Friday, 30 November 2012 @07:39
"The married man dreamt last night
of a house that someone’d left him,
the sort of house you have in dreams,
a thousand rooms, one corridor. He wandered
round alone, he told me, smiled
his quiet, inward smile. And found
a secret garden, high walled, locked, odd
velvet green. There, a window looked
towards the ocean. He flexed his pale hands,
I had, he said, the key. His wife touched
their girl asleep, a lush and heavy animal,
and watched him, knowingly, satisfied".
That window towards the ocean, ours and ours only. If you’d only come.
Kate Clanchy, a British poet. I like that window looking towards the ocean. And what dreams tell us, even if we don't want to listen.
Friday, 15 April 2011 @07:44
"I said perhaps Patagonia, and pictured
a peninsula, wide enough
for a couple of ladderback chairs
to wobble on a high tide. I thought
of us in a breathless cold, facing a horizon
round as a coin…
When I spoke of Patagonia, I meant
skies all empty aching blue. I meant
years. I meant all of them with you."
I meant you.
Kate Clanchy, writer and poet, was born in Glasgow in 1965. The empty skies aching blue are what we all wish for: new horizons, and love.
Yes, I write. Yes, I believe in the magic of words. That’s why you’ll find me here, every Friday: Lisa “globish”!
I believe in the magic of words, and I believe Piazza Unità in Trieste, where I was born, is the most romantic square in the world. (And yes, it’s in Italy, proudly facing the sea). I love roses in every form. And, of course, I do love my blog, expecially now that I can carry it around on my iPhone.