The Poet in Winter and other stories

 

aka the poet in need of a haircut (again) but it hardly matters what I look like these days. I was most flattered when my walking companion today wanted to take a picture of me. I should have known better. He wants to put it on WhatsApp with the caption, The Ghost of Christmas Past, but a gig's a gig, I suppose.

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This was going to be called I'm Still Waiting and other stories as I confidently expected Stage Star to put the finishing touch to the marvellous recovery from being 'behind the 8-ball' on the turf in the summer to being in front now but it wasn't to be today.

It might not be tomorrow, either, with confidence in Thyme Hill (Ascot 2.25) good but maybe not good enough to scrap the safety first strategy and lump on. We will see. We will get there before we've crashed out of Europe.

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Walsingham is a new hero after that book (below) turned into a gripping read. The poem Walsingham hasn't found its groove, vibe or other necessary feel yet but I live in hope as it's a poem I want to do. Apart from the main story, one also learns that Philip Sidney was named after Philip II, rather dubiously as it was wise to cover all Catholic traces at the time. But with Philip Larkin named after Philip Sidney, it makes Larkin effectively named after the King of Spain once removed. 

The new Derek Mahon book is taking its time getting here from Co. Meath but we can have a little Year in Review betting without it. It almost seems invidious to name a Best Poetry Collection anyway with the Mahon guaranteed to be fine, the O'Brien no disappontment and the Kleinzahler equally as Klainzahler as one could wish. With three such major favourites in contention I'm not going to deny it to any of them but will specify August Kleinzahler's Dance, Dance, Dance as Best Poem.

With so few events to pick from it's an obvious and commanding win for Angelina Kopyrina's piano recitals in Portsmouth Cathedral when we were briefly not so locked down. How welcome and tremendous in any circumstances they were needs any amount of hyperbole.

With a few good new discs to choose from, the sensational La Francesina, Handel's Nightingale by Sophie Junker is a glory in its own right and wins decisively.

I'm fairly sure I didn't read any new novels this year but since R4 Extra have been putting All Gas & Gaiters on on Sunday mornings again, there's nothing I enjoy more than that as a broadcast even if it is a fifty year old repeat and it wins wherever it turns up.

For myself, it's been a good year, giving up the day job to great effect and only agnast at how the days, weks and months fly by. Not writing many poems and not being much of a competition enterer, I found myself winner of one and short-listed in the other. Perhasps I should do more but if nothing suggests itself as a subject for a poem, I'm like a jockey without a horse.

I doubt if that's it for the year but, if it is, then, All Best Wishes and I'll see you when we do.