Writers Guild liked my prose today, which made me happy. Re-assurance for the second time this week that I can write (the first being from the Yellow Dart) maybe everything will be alright.
I am sad today, but I cannot express it, I keep getting stuck on words like ‘I’ and ‘me’. It is almost as though who I am was welcome in the world for a period of perhaps not quite three years, I was a passing phase, a fad or fashion but the world has moved on and I have not. I am who I always was inside but I’m a ra-ra skirt and Vogue says we should be wearing a-line this season.
See, I keep getting stuck, so I turn to Larkin, there’s a man with a talent for misery.
‘Whats wrong! Moustached in flowered frocks they shake:
By now, all’s wrong. In everyone there sleeps
A sense of life lived according to love.
To some it means the difference they could make
By loving others, but across most it sweeps
As all they might have done had they been loved.
That nothing cures. An immense slackening ache,
As when, thawing, the rigid landscape weeps,
Spreads slowly through them – that, and the voice above
Saying Dear child, and all time has disproved.’
Thats from Faith Healing, not my favourite Larkin by any means but it works, now Love Songs In Age I really do like, and so this is it’s final verse:
‘The glare of that much-mentioned brilliance, love,
Broke out, to show
Its bright incipience sailing above,
Still promising to solve, and satisfy,
And set unchangeably in order. So
To pile them back, to cry,
Was hard, without lamely admitting how
It had not done so then, and could not now.’
My sadness is down to me, I’ve been having high expectations recently so I don’t expect to recieve any emails or text messages from friends who are perfectly lovely to me asking what was it they said. You’re all great and I appreciate you masses.