Some pre-reading for the day:
Pip Adam's review of Geoff Cochrane's latest collection (she feels much the same about GC as I do, but says it far better than I could).
Hera Lindsay Bird's left-right combo (part one; part two) on her favourite poets.
How I commemorated National Poetry Day last year.
And here's a poem I wrote last year when I was feeling more dull and inarticulate than normal. It was first published in the beautiful but short-lived journal Pasture from Kilmog Press.
The Orange-Yellow River is filled with young people
calling Come on democracy!
as if it were a soccer team.
I am not here to swim. Can’t you hear
the noises from the streets in my stomach?
I’m boring for joy.
I knew a girl,
her clothes were on fire
for a life of quiet understanding
but she had two orange boyfriends
skating in her heart’s first event
who were all: yeah, yeah, you know.
The Yellow-Orange River is filled with young people
calling Come on bureaucracy!
as if that would affect me.
Yeah, nah, I’m busy folding and unfolding
the heavy creases of, uh, life.
I’m, like, boring for joy.
We all encounter
problems on the hard shoulder.
If this is not the case, my bad —
there’s green space in my weakness,
space for walking, and perhaps a garden.
But no, my love. Oh, oh yeah, my bad.