I sit here on my bed lying peacefully
My bookcase with my favourite books
At the bottom of my feet
About a half metre from the end of my bed.
The red curtains are closed and
The windows jammed shut.
The air is a little thick with
My restlessness and torpor.
I call it ennui and it is a
State of nothingness and helplessness
And feeling the need to do something
But being uncertain about what it is.
It is a heavy press on the mind and it is
I think, a reflection of dissatisfaction and
Unfulfillment, but at the same time
A sense of nagging responsibility and guilt.
No-one is here besides me and yet
I feel this presence urging me to do something
Which is oppressive in its weighing down.
It does not come completely from outside but
Rather within as if I owe it to myself. I wonder
If it is connected to my body. I don’t
Think so. It feels rather more connected with my mind.
My mind takes me to places like Court Green
In Devon, England where I feel compelled
To visit the two star-poets who live there with their little
Young daughter, escaping the rat-race of London and
Inhabiting this new huge dwelling
Surrounded by a graveyard, a church and a yew tree.
Having so much space suddenly, being able to call out
Loudly from one room to another
Without being heard, but somehow still feeling
Restless and rather isolated and not in tune with
The people around them. A dream house in a dream
Setting which proves to be a fabrication of the mind.
She feeling some contentment in finishing her first novel and
Feeling the poems- many good ones- unearth themselves and
He, her husband, feeling less secure, missing the brightness and hope of
The big city and being young enough still to be
Attracted to bright lights and like-minded people
And the cosmopolitan aspect of everything, not
Terribly domesticated and not fulfilled with pram rides
With his daughter and blackberrying and wandering
Around town, and a pregnant wife whose moods can
Alter very suddenly, whose own moods are very changeable, who
Is about to be lumbered any day with a second child which
Threatens harmony and promotes restlessness even further and
On top of this is about to be visited by another woman whose eyes
Are mesmerising and whose smile and body encourage all sorts of
Wild fancies and lustful imaginings and the promise of a
Much more vibrant and intoxicating lifestyle compared to
The steady and monotonous hum of regular and steady life at Court Green.
One holds fort like Penelope whilst the other
Searches for who he really is, desperate to
Rediscover who he is as well as his
Literary life which has lay dormant for quite a while,
He eventually forcing a rupture, obliterating the
Family unit in order to fulfil insatiable needs, her voice
Reaching its peak and hanging on grimly and precariously
As a candle that pretty soon is going to snuff itself out.