every poem, novel, recipe
and joke
exists quiet in the ether
the poet doesn’t create
she discovers;
with a notebook she uncovers.
a subterranean homesick miner,
reverse engineering the blueprints
of a universal designer
in a universe without life, does maths exist? does moral philosophy? do poems only exist after the are written? or are they just waiting to be found?
i spend a lot of time in the bath. at least once a week but ideally more. i’m always sort of faffing about, never quite relaxing, reading with the radio on while starting out the windows and rubbing my eyes. so i like a hot wet environment to sort of slow me down every couple of days. immobilised in the bath, i have a tendency to be quite creative. so much of the poem is written in the bath. i wonder how many creative works were conceived of in a hot bath. how many bars of music and novels that only exist due to the miracle of modern plumbing.
where do you find inspiration?
the love epochal. n.n. benn 