Sometimes you have one of those months, or weeks, or days, when everything you've been working towards comes to fruition all at once, and it feels as if something magical has happened.
8th November. This was mine.
An interview with BBC Five Live talking about poetry and rugby and being given the opportunity to debut a new poem on air (airing at five minutes before the end of 'Up All Night' with Dotun Adebayo; publication of a short story on the Facebook page of 'Let's Get Crafting Knit & Crochet' magazine (LGC Knit&Crochet, if you're interested in reading it) which had many, many likes and some very kind comments, and a brief, great, review in the magazine, too.
But the highlight of the day was 100 Poets.
I've mentioned this previously; a poetry installation at the Carnegie Stadium ahead of the Rugby League World Cup match between New Zealand Kiwis and Papua, New Guinea Kumuls.
We gathered in a warm room set aside for our briefing. We rehearsed, chatted, ate cake. And then someone said that the NZ squad were walking towards our building and did anyone have a rugby poem to read to them?
Now, deep at heart, I'm a shy person, although most of the folk I tell this too tend to burst out laughing; I don't come across as shy, I don't look it. I'm just very, very good at pretending. But while I may not have confidence in myself, I do have confidence in my writing skills and, having been told independently that my poem 'Give Blood - Play Rugby' was okay, and given that I was about to read out to hundreds of spectators, and given that I knew I would never, ever, have this chance again, I grabbed my poem and ran.
The whole squad, shepherded by coaches and officials, was stalking towards me down the double row of pillars making up the Western Terrace. They were dark, brooding, their gamefaces stern. And they were ripped.
I drank them in, delighted, soaking up the spectacle; Sonny Boy Williams leading, flanked by the rest. I walked towards them.
'Gentlemen, I have a poem for you...'
And they all looked at me as I began to read.
Further along the terrace, others from 100 Poets were gathered. They may have been reading their own works; I didn't know; I was too far away, too in the moment. The timing was perfect; my last line coincided with the last man passing. I took a breath, ducked behind the pillar, and gave a very girly squeal.
I feel obliged to add that, although they looked at me, they looked at me as if I was an alien with two heads. A mad English lady of uncertain age, probably dangerously stalky.
A madwoman with a poem.
And more than half of them were wearing headphones, so I doubt they heard what I was saying.
But that's what being a poet is; believing that the important things is to say the words you have to say, and not care if nobody hears.
After that, the performance to the arriving spectators was a breeze. I loved every minute; I had one man stop and listen to all of the poem and thank me. Others listened just for a few seconds. But we were there, adding to the atmosphere, being a part of it. 100 Poets, the Kiwis, and me.
Yeah.
BBC Radio 5 Live interview; photograph from rehearsal for 100 Poets http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMZ-lfZr1X8&feature=youtu.be
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