January 2010
9 posts
Writing Again
“All I have is a voice” Auden wrote,
Cowering at a bar in 1939, afraid to die.
“To undo the folded lie”, he hoped,
War at Europe’s throat.
Now The lie remains, where W.H. does not,
Only we all have voices, though we go without
The right words, it seems. As all else rots,
Will we whimper, though we know to shout?
In memory of September 1st, 1939 - Wystan...
Seasonal Spin
Inside, a record
Rotates like the seasons. Out-
-Side, still no blossom.
A calm buddha sits
Next to a mad chewbacca
Would they get on well?
Writercide
I assume that anyone who ever writes anything that isn’t strict non-fiction or reportage has asked themselves untold times the question: “Why and for whom do I write?” More painfully, they may have looked inwards and admitted “There is no reason, nothing I write is worth reading (or indeed writing)”
Now, it’s not as bad as all that, but I understand. I’m...