Friday, 12 July 2019



This poem has long troubled me. The final line of the last version [which you can read here] was just wrong. It let the intensity of the poem evaporate into thin jargon. Thanks to the Secret Poets for the time spent analysing exactly why it didn't work.
This revised version I feel is better.

Sheila's Poem

We had hoped for death.
Crash landing
on this unexpected plateau,
where life continues mechanically
and the identical days merge.
Sometimes, across a great distance,
you speak,
words faint
ever more slippage.
There are no dials to turn,
or amplifiers to power up,
that just for once would
take us from this barren place
back to how it used to be.

It is a private poem and I have nothing to say about it.
I'm off to Tropical Pressure this weekend to run a poetry workshop and read.
On the 8th I heard that João Gilberto had died. As a child the Bossa Nova he helped to create along with Tom Jobim was part of the soundtrack to my childhood along with The Beatles and Psychedelia.
I was only listening to João's early albums last week. Superb music. Thank you João.
Here he is singing Triste.

And here is Insensative.
He will be missed.

Until next time.

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