Love, Poetry and Revolution - Thursday 29th June 2023
Another start, though today I'm greeted by rain after a rubbish night's sleep, don't know if I was vocalizing. Perhaps not. The cleaner arrives, hotly followed by the bin men so I have to rush to take the non-fox proof rubbish bag out shortly after which the first carer of the day arrives. At times it seems that there are no hours of the day which aren't interrupted by an arrival or departure of one sort or another. It's going to be a busy working day, and, luckily, my access has been restored. This week's poem is rather different. It's not the use of words and the way they are ordered, more the emotional power of someone's memory. I don't think it's a favourite, but equally there is some echo or memory which evoked by the words. It's called 'Handbag' and it's by Ruth Fainlight: My mother's old leather handbag, crowded with letters she carried all through the war. The smell of my mother's handbag: mints and lipstick and Co...