Personality and personal history are the forward wake of memory. How is a snakeskin like a poem? A really good poem is the sloughed off skin of a snake. Less than a year ago we found a black Mamba skin in our garage. It was warm and delicate. It was slippery and lacy at the same time, and it still held something of the form of the snake. I phoned the neighbours. 'What should we do? There's a black mamba nest in the garage somewhere.' 'There's nothing you can do, they said. Nothing. Nothing. Just put the snakeskin in the bathroom and admire it when you brush your teeth.' A really good poem should be slippery and lacy to the touch and it should take the form of a snake. It should cause you to be alert and to look thoughtfully into shadows. A childhood friend of mine is an artist: Simon. A decade ago, in Mexico, he showed me pictures of his paintings. They were of large interlocking earthworms painted in homemade colours: ochres, browns and red
Left wing commentary from the heart and the head