…and it’s goodnight from her

Am feeling utterly sheepish and embarrassed about everything C***n related on this blog.  I have gone from desperately wanting him to read it to hoping fervently that he hasn’t.

It felt good to put my poems up there though.

Had a very empowering session with a student doing their FCA (final class assessment) this evening.

That’s all – just wanted to record my feelings of utter embarrassment, in the spirit of putting it all down just as it comes to me.  If nothing else this whole trip has taught me to be true to myself, to where I am at the moment, no matter how insane.  And that is a good thing.  Too often we cover up or explain – and like that character in “View from the Bridge” www.amazon.com/View-Bridge-Heinemann-Plays/dp/0435233122 – 271k I have allowed myself to be fully known.

Henry James is driving me mad at the moment.  I am reading a short (not very) story called “The Beast in the Jungle” en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beast_in_the_Jungle and I have never known anything take so long to get nowhere.

Will go to the chalet tomorrow.

Night night!  Sleep well.

enjoy life.  It’s the only one we have.



Limericks for limerance

Limerance is apparently a state on the border between – erm – love and infatuation: something like that. Accordeing to Mark (this is gospel!) I now know what it is because he has told me. If I knew what everything he told me, was, I’d be a lot wiser. Or at least, more knowledgeable.

So here is a group of limericks. We went to Limerick, Nick and I (where are you now?) and found it surprisingly unpoetic, though rich in bars. We drank a lot of Guiness on that holiday – and then he went to Australia.

What is the collective noun for limericks? A Poe? An Edgar Allen?

A raven?

No. 1

Performing my poems again

I’ll be asking the choirs of men

Who is it sings here

in the porches of fear

in the churches that poison my pen?


The voices are yours, they reply

There’s a scrum when the ball hits the sky

These bounces can hurt

but you’ll never convert

no matter how hopeless your try

No 3

However triumphant my cry

the angels politically sigh:

“We can’t publish this –

you don’t tell, but you kiss!

– so the arrow will strike out your eye.”

Not too sure what it all means but thinking about the possibilities and rights or wrongs of publishing these letters and poems when they ostensibly relate to another person. No matter how you make it clear that this is your own stuff, there is bound to be a curiosity about whether the other person experienced any of this stuff. On the other hand, it is my own experience and am I not entitled to tell my own story? In any case, if an offer came along, after so many years in the wilderness, could I restist?

Ther is also the issue that You Know Who may feel that I’ve taken liberties with his words. You, gentle reader, shall now judge for yourself, since I am going to put the poems I wrote in toto on here, along with my story as (according to my psychotic nightmares) I would have told it on stage.