Recently it occurred to me that I have no idea who may (or may not) be reading this blog. I’m finding that thought a little eerie. Obviously I like to think I have hordes of avid readers… Hordes of quietly respectful readers who like to keep to themselves… However, there have been no comments lately so I began to feel I could actually be talking to myself. Happily I now know there’s at least one of you out there (morning Teo!).
Not that I mind really. At the beginning I decided I’d do this for my own pleasure. I love words. Writing has always given me joy but I’ve never wanted to ‘be a writer’. It’s enough for me to spend time playing with words, trying to form a pretty sentence or two, laying my thoughts out in black and white. If one or two people read my words and like what they see then my initial pleasure is increased and that’s all I want. I don’t need to be published. I wouldn’t want to make this into work.
‘Wordsmith’ – isn’t that word glorious? The idea of crafting language. Taking raw words and fashioning them into something of your own design – something unique or beautiful. I aspire to that – to be thought a Wordsmith!
This week I have mostly been reading poetry. My preference is for well crafted prose but Mo has introduced me to some of her favourites. I have been particularly taken with the work of Pauline Prior-Pitt, a lady well-favoured enough to reside on the island of North Uist – I once visited this fine island by mistake (mixup with ferry times) and was so taken by lovely Lochmaddy that I stayed for some days – anyway this fortunate lady visited a favourite beach every few days for a period of about 3 months. Each time she would compose a small verse inspired by the view – describing wind, waves and weather. Most of the poems are gentle, filled with love and beauty but then, in January, there came a storm. In the aftermath she wrote the fantastic poem I posted last week. There is some really evocative language here. I particularly like: ‘Houses shook in the suck and push of it’.
After the storm the book contains one more verse. The mood has changed. No more love and gentleness – now she views the sea with anger and fear and perhaps a sense of betrayal. It’s a great little book and I look forward to receiving my own copy in the post.
Lastly, here’s my favourite website of the week: Gates of rural Portugal