Hmmm I cannot sleep…as I had an afternoon nap and I am still thinking about what I learned on National Poetry Day in London. I felt so great to be back in London…the business of people, ads and tubes took me away…away from myself. And walking the streets made me part of this social network…although I could never afford it.Being king for a day.
The poetry readings, well, that is London style…people applauded like crazy after the short poetry slam session and I just thought: I remember again why I hate it so much!
And I felt out of time, like a Renaissance painting between Dali and Picasso. Everyone could pick a poem for himself out of a basket. I opened mine only later at dinner: I did not know which time it is but looking it up today proved my point. Here it is (by the way, I love it and would have never bet it is so old!):
- Do but consider this small dust,
- here running in the glass,
- By atoms moved.
- Could you believe that this the body was
- Of one that loved?
- And in his mistress’ flame playing like a fly,
- Turned to cinders by her eye?
- Yes, and in death as life unblest,
- To have’t expressed,
- Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
I stand at a diverging way, either I follow the main stream poetry setting its focus on narrative, simple daily poems or I create my own niche, which will be much harder but even much more satisfying. That is why I am here: to discover where I belong, where all my personalities of me belong.