I’ve mentioned before that Poetry and I aren’t getting on very well at the moment.Put it this way, we’re sitting at different tables, but we’re still in the same cafe. I have no intention of taking up knitting, for the moment at least.
I’ve decided to be less self-censoring.
It’s time to let it all hang out, to write with the inner critic firmly switched off – and to put up the rough drafts here.
Over the last year I’ve inadvertently written two poems of a three poem package – and they’re all about water. I’ve written about a river, and a stream and now I’ve come to the lake. It’s quite close by – about thirty seconds walk from where I’m typing this. It has fascinated me ever since we moved here ten years ago. It was the lake which triggered my interest in geese too. Every autumn there is a Goose Parliament.They fly in ( we had 280) last year, stay for a day or two, and then fly away, going God knows where.
So I’ve started piece which may be about this.
Here it is. This is incomplete, a rough draft of a rough draft. Read it, and come back in a few weeks time, and you might see how it has changed.
When the world
shifts to winter
trees stripped,leaves slimy underfoot,
and the lake jittery with wavelets
slopping and sucking at the bank.
That’s when they come, riding
the rivers of cold air
Canadas and Greylags
chattering like children coming home
as the land unwinds below
matchbox roofs,glittering windows,
the slow uncoiling of roads.
It’s Tuesday now and I’ve been trying to progress the poem. I’ve got to decide what the poem’s really about. Am I writing about the lake ? Or the geese which fly in every autumn for a week or so, and then head for God knows where. Will the poem be too long ? People bore easily. That’s what I’m thinking at the moment.
More to come later in the week.