I’m in a tizz. I’ve been selected to take part in the Masterclass at the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival (yeehah!) and I’m trying to choose some poems to send. We’ll only be workshopping one (in front of an audience, ye gods), but the organisers want a selection yada yada yada.
My tizz? I have only just managed to re-establish my writing routine, and to persuade my writing self that it’s ok, I will sit at my desk, I am allowed to concentrate, I don’t have to do anything else- and I’m scared that any distraction (however fantastic, like this amazing opportunity) will haul me up out of it, this safe place.
And now I’m thinking, for goodness sake…get over yourself! Because, distractions or not, the poems get written. I’m currently working on one about an old Maths teacher. I never thought I’d get anywhere with it, but here it is, losing lines and phrases and being edited down despite my faffing-around.
So here are a couple of discarded bits from the poem.
protractor sets and glasses
dagger collars and straining trouser seams
fingers dry from chalk
They can live here quite happily while I get on with the rest of the poem.