POET FEELING PROUD
PodBean Link for those who like to listen.
This week I had expected to be writing about the air not smelling of cow dung because it never has on a Monday morning...
Sometimes I call my mum when I am out on a walk and sometimes on these walks there is a distinct smell of cow dung. I tell her this. I like this smell. It reminds me of early family holidays on a farm in Sussex. It is one of those scents which seems perfectly organic to me. But lately that smell has been tinged with mown grass and doesn’t smell as ‘pure’. I have been telling her this too. She asked me recently why the air never seems to smell of poo in my blog, and I said it doesn’t on Monday mornings. I expected to be recounting this today and noting that it might one day, but not yet. And what do I find when I step outside this morning... the distinct scent of the cow dung from the field on the country walk! So this morning the air smells of cow poo for the first time in eighty-four blogs!
Alt text describes this week’s photo as a person holding books in front of a bush. This makes me laugh because it is exactly what it is, but it is also me with my three books which have been accepted into The Poetry Library at The Southbank Centre in London. I sent the books for consideration before Christmas last year and remember thinking it was a good mission to complete before the end of 2024. This week I saw an email in my inbox relating to this and did my ‘I need to read this through half-closed eyes in case it’s not the news I want to see’ trick! Fortunately I could unsquint my eyes to read the words again when I saw that it was an email saying the books would be included in the collection there. I felt proud and marked the moment by heading out into the garden with the books for a photo. It is good to mark moments.
I rode my pretend horse across the hall to greet fellow exhibitor Bridie on set up day of my third time at Buxton Wool Gathering because I was excited to see her and to be there once again. Last year my promise to entertain her came in the form of reading to her from Welcome to the Museum of a Life. I chose SHE PUTS ON A SPRING DRESS THE DAY THE TORTOISE COMES OUT OF HIBERNATION and discovered that she too had a tortoise named Fred when she was little. I liked riding my horse and making the associated neighing noises, and stayed committed to completing the journey across the hall despite Bridie not noticing my approach and other people giving me slightly curious looks. Even better than that though was the moment later on in the day when rode her invisible broken-wheeled scooter across the hall to see me!
Here's to the joy of shared laughter and here’s that poem...
SHE PUTS ON A SPRING DRESS THE DAY THE TORTOISE COMES OUT OF HIBERNATION
She sits with him on her lap
dips cotton wool into the bowl of water
balanced on the arm of the settee.
Gently and slowly, she works to unstick his eyes
trying to mask the fear
that he is not going to wake up
that he has been dead all this time.
We watch
not knowing which will fascinate us most.
When the flicker finally comes
he empties his bowels
on to her lap.
We are impressed that all this comes
from such a small creature.
She sits unmoving, as the puddle,
now larger than the tortoise itself,
begins to seep through her dress.
Comments
Post a Comment