Not my cup of tea
It’s Friday night. I’ve just had a few beers after a beauty of a run and the completion of stage 1 of the house move. I’m shattered. Had a wee sit down after it and finished off this book.
Didn’t take long. It’s only 50 odd pages and each page is just a single little poem about love in all its permutations. I’m not gonna lie to you here and there is no point beating about the bush.
It was absolute gash.
I just don’t get poetry. I try to look at them from different angles and from all the different layers that might be there. But it all just feels like free association writing to me. Like it’s been a random chain of thoughts that have been given purpose and meaning after the fact.
Actually, I know I’m wrong about this. If someone was to sit me down and talk me through what it all means I think I’d have a great time and learn loads. For example this poem from the book below. Please feel free to talk me through it in the comments.
Love
Love is talent, the world love’s metaphor.
Aflame, October’s leaves adore the wind,
its urgent breath, whirl to their death.
Not here, you’re everywhereThe evening sky
worships the ground, bears down, the land
yearns back in darkening hills The night
is empathy, stars in its eyes for tears. Not here,you’re where I stand, hearing the sea, crazy
for the shore, seeing the moon ache and fret
for the earth. When morning comes, the sun, ardent,
covers the trees in gold, you walktowards me,
out of the season, out of the light love reasons.
Apart from the content for the poem, what I find interesting and equally baffling is the unusual line breaks in the sentences. Does this mean something, does it add substance, is it just random bashing of the ‘enter’ key?
I read this book keeping my eye out for something that struck a chord with me that I might serenade the Mrs with. I am getting married in three weeks after all. But instead I was left scratching my head.
Rating: 
Next up is Animal Farm by George Orwell.
