Poetry Weekend
A few weeks ago I went to a poetry weekend near Rochester (on East Hill Farm). Here are a few excerpts from the journal I kept while I was away to give you a flavour of some of my time spent there… June 24 I’m just staring into bliss – ferns – a fan of trees hugging the pond on the other side. I’m dumbfounded or is it lulled by the beauty of this place. A very loud wasp is right behind me. The yellow irises are bowing to the pond – are they naturally this droopy or are they dying? Love and Death. Li-Young Lee says there are no other subjects in poetry – everything else is just dross. I’ll go and pick an iris – I must! There are so many stories afoot. When you’re out on a farm everyone has a story to tell. Apparently the population of deer is so high in Rochester that they eat all the flowers in the city. You can light the water on fire in the creek near Alice’s place – because of the natural gas. I also heard the story about the chaplain who was two hours la