Also in The Sunday Times - news of a mass email and social networking campaign to arrange a vote of the members of the Poetry Society. Everyone has agreed not to talk to the media, including Dr Fiona Sampson (this year's Ruth Padel, according to the catty Times). Sadly, British media only like it when poets are fighting like wrestlers in mud. Eyewear is maintaining neutrality in this apparent power struggle, because frankly, Mr. Shankly, what is it about? No one has publicly said what direction Sampson wants to go in that the outgoing president didn't. I liked the editing of Poetry Review, so saw little problem there, though some of those Paterson essays were a bit tough to follow.
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