It is all at once magical, overwhelming and also disappointing, the feelings melding into one ball that stuck like a lump inside my chest. To see them 5 feet before me, reading poems aloud, and to see that they are… Human. The masters of creations, the powerful words weaved within their brilliant writings that had the ability to evoke my tears, drive my brain into a whirlpool, have my beating heart helplessly entagled and squeezed dry for a moment in time – and to see that they are… (only?) Human

I needed to read more poetry, I decided. I had a copy of Plath’s Ariel stuffed in my SG cupboard somewhere, and at that point I chided myself for not having brought it. How nice it would be to read a poem a night, to let the words sink into my head and float around lazily just before I go to bed, so when I wake up they mash together to form a nest of meaning and I’d open my eyes, enlightened once more.

 Jackie Kay / Ali Smith

o. m. g.

Ughhhh sincerely sincerely wish I had bothered to look nicer today because IT IS NOT EVERYDAY THAT YOU GET TO MEET FAMOUS WRITERSSSSS -hyperventilates-

Because I know my sister would have loved it just as much…… sigh

And as I lay in bed that night I couldn’t stop smiling to myself because tonight, a dream has been fulfilled

notes from the session:
She knew the ending

That it was about waiting 
A negative space 
With pictures you can make time stop
Do you think people constantly give up the life they love? 
Wow, you let people decide for you? 
Fine balance btw putting food on table and doing things you love l
People don’t have to be creative in the way w tend to associate creativity with? 
Rather its a daily thing we can do or does? 
It’s freedom, it’s the ability to do something you love, intellectual boundlessness

Leaving with this:

“Do you know what a poem is, Esther?’
No, what?’ I would say.
A piece of dust.’
Then, just as he was smiling and starting to look proud, I would say, ‘So are the cadavers you cut up. So are the people you think you’re curing. They’re dust as dust as dust. I reckon a good poem lasts a whole lot longer than a hundred of those people put together.’
And of course Buddy wouldn’t have any answer to that, because what I said was true. People were made of nothing so much as dust, and I couldn’t see that doctoring all that dust was a bit better than writing poems people would remember and repeat to themselves when they were unhappy or sick or couldn’t sleep.” 

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