Friday, 8 January 2010
Not that late but late enough. Into Norwich earlier in the day to the BBC to record three shorter poems ('under one minute each, please') for the Today programme. They'll air one and display all three on the website some time next week ahead of the Eliot prize giving - providing no urgent world news comes to blow it away, as happened last year. In the event the producer at the other end said not to worry too much about the minute providing its only a matter of a few seconds over, so I read one of the Burning poems (the second shortest one, about the book collector and money), the Woolworth poem (a sonnet), and the one about the farmer and the gravedigger. Couple of decent snowy walks to stations, one across the cathedral close, the spire of the cathedral covered faintly in rime, through bare branches of snow-lined trees.
Have also been writing, fast as ever - a set of two sonnets and two prose poems. Probably part of a series associated with the art project in Wysing.
I love the silence of snow - the soul wrapped in cotton wool but not too tight, still a faint chill about the vast hall of the universe.