Sunday evening and I’m feeling a bit irritable and antsy after a lovely weekend of recreation and culture.

 

Could it be the thought of the launch of Magma 42 tomorrow that is making me jumpy? Who knows. It will be such a thrill to meet many the poets whose work we’ve chosen and hear them read. But I have my admin duties too, and a million things to remember to take. I am fearful of forgetting something crucial and upending the whole thing.

 

It could also be the weight of responsibility, the absolute necessity for being rational and level-headed - in fact, to ‘keep my head when all about (me) are losing theirs’ in my personal and professional life. All this diplomacy exhausts me and I just want to shout at someone but I know I can’t.

 

Seamus Heaney  Simon Armitage and Leonard Cohen lived up to all my expectations last week. Seamus can be my Dad, Simon Armitage can be my cheerer-on (‘Poetry is probably the most powerful force in the universe’, he said, quite without irony). Leonard Cohen can just keep his position as my first love. Starting to look a bit old and frail though. That touring must take it out of him. His rendition of ‘A thousand kisses deep’, spoken, not sung, was the high point of my evening. He definitely is a poet, uses rhyme better than anyone else I can think of, even Charles Causley. And really quite rude too. ‘I remember when I moved in you/the holy dove was moving too ...’, ‘at the cave at the tip of the lily’ ...  and what about ‘my mouth on the dew of your thighs’ (even if it’s a translation of Lorca). No innuendo in that last one either.

 

My own writing is going well, actually. I am now more than halfway through my poem-a-day month and quite excited about the potential of some of the work. Just have to keep trucking for another, what is it? 14 days, but who’s counting?

 

Er .... me???