But, as I chose the poetry books to take with me, it occured to me that I'm probably more than a bit parochial in my choice. Nearly all the poetry I read is British or North American; I must be missing an awful lot of interesting writing from further afield, from which I could learn a great deal. I can't think that I've read any African poets, or many South American ones. I've read some Japanese works - mainly in the haiku tradition - but nothing else from Asia. So I'm resolving when I get back to look more widely on the poetry shelves and try to get a more global perspective.
The Poet
They say the poet
unties a boat on a lake,
rows it from one world to
another.
They do not tell
how she must learn
oarsmanship,
get the feel of wind and
water,
how she loses a paddle
midstream,
circles wildly.
They make no mention
of wash from larger
vessels,
unnerving and distracting,
of taking on water,
of baling out a fragile
craft,
or righting it in stormy
weather.
No, only the poet knows
the slack water, tangled
weed,
the stagnant pools and
devious currents,
the unseen rapids
between casting off
and coming safe to land.
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