My apologies; it has been two weeks since my last confession. Sorry, blog.

 

No idea what happened there. I’ve been moving around in a haze of springtime and poetry. Some of you will have read previous entries and know that I spent April writing a poem a day. More recently I’ve been investigating the train crashes that resulted and trying to put together the odd bit of engine and buffet car to try and make REAL poems out of them. The jury’s out on this one. How productive it’ll be in the end.

 

Productiveness is an interesting concept in the world of poetry, because many people say you can’t force a poem. You need to give it time, and some people think that rushing it can result in a kind of death. I guess I’m quite productive most of the time.This is probably something to do with having come from a theatre background where one was expected to produce more volume of material. And anyway I’m strangely addicted to producing new things, expressing, letting things out. I think Wallace Stevens said that if you’re writing a poem a day, you just have to lower your standards. And I sure as hell did. Oh dear. Oh well.

 

I am trying hard to experience the present, to be her fully, but partly excited about the future. So many things to look forward to in the coming months. Leonard Cohen in the mud of Glastonbury. Yes, I’ll be there for four days. If I can manage it. Then there’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream at The Globe next week, tickets for Judy Collins at the Purcell Room and Bruce Springstein next week. And these are just some of the pleasures.

 

Also coming up is My Birthday, and My Reading At The Ledbury Festival, which is part of the prize I won last year. The second part is a masterclass with Carol Ann Duffy and Gillian Clarke, at the end of July.

Not to mention a plethora of readings and events poetry related for me to relish.

 

So life is certainly full to bursting and of course then there’s the small matter of giving time to writing poetry. Talking of which ... time to get back to the train crashes.