remembering old views


my old cabbage tree

This is the cabbage tree outside my bedroom when I was a teenager. I found it – and the poem – today when I was tidying up. I say tidying up but really I was just rummaging, because nothing got tidied.

I was pretty obsessed with this cabbage tree. It was my adolescent talisman for a while there. I like this poem a lot, too. My scanner cut off some of the final letters on the words…


dusk (or maybe it’s day and I just haven’t joined up my a properly)

God, we smoked a lot of cigarettes sitting out on that concrete verandah (underneath a boys’ domitory) looking out at that cabbage tree.

When I opened up the notebooks today they smelt old, all shut up and cupboardy. Which is because they are old. A lot of time has passed, I guess. That’s probably what happened.

I’m not so much interested in going back through the notebooks and journals and reading over what I have written. When I do, usually by accident (i.e. when my eyes connect inadvertently with a line and before I know it they are being pulled along against their/my will), I’m taken over by a sort of yucky vertigo and have to snap myself out of it.

I’m more interested in the process now. In the doodles and the general themes/tenor of my preoccupations… not in the actual words themselves.

view from my window, Farnham Royal 1996

This is a photo from my bedroom window in England in 1996 (also rescued from a notebook this afternoon).

I saw a lot of snow from this window. It was often dark. I remember I was quite often lonely (but tolerably so) when I looked out of this window. But then again we also spent a lot of time drinking gin and jumping on the bed (directly underneath the window) and crawling on the roof (directly outside the window) and listening to jazz, loudly, so it was not all loneliness.


One Response to “remembering old views”

  1. 1 Becky

    Oh my goodness – how many hours were spent gazing into – and through – that outlook? Almost as manay as there would have been cigarette butts to mark our departure.

    And what a beautiful poem…

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