about what moves them as artists.  Tim the boss of Lambeth Library told me that a womn in the audience of 71 years made a hand written note that is transcribed below.     Read What Miraim said, read the poem below it and read the message from Tim at the end

“For Tim and

What is my presiding

At first this seemed impossible as I’m 71 and read poetry daily – famous and not famous. Then I
realized that – having been put off all Arts at school (convent 1946 – 51) – I had this Dylan Thomas poem read to me by a lover, along with an introduction to other Arts.

Do not go gentle into that Goodnight.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning
they Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a
green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and
be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

I’m sorry to say Maureen died last week. I will send this to her daughter and I think to Lemn as
well – what a tragic thing.

Many thanks




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