The Moth - one of Ireland's best new literary magazines - is launching its winter issue this Thursday in Soho, with a top-notch line-up of poets willing to fly close to the limelight for the event, including myself, Tim Wells, Annie Freud, Meryl Pugh, Julia Bird, Derek Adams, Adam O'Riordan, Moris Farhi and Clare Pollard, at Jimmy's, 23 A Frith Street, London, W1, 7.30 pm to late. Hope to see some of you there.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
Comments