I was in Oxford mid week and, on my return, Anne had left a message in magnetic letters on the fridge. Get some milk? Or a terrible pun maybe? Actually no. It was a line from one of the poems that I have just had published.
Now that's a first. For thirty years Anne has veered between indifference and outright animosity when it comes to my output, on the exceedingly rare occasions that I share it with her. This particular line has resonance for her - she knows its provenance, the time and place of its invention, its back story and who it is directed at and why. I guess what I'm saying is, to her, for once, it is not soup. Which is a rather touching first. To be honest I blame an old college friend, who said to her back in 1981 sometime, “I promise you, if you ever say you like his poetry he'll leave you.”
So, here I sit, bags packed...
Now that's a first. For thirty years Anne has veered between indifference and outright animosity when it comes to my output, on the exceedingly rare occasions that I share it with her. This particular line has resonance for her - she knows its provenance, the time and place of its invention, its back story and who it is directed at and why. I guess what I'm saying is, to her, for once, it is not soup. Which is a rather touching first. To be honest I blame an old college friend, who said to her back in 1981 sometime, “I promise you, if you ever say you like his poetry he'll leave you.”
So, here I sit, bags packed...
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