Wednesday, August 02, 2006

sun schizo

Morning

My bed is juxtaposed so that the sun rises in my eyes. I face east and it stabs me hard when the day breaks, so I've decided the sun is schizophrenic because it's such a different creature at night. Low hips, seductive curves, an orange-red dress, and a longing to hide in the dark, behind trees, a desire to plunge in the sea... Love can be that way, and writing. I'm having dark days; my second novel misses my meddling but I can do nothing about it. The scent of the woman I love hangs around my bed, book spines peek from my shelves, colours hover on the edge of my eyes... distractions!

Quests
My attempts to get back 'home', tap into my thought movement :) and return to the manuscript have led me to dig out my Koo Nimo CD and get into his eloquent 'palm wine guitar' sound. Now, I selected a song from that CD for the radio programme (BBC) that was done on my first manuscript so I went back to listen to it (links below) and I didn't cringe as much as the first time. Regardless, the songs haven't worked so I'm reading a book on writing for children since I've had some interest from some reputable children's publishers in my work for kiddies. It's kinda been a good news week because the manuscript featured in the radio programme has finally gone out to a couple of amazing publishers and I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Might that have something to do with my inability to write... Hmmm??

Sound
Mmmm, heard some good sound yesterday from my good friend Randolph Matthews (great vocalist, constantly-morphing percussionist and guitarist), Orin Marshall (Tuba) and Zena Edwards (poetry and vocals) at a place called Cottons on Exmouth Market. Had some food too; the jerk was OK but the rice was a bit hard. I like my rice and peas to be, as we say in Ghana, 'smooching' - softer and slightly sticky. However, the woman whose scent hangs around my room was there and she looked breathtaking (I had to keep my distance for reasons best left unblogged) and I bumped into an old uni friend after like 8 or 9 years (yes, I am that old!), which was mad cool 'cos I miss hanging out with my friends. Writing has twisted me into an asocial beast that only emerges occassionally to terrorise silence.

Introspection
I'm not just a lone beast. I mentor a couple of young poets and I'm constantly telling them how 'dreamy' they are; everything they write has colours, dreams and love - come on! Now I know I've been unfair. It's a phase and they need it. My silent moments led me to look back and I found 'meself' in them. To prove it I expose myself in this 1996 effort, Dreams like Mine:

If I had
a feather for a pen
I would fly on its blue wings
to your arms
to be inspired
by a colour
only found in your eyes.

If there were
a rugged swinging rope
dangling from the clear blue sky
I would climb
closer to heaven
to escape
the pain walls around me.

If my life
were imagination
and not ravenous questions
I would smile
in the tapping rain,
run through falling snow,
make faces at stars,
race the midnight winds,
seduce a sandstorm,
dance with a whirlwind
to enrage the sun...
just to show you
dreams like mine.



Well, I guess from now I'll just shut up then!!


Radio Links:
Cost of Red Eyes Programme Part 1

Cost of Red Eyes Programme Part 2



what i'm reading/listening to


listening:
Osabarima by Koo Nimo


reading:
The Way to Write for Children by Joan Aiken

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