For so it is, my century (holds bat in air, acknowledges speckle of applause from sparsely-occupied stands, avoids eye-rolling of umpires…).
I started this blog because I wanted to try to bring all my different selves together, particularly the every day person and the poetry-writing person, and not to compartmentalise them as much as I had been doing. I wanted to stop being furtive about so much that is important to me – and I suppose I also wanted to start thinking about and preparing for the times when you’re asked to put a public face on the hidden one (that one, for me, writes the poems).
It’s been a very interesting activity in which to think about the “self” of a writer – that whole “the author is not the narrator is not the person who bears the name and puts down the words – or is she?” conundrum. Still, I’ve been very tempted to just abandon the blog at times; time, no time, too many other things to do – often more interesting – out there in the “meat” world.
Why don’t I? (Yeah, why don’t you? Slow hand-clapping drifts over the pitch, the bowler confers with his wicket-keeper) It’s still useful for me, I guess. And I’ve become a little attached to the person I’ve created here. She seems furtive, still, yes – but she often shares things I wouldn’t dream of sharing with you in person.
*Sigh* Another self to add to my collection, then. Not a unity at all.
Before I disappear up my postModernesque arse, may I recommend a blog that I follow avidly… I love love love Mark Doty’s poetry, and am keen to read his two highly-acclaimed memoirs, but if that isn’t enough, his blog is a thing of beauty.
I’m talking about the writing, here, before you design fiends get too excited.
Read it. He’s just endured surgery for a detached retina and his account is gripping (best wishes for a speedy recovery, Mr Doty).