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.
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