It’s me! I’m out of hibernation and raring to go. I even have a gig lined up but you can only come if you take all your clothes off. You think I’m joking. The lovely British Naturist Society are hosting an event at the Glenmorag in sunny Dunoon at which I shall be reading aloud. Pretty cool first literary gig, if you ask me.
I hope life is treating you well and that you are as excited about Spring as I am.
I re-discovered this poem today during my web wanderings and just wanted to share the loveliness and spread a little love.
As to my ‘regular Sunday blogs’ mentioned below, ahem, once in 2 years is still regular, right?
The opposite of a book festival
is not a book-burning,
it is indifference. Let them hear
us sing the difference. Love’s words
are louder, brighter than flames. Listen
I have watched Love’s sweat-earned words
plunge readers’ hands into
soft sweatpalmed lyrical hugs,
become part of an always us.
I have seen words introduce someone
to Love. Love is a work of art.
Novel. Novella. Epic. Poem. Story.
Love is an inveterate writer of letters,
emails and txts. I love Love, whose hair
is cut like a haiku, whose mind is epic
as a novel, whose hands are bright and
restless as a bookmark. I love Love.
Love is an us, Love shows us
life is an us. Listen, may this always
be the festival that loves
to make a difference. This festival
reminds us we belong with Love’s words
which, like village halls and ceilidh
places, are physical and inwardly
permanent parts of an us. Let us give
thanks to that which brought us to an us,
let us never forget that the opposite
of a book festival is not a book-burning,
it is indifference. Let us make a difference.