'What do you do' asked Tom, 'if you get poems from people who are way over and above you in intellect and ability?'
Regarding Tom's question.I was somewhat heartened to read this interview with Martin Lammon, whose work I don't know, but who seems to be one of the most driven perfectionists and compulsive revisers of his own work. He says that these days he often shows his work first not to his seasoned old poetical cronies, whose reactions have become a little predictable. but to younger and/or less experienced writers, whose honesty and freshness of response he feels he can better trust. Hopefully, hard work and a little humility, the real kind, not the false, self-denigrating, little me, easily over-awed stuff, will go along way.
Anyway, as you can see, she's got a really cool camera and she's not afraid to use it, so I daresay there'll be some sumptuous shots over at hers. I rather thought I didn't take much in the way of photos when out and about with other people, so I only had cheapcam with me.
However, I'd never been out with another blogger in the presence of rockpools, and we soon both became very absorbed, much to the unappreciative puzzlement of our pooches, who didn't see the point.
Barley walked on this stranded jellyfish, then Molly had a go - no they didn't get stung, Mol didn't really touch it. I don't know whether that improved the compositional arrangement or not.
Indeed, so absorbed were we that we failed to notice the tide coming in; I was irritably trying to remove pieces of waving sea lettuce from above an interesting anemone, when I became aware that as fast as I tried to push it out of the way, more of it, accompanied by volumes of seawater, was rushing in. Molly and I made a big jump, Gill and Barley a big wade. Still at least I didn't lose my trousers, wallet, ID card and ten euros. (Family joke, I won't identify the person to whom this happened to avoid humiliating my male sibling.)
The dogs were really very well-behaved and patient; Barley only tried to bowl Molly over once at the beginning and didn't do it to any people except us, and Mol only growled at Barley twice. Barley ended the occasion by running off and rolling in nicely fermented cow slurry, but that was just before we got into our separate vehicles and went our separate ways, so I was prepared to overlook it.
Finally, my lovely sister-in-law ( not to be confused with my lovely sister; my range of epithets is not great and they are indeed both just lovely), who tells me she reads this on the quiet, sent me these pictures of a white peacock, because they reminded her of the dandelion clock in the last post. I don't know who took them, but I thought they were too beautiful to keep to myself. I feel uncommonly blessed that there are people in my life who think of me, read my blog and send me picture's of white peacocks.
So now I shall print off a mountain of qarrtsiluni submissions in order to take them outside in the balmy spring weather and peruse them there, using scrap paper from work but while Tom's not paying attention enough to upbraid me for using too much ink. One still reads more attentively from paper, I believe, than spending too much time at the screen.
Thanks for bearing with me, and I'll see you all as soon as I can.