Just now I started humming Brahm's Lullaby - I hummed it yesterday at work to a baby I was rocking in my arms and it's become a bit of an ear worm - so far not annoying. It's such a sweet tune. When I started humming it tonight, our cat Aggie who is sitting beside me, looked up and started purring. Nice to have an appreciative audience.
I hauled these photos of Spring from my files of photos taken other years. (I haven't got my camera at present - see previous post if you require elucidation).
The first photo is of a plum tree in blossom. We have a few plum trees growing around here and on a warm day, the blossom fills the air with the smell of honey.
The second photo was taken at the city gardens, of crocuses dotting the grass like lit candles on a birthday cake.
Tonight as I hummed Brahm's lullaby, I was going through my poetry in preparation for Sunday afternoon's poetry reading at Bellamy's Art Gallery. The reading is part of Bellamy's Five - an art exhibition featuring several artists' interpretations of a chosen poem. It is run by Poems in the Waiting Room (Ruth Arnison, the organiser and director). (Dunedin people - check it out!)
Poets Emma Neale, Brian Turner and David Eggleton are also reading.
After a bit of deliberation, I have decided to read two poems from my book, 'Feeding the Dogs', two poems from my second book, 'Made for Weather' and four new poems from my third collection, 'Born to a Red-Headed Woman' - which I found out this week will be published in 2015. At last I have a date for publication - even if it does seem a mite interminable.
I feel differently about this reading than I did about the recent readings I did in Southland with Jenny Powell. For the Southland readings, I felt like I was at home reading to family in my living room. This reading feels more formal - as if I am reading poems to visitors in someone else's drawing room (which when you think about it is rather apt seeing as the reading will be held in an art gallery!) Sometimes reading poetry is not my most favourite thing to do.
I have been working most days this week. Working always sends me into a spin. The weekend is going to be a busy one too; no writing time for some days yet. In worried tones, I ask for patience from the characters in my novel as they lie unable to move until I start pulling their strings again. (For some of them this is no chore, they're patient sorts - but others are mad with me. These ones can turn petulant at the drop of a hat. They ask me why I have to work and just how much longer do I expect them to wait?)
At the hairdressers today I made an appointment for my next visit in six weeks and was advised to also make my pre-Christmas booking. Yikes! The year is slipping away so fast it's positively terrifying. (Maybe the 2015 publication of my third book isn't that interminable after all).
P.S. Next post I will dwell on the beautiful painting (and audio visual) the artist Claire Beynon did of my poem, 'life's work'. I love Claire's response to my poem. It is there to view at Bellamy's (MacAndrew Bay, Dunedin) along with all the other works.