This was going to be a blog all about the poetry of Vasko Popa. However, having endured the 13 hour shift of death I’ve decided to keep things simple and post up a poem from me instead…
And love is a snail on the cold night lane
that doesn’t know the spinning light’s the gritter.
And love is a quitter you knew so well
that its desertion was a shock none could temper.
And love is the sunset over Inglebrough Fell
for my father on his fag break in the rain.
And love is immersion that crackles each cell
with its elegant electric and pain.
And love is a phone-line. And love is the factory.
And love is all metaphor. And love is biology.
And love is the warplane that’s going down fighting.
And love is the pylon struck twice by lightning.
Happy holidays – see you tomorrow, where Vasko Popa seems almost certain to get a look in (I have a day off!)