The time has come. I can’t put it off another day.
There are old poems and there are new poems. But some of the new ones feel old and some of the old ones feel new.
How have I missed Louis MacNeice on minor poets until now?
“The god of grump” someone called him on a FaceBook thread recently. Old Larkin, old love.
I was in Wigtown, Scotand’s National Book Town. And I have something to confess.
On Sunday evening, there will be a most unusual event. Probably unique, in fact.