Monday, April 28, 2014
I bought the book - I rather felt I had to. It accompanied a BBC series which I also managed to totally miss (on BBC4 I think which I do watch quite a bit of but generally find - as I am tonight - that it's a programme about mushrooms or some such) presented by Owen Sheers (who is another contemporary poet I know nothing about but who has a very impressive CV - is it just me or is there something deeply encouraging about the number of people out in the world who's job description is poet?). Anyway I'm guessing it was a really good programme, the book is certainly charming.
I've been reading a fair amount of poetry recently, mostly odds and ends found in anthologies, and specifically looking for poems which conjure strong images for me. This is the time of year that I feel particularly homesick for the north of Scotland, I miss the sea and the light, theoretically I miss the dark in the winter too but not in quite the same way, it really is enough to just read about that. Finding a poem - preferably a shortish one - that captures some element of what I miss, which can be copied down and carried around talisman fashion, and which can be mulled over in the dull corners I work in (wine doesn't appreciate direct sunlight even if wine merchants do) is not the worst way to deal with the frustration of being stuck inside on a glorious spring day.