The poem first saw the light of day on my Poet-in-Residence blog in 2009 under the title 'A poetry game you can play at home' where it still stands together with some words about its creation.
Reading Rachel's blog just now I recalled it, or something like it. Thank you Rachel!
The Old Driving Whirlwind
Two glasses of vin du pays
Settle the dust in my mind.
Hope is the colour of dirty brown paper.
A dark cultivated woman
Something of miraculous desirability
Was my desire
Mounting all the time steadily
Coming in at night in the wet
Punctured in a mountain village
In the bitter windy rain
In the old driving whirlwind . . .
Beautiful Gwil. Stands the test of time - not always the case I find with poetry I have written in the past.
ReplyDeleteThanks Pat. I think we'll soon be battening down the hatches. The remnants of Florence it is, or something like that. I enjoyed reading of your Windermere adventures!
DeleteI remember the game. I did one at the time and it worked very well although I cannot remember from what book it emerged . Yours is quite mysterious and deep. I will try another with Mrs Dalloway. I am glad I reminded you of your poem.
ReplyDeleteThanks Rachel, and good luck with the new art course.
DeleteCatching up with your running. Today’s run sounded like my kind of run. I am longing to get back out there but remaining sensible until I’ve seen Physio tomorrow. Good idea re alternating hand holding bottles but I either don’t carry water (shorter runs) or have a bladder on my back in a pack. I think it’s weak glutes.
ReplyDeleteThank you CT. I thought I'd better get one in before the remnants of Florence arrive. I know you have a good physio so you'll be ok. We need our rests, I pretend I've run down the antelope and I'm having a few days eating him! Just like the kalahari bushmen, and the women and children too. It's the natural way.
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