Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Not My Tuesday Poem
I have called this 'Not My Tuesday Poem' because sadly I have had to sacrifice my part in the Tuesday Poem enterprise. Mainly it's for the sake of my writing - especially in the interests of the collection I am cobbling together at the moment. Like all the enterprising couples who convert old barns to beautiful homes in that TV programme 'Grand Designs', this collection is taking 'much longer than first predicted' ... and so I need to give it some serious focus and divest myself of beautiful distractions.
I have enjoyed my stint at Tuesday Poem (it has indeed been a beautiful distraction) and I wish everyone involved in taking it even farther forward, all the very best.
The photo above is at least seven years old. It is of me outside the Katherine Mansfield House on a very wet Wellington day in May. There is a better photo of the house (plus info.) in this Wikipedia entry about KM.
After my visit to Katherine Mansfield's home, I wrote a poem about it. I have decided to air the poem again after word of Kathleen Jones' book about Katherine Mansfield jolted my memory of my own visit to the Mansfield house, and the poem I wrote about it.
Katherine Mansfield is an early twentieth century writer who was brought up in New Zealand, before moving permanently to England and living there for the rest of her life. She is one of my favourite writers.
Katherine Mansfield’s house
I imagine Katherine nowhere
to be seen.
Her childhood home
is full now of stilted reverence,
dark skirting boards,
stairs and of course,
in the wash-house
on the window-sill,
the dried-out, blue-bag.
It has hush, china, writing stuff.
It has the strain of time.
Outside a small garden
leaps and bounds bright
inside its borders
despite the hiss of rain.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
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