Inner Space
Inner Space
in an octagonal tower, five miles from the sea
he lives quietly with his books and doves
all walls are white, some days he wears
green spectacles, not reading
riffling the pages – low sounds of birds and their flying
holding to the use of familiar objects
in the light that is not quite
Tom Raworth
That's one of my favourite poems. I think it's one of the best things I've ever read. I thought of it because I've just read Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. I picked it from my shelf a couple of hours ago thinking to read a chapter before bed. I read it all, and now I'm too excited to sleep. It made me think about how good things are often so simple. Things like - walking around the yard in my pyjamas as midnight because I like getting my feet cold when I can't sleep, and not worrying about being thought odd for doing so. It's not being thought odd that's a problem, in fact, it's when people feel the need to control what they see as oddity. Or think that you do something odd to annoy or attract attention. I hear people say of children "ignore him - he's doing it for attention" - as though wanting attention were a bad thing. It's a bad thing if it's done at the wrong time or place or in excess or because it's hiding other problems. But children are as entitled to just plain old attention-because-I'm-bored-and-fed-up as anyone else. If I want attention from my friends, I go and visit them, or phone them, or we chat online. Kids can't always do that stuff. So they attract attention in different ways. I think children deserve to be treated so much better than they are. I was reading the BBC website about child abuse, and that's an extreme form of what I mean. But I also mean - why should children have to wait outside for the bus to school in the rain and then stay in damp clothes all day? And why should children be forced to spend social time with other children just because they're all the same age? We wouldn't expect adults to put up with it. Children are more important than adults in so many ways, especially because what you say or do to a child can stay with them for the rest of their life. I remember being told as a child that I had been rude to ask to try someone's chocolate bar, and would not be given any chocolate as a punishment. My parents insist it never happened, yet I can see where I was (entrance to Swansea Market) and what the chocolate bar was (Double Decker) very clearly. And up until recently, I still found it difficult to ask someone for a try of something they're eating.
Apologies for this navel-gazing, Reader. My housemate tells me that blogging is narcissistic. Maybe it is, but I do it mainly because I enjoy it. I'm always a little surprised when people tell me they read what I write. Though I pretend to be cross with them for not looking more often!
The book also made me think about other things, including my previous post. Because in the eyes of the main character, biblical stories boil down to lies - a metaphor or a parable describes something in terms of something that it is not, which he sees simply as untrue. Call me stupid, but I'd really never thought of it that way.
It's been the week for strange news from home - today brought the announcement that my mother's ex-head of Faculty when she was a teacher has won the Lottery. Which is nice, and one feels oddly excited while knowing that in fact it has no personal effect whatsoever. But the infinitely sadder news was that an old schoolfellow of mine, having just married her long-term partner, woke up the next morning to find him dead beside her. And again, she's not someone with whom I've kept in touch, so there's no real personal meaning, and yet I feel so terribly sorry for her.
Okay, this is turning into a late-night ramble of little interest to anyone but the narcissistic author, so off I toddle.
in an octagonal tower, five miles from the sea
he lives quietly with his books and doves
all walls are white, some days he wears
green spectacles, not reading
riffling the pages – low sounds of birds and their flying
holding to the use of familiar objects
in the light that is not quite
Tom Raworth
That's one of my favourite poems. I think it's one of the best things I've ever read. I thought of it because I've just read Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. I picked it from my shelf a couple of hours ago thinking to read a chapter before bed. I read it all, and now I'm too excited to sleep. It made me think about how good things are often so simple. Things like - walking around the yard in my pyjamas as midnight because I like getting my feet cold when I can't sleep, and not worrying about being thought odd for doing so. It's not being thought odd that's a problem, in fact, it's when people feel the need to control what they see as oddity. Or think that you do something odd to annoy or attract attention. I hear people say of children "ignore him - he's doing it for attention" - as though wanting attention were a bad thing. It's a bad thing if it's done at the wrong time or place or in excess or because it's hiding other problems. But children are as entitled to just plain old attention-because-I'm-bored-and-fed-up as anyone else. If I want attention from my friends, I go and visit them, or phone them, or we chat online. Kids can't always do that stuff. So they attract attention in different ways. I think children deserve to be treated so much better than they are. I was reading the BBC website about child abuse, and that's an extreme form of what I mean. But I also mean - why should children have to wait outside for the bus to school in the rain and then stay in damp clothes all day? And why should children be forced to spend social time with other children just because they're all the same age? We wouldn't expect adults to put up with it. Children are more important than adults in so many ways, especially because what you say or do to a child can stay with them for the rest of their life. I remember being told as a child that I had been rude to ask to try someone's chocolate bar, and would not be given any chocolate as a punishment. My parents insist it never happened, yet I can see where I was (entrance to Swansea Market) and what the chocolate bar was (Double Decker) very clearly. And up until recently, I still found it difficult to ask someone for a try of something they're eating.
Apologies for this navel-gazing, Reader. My housemate tells me that blogging is narcissistic. Maybe it is, but I do it mainly because I enjoy it. I'm always a little surprised when people tell me they read what I write. Though I pretend to be cross with them for not looking more often!
The book also made me think about other things, including my previous post. Because in the eyes of the main character, biblical stories boil down to lies - a metaphor or a parable describes something in terms of something that it is not, which he sees simply as untrue. Call me stupid, but I'd really never thought of it that way.
****
It's been the week for strange news from home - today brought the announcement that my mother's ex-head of Faculty when she was a teacher has won the Lottery. Which is nice, and one feels oddly excited while knowing that in fact it has no personal effect whatsoever. But the infinitely sadder news was that an old schoolfellow of mine, having just married her long-term partner, woke up the next morning to find him dead beside her. And again, she's not someone with whom I've kept in touch, so there's no real personal meaning, and yet I feel so terribly sorry for her.
Okay, this is turning into a late-night ramble of little interest to anyone but the narcissistic author, so off I toddle.
posted by EJ at 1:00 am
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