When my daughter of 11 months fell ill last Monday, I had to take care of her instead of gently pushing her off to baby day care - as she's infectious and we don't want other little ones to fall ill too... what a joy to play with her when she felt better and to comfort her when she felt ill... to change that nappy again and to watch her as she slept with her fluffy dog Puppy clutched in her arms...
But in amongst all these wonderful life experiences there happened to be poetry - the great poems a dad thinks about while watching his flesh and blood suffer and triumph over suffering over the course of a week - the daily walks in the park to watch the clapping of butterfly wings - the winter bees dancing about tiny flowers laden with treasure - the swallows dipping and the doves diving - the movement of leaves in the breeze - the sudden conversations from the old ladies sitting in the sun - the yellow seesaw bird - the bumps in the cobbled road - the real stray dogs barking and playing in packs like a nest of hungry chics - and so much more - waking up with Chloe in my arms still and asleep with complete trust on her little angelic face - making her laugh as we play peekaboo and hide and seek and clap your hands and shake-shake your head and give me five daddy's going to kiss you and where's daddy? and come on let's go see mommy - and so much more than words can contain - and -
And these poems these words about and for and in my life our lives are lost - fleeting stars that shoot through my consciousness as fast as I can breathe or turn my head - gone to soon to catch in the net of my page with ink instead of pins - their loss is no loss - for there are more poems I can write - no regret for the poems I am losing because writing poetry is about losing poems - about losing them to my reader - to you - for you are all like my daughter in this way - suffering and triumphing over suffering and my words my poems are yours - so -
So that is all I have to say for now -