Friday 31 January 1975
Got told off by Chris for not writing to him.
a blogzine of investigative, exploratory, avant-garde, innovative poetry and poetics edited by Robert Sheppard
Friday 31 January 1975
Got told off by Chris for not writing to him.
I write about my Introduction (and therefore about the book!) here Pages: it's all come down to this by Paul Robert Mullen is out, with an introduction by me. and here: Pages: On a passage of Lutz Seiler and a lift from Billy Mills.
Paul's book may be purchased here: it's all come down to this: a retrospective [selected poems & writings 1999-2024] - Paul Robert Mullen - The Broken Spine.
The first is here: I said goodbye to Bo(ris), here, with a poem:
https://robertsheppard.blogspot.com/2022/08/final-extra-last-poem-of-english-strain.html
The second here:
And then, here, finally, finally finally, here here here: Pages: Robert Sheppard: A final final poem for British Standards! But, of course, it wasn't the final final. I think this is:
Thursday 30 January 1975
Dreamt that bloke next door (Lennon, N40 [student block, Norwich]) smiled and I talked to him. I was selling things.
[Years later he’s the model for the political
neighbour in my short story ‘Love Life’. See 'The Only Life' by Robert Sheppard
(41 pages) | Knives Forks and Spo]
Monday 27 January 1975
David, Me, and an unidentified girl walking down by a rough seashore. He disappears. She too. David has subtly left me to my masturbation. There is a tower there. Water sprays in. Suddenly a strange wave appears, bursting on the top [of the tower. There’s a diagram]. It falls through the tower to the ground as fire. I think David is inside.
David on phone with his mother, trying to phone his father. When he gets through he talks but I ring the phone off. I apologise; he accepts my excuse of an accident. They then forget the phone number because his dad changes his job so often.
An exterior scene of Southwick Square launderette.
Wednesday 22 January 1975
Mother is to be hanged. (Hawthorne.)
Driving around in car with Dad. She is in an estate of ruined houses, worn smooth like Yves Tanguy objects. An estate of dead houses with deadsky above.Monday 20 January 1975
With Tony, looking at pictures of Student Power of 3A.
Student Power of 3A. [This was a real thing. See my 1969 diary: Pages: Wednesday 19th November 1969: and here: Pages: Tuesday 25th November 1969: and other posts from around that time.]
Sunday 19 January 1975
In some sort of queue. Turning, I recognise Paul (balding). Then on beach with Paul’s friend. They say Josie Dunn’ll be coming. I rush to catch a train.
Bruce
Forsyth or Tony put in jail for a long time.
My
girlfriend goes to buy sensual underwear.
Climbing a ladder to get across railway; boy on top
topples it. I yell
and WAKE
UP.
Saturday 18 January 1975
Somebody told me I was going bald.
Dad
nearly caught me looking at dirty magazines.
Rhubarb.
Thursday 16 January 1975
Dreamt of TRUDY. I leant forward to kiss her, but she tried to put me off but finally succumbed.
Coincidence:
‘If You are But a Dream’ by Frank Sinatra on tape as I write!
'The tone is wildly satiric, as far from Wordsworth as one might imagine,' he says, before plunging into an account of how I have variously transposed Romantic sonnets. 'Sheppard moves towards a more measured mode, the humour giving way as the poetry realises the limitations of satire in the face of the unthinkable, which requires a different response: "Not everything true is funny. Laughter is slaughter".' I'm glad he registers this shift, which I try to reflect on performing the poems, a shift I'm not sure an audience follows (retaining the stuff they've laughed at. 'Now that he has reimagined and expanded the entire canon of the English sonnet,' Billy notes, too kindly, 'I can’t wait to see where he takes us next.' Yes, where next? Thanks for the push, Billy!
The review may be read here: (it's the second of my two books): The English Strain and Bad Idea by Robert Sheppard: A Review – Elliptical Movements.
The book may be purchased here: https://www.shearsman.com/store/Robert-Sheppard-British-Standards-p661920471
And I say a little about the book here (and there are a lot of posts on this blog about the collection; its progress was exhaustively chronicled): Pages: British Standards published by Shearsman - out now
Wednesday 15 January 1975
Woke up with ‘MILTON’ on my lips.
Monday 13 January 1975
Stephen in wheelchair. He runs but feels numbness.
He’s been a terminal cancer patient for years.
I
pity him. He meets another like him.
Sunday 12 January 1975
Julian and his wife. [Southwick publicans] Talk of ghosts. She goes white.
‘What,
upstairs?’
‘Yes.’
Julian
says it’s not at the Pilot, but at their training house for managers. Which is Grandma
Sheppard’s old house in Melrose Avenue.
Friday 10 January 1975
Talking to Maggie in a pub. Getting angry like I do at her for smoking, about the political torture abroad.
Wednesday 8 January 1975
Fighting for the Anglo-Saxons against the Normans.
Down a ditch [diagram of ‘Me’ in a ditch and the two armies at each side]. Had
to get back without getting killed. Go, I lit a fire, disappearing under cover
of smoke.
Tuesday 7 January 1975
Granny here. We say we want to watch a programme on
the TV. She says she ‘doesn’t mind watching intelligent stuff’ though she’d
rather watch ‘the funny coloured man on the other side’.
I go
along another path to avoid washing up.
I’m
at a crossroads. Forward the road continues. I turn right. I see a mud path
through woods leading up a steep path to top of hill.
Could
be half a mile high.
Sunday 5 January 1975
Walking through brothel area of town, I see a man
under a bus shelter with an erect penis; it’s hard, looks hairy. Nearing, I see
it is tobacco. There are lots of [derogatory word for gays].
Somewhere
‘ten little black children’ singing praises to the Union Jack.
Jonathan
[cousin] confesses as to having opened somebody else’s presents from [Uncle]
Bob.
Following
a female to my room (at university) she is dressed in white (like ‘Vision’ [a
poem of mine]). I can’t climb as fast as her. She shouts back. Suddenly there
is a small railway crossing. I get caught. She doesn’t. She lobs me a coat and
goes her separate. I go alone to my block. Vague now. David and Paulus in there
somewhere, I think.
Saturday 4 January 1975
In a Victorian room, a waiting room for my room
upstairs. But the Norwich Hell’s Angels [actually called Satan’s Slaves!] are
out there in the lift or upstairs.
In a
garden David Findon is gardener, in shorts, working at an incredible pace.
Waiting
again for the lift, but in a smaller, different room.
Look
in the glass and see TWO reflections of myself.
Friday 3 January 1975
Two doors. David or Chris (and/or possibly) goes
to one. It opens. A prostitute. I go to the other. David or Chris asks for a
cup of coffee. She laughs. He goes in. I knock on the other door. Another
prostitute. I go in. I do not want a cup of coffee.
Thursday 2 January 1975
Holding a baby.
Aunt
Marjorie laughs.
Dream Diary 1975
On the night following the day of
Wednesday 1 January 1975
Co[incidence, not a dream, I think]: Paulus said ‘What do you need an umbrella for in the middle of winter?’ and a light shower started – looking briefly – as he said it. | Taping Tony’s new year eve poem yesterday. | Dreams: Chris and I in some sort of dark graveyard. I lie on a grave with four names from four different periods embossed upon it. Chris is standing. Then a group of fourth year girls – two black girls on swings – it is some sort of art lesson. I talk. I am attracted to one of them (a white girl) behind me. Then Mr G. pushing an old figure in a wheelchair pushes his way through the crowd. Then I’m alone on a bus. (Going up Overhill?) (Was the playground in Downsway?) Also somebody said ‘Ezra Pound is rubbish.’
An introduction to the diary may be read here: Pages: Dream Diary 1975 Introduction to the project