writing and writers – Page 154 – don't confuse the narrator

pause to regroup

Well I knew I wouldn’t be able to write a poem a day through April, and I didn’t promise even a daily blog post, but it was never my intention to go three weeks without writing anything.

I’ve noticed, though, that I get far more ideas for writing when I have other things I should be doing.

Recently one of the big projects I’ve been working on for the last few years came to a stop, which means that all of a sudden I am no longer obliged to sit in front of the computer for several hours every single day whether I want to or not.

Looked at positively, this should provide an opportunity to catch up with all my own writing projects, but that isn’t the way it’s turned out so far.
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Khayyam, again, and disappearing words

apple blossom — "...under the apple bough"

Yesterday’s post reminded me of a glosa – posted below – but then led me on in leaps and bounds to thinking about vocabulary. Specifically, about the word ‘bough’: when, and how, did I learn it?

It’s not exactly the sort of word that crops up in childhood conversation, so I’m pretty sure I must have read it. Which could either have been in a story or in a poem. Or, I suppose, at Christmas, when we “deck[ed] the halls with boughs of holly”. Perhaps that’s the most likely, as would explain how I learned to pronounce it, too.

The word ‘bough’ probably crops up in plenty of older stories and poems, but how much new writing contains such words?
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the root of the problem

As I mentioned in seeing for yourself, I’m dipping into the works of Saki each time I take a coffee break.

This morning I chanced on the story Reginald’s Rubaiyat, which begins:
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weeds and words

April has brought the cuckoo and forced the lilacs into bloom. Now it’s even bringing a few showers. They don’t seem to be doing much to pierce the drought of March, though, as they barely dampen the surface of the ground and then evaporate with wind and the suddenly dazzle of sunshine.

Still, they are enough to have prompted a few more weeds to flourish and the photo has reminded me of an unfinished poem of frustrated love entitled I want. This is the third stanza:

I want daisies on the lawn in clumps
of seven to fit my footstep, a universe
of dandelion globes and the chance
a simple breath can make it
any time I like.

Down by the river the other day, it would have been easy enough to put your foot on seven daisies, but I haven’t seen any in my garden and I’m sure summer isn’t really here yet. Perhaps the river bank is as inaccurate a time keeper as dandelion clocks tend to be.

half found

First of all a picture of a spray of lilac. Because it’s April and it’s about time there were lilacs.

And now some talk of poetry. Because it’s April and even if I’m not managing a poem a day, I am trying to focus a bit more than I sometimes do.

I posted a ‘found poem’ in Spanish a few days ago (yesterday’s poem) along with an unsatisfactory translation into English. In fact the bus station notice about ‘security recommendations’ that the text was taken from used to be much longer and much more detailed. It had caught my attention in the past and I found an old copy of the complete version in my notebook.

This time I have taken more liberties with the ‘translation’, although none of the ideas in the poem are entirely mine: they all come from the Spanish original.
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