remembering old views
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.
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.
Filed under: poetry, windows, writing | 1 Comment
Tags: diary, poetry, views, windows