This week sees me piecing together fragments, little remnants of my shoe-making and some text found in a second hand book about magnolias and rhododendrons. The beginnings of something new methinks. I also went to a talk in Ludlow last night by Imogen Goldsmith-Du Fours, which was about Bohemian apparel and lifestyle. Imogen shared this wonderful poem by Rimbaud which has got me thinking about rustling stars and all kinds of tactile goodness…enjoy.
And so off I went, fists thrust in torn pockets
Of a coat held together by no more than it’s name.
O Muse, how I served you beneath the blue;
And oh what dreams of dazzling love I dreamed!
My only pair of pants had a huge hole.
–Like some dreaming Tom Thumb, I sowed
Rhyme with each step. My inn was the Big Dipper.
–My stars rustled in the sky.
Roadside on warm September nights
I listened as drops of dew fell
On my forehead like fortifying wine;
And there, surrounded by shadows, I rhymed
Aloud, and as if they were lyres, plucked the laces
Of my wounded shoes, one foot beneath my heart.