Summer Hill PO

There’s nothing worse (well, there is, but still) than this: the last book done; its projected successor in limbo (publishers don’t want it); no clear way to embark upon the next one. Do I even want to write any more? I could retreat to the shoreline somewhere and re-inhabit my lizard brain. Just professional woes I suppose. I am in what James K Baxter called ‘great dryness of mind’. I turn, as so often before, to Beckett:

Echo’s Bones

asylum under my tread all this day

their muffled revels as the flesh falls

breaking without fear or favour wind

the gantelope of sense and nonsense run

taken by the maggots for what they are


– construe that, if you can, begorrah!


pic by Maggie Hall, May 29, 2017, on Smith Street


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s