I have finished and dispatched my assignment on T.S.Eliot and my kitchen is now installed and fully functional. I don’t know how I put up with the old one so long. My daughter said that it has only taken me twenty years to get round to having it done! Now I can sit out in the garden, in the sun, and read Orlando which doesn’t feel like work as I’m enjoying it . Yesterday, my portfolio for the Writing Workshop I was doing with Lancaster University, was returned to me. My Tutor has suggested that I read surrealist poets on the basis of the following poem which was part of my submission.
In my attic of childhood playthings
recollection leans on a rainbow
erasing the blown up bridge;
re-building it with brand new stones;
coaxing the river under the bridge
and up the mountainside.
Overhead three dun doves falter
below clouds puffing steam.
the bridge is made of chewing gum,
the mountain of camembert cheese,
the stalls made of liquorice sticks
are bulging with vegetables
and someone is howling for a physician.
The three doves fall to the ground;
shuffle away on their prelates’ paunches
with their legs splayed out like skis.