As I find myself procrastinating, yet again, toying between writing new poetry material, working on old, working on form or being inspired I find I have spent a few hours doing very little. Frustration rises, but then I realise I can start now. So I am off to spend an hour before bed reading poetry and making notes in my note book of fodder for emerging work.
I recently bought Rhian Edwards’ new publication of work Clueless Dogs. I am totally in love with her wry, heartfelt and delicious style. I wait in excited anticipation to see the lyrical Benajamin Zephaniah this Friday evening at Arnolfini and the hilarious Tim Key next week, as part of Bristol Poetry Festival. I have just found out that Rhian is part of a Welsh Women’s Poetry event at the end of next month at Chapter Arts Centre, Cardiff. How exciting! I think this is a must. Working in isolation, with only myself to entertain and faff, finds a touch of wall bouncing at the moment. This needs to shift, and what better way than to spend time in the presence of those you find inspiring.
Here is on of Rhian’s excellent short poems, that encapsulates this evening.
I empty my room of last night.
I tread barefoot about the house,
open every window, telling
myself I’m airing the place.
I fill the kettle, forget
what for and wander away
to find myself in a mirror
looking for something to pluck.