You know those moments when you just know you are where you are meant to be, doing what you are meant to be doing and everything slots into place and you have a feeling of perfect happiness?
Me too. Last night. South Bank.
I was late and I could hear the helicopter while I was still on Westminster Bridge. I am not supposed to run with my bad knee. But if you don’t tell the consultant, I shan’t either. And actually it feels ok today.
I reached the area in front of the Eye. Lots of people were milling about. Many of them ignorant of what suddenly happened. Poems were raining down on us to mark the opening of the Parnassus Poetry Festival. People were diving, leaping, running, competing for these bookmark-like pieces of cardboard. Then walking with them held in their hands. Watching the sky for the next drop.
When Pinochet was deposed and freedom of speech restored in Chile they bombed the capital with the poems they had not been allowed to say. It was a Chilean organisation that organised last night’s rain too. So every poem was in English and Spanish.
I had my point and squirt with me, but that’s no excuse for these poor pictures. Rather that I was too busy doing other things.
I didn’t give an impromptu performance of the poems that I gathered as this American student did. Continue reading