These thoughts stayed with me as I set out to assess the effectiveness of my recent attempts with language.
Perhaps I was hoping that some of the symmetry of the date (14/1/14) would inspire my poems with a discernible patterning. Perhaps also in reaction to my internal censor I had a feeling to go maverick, to rebel against this niggling know-it-all voice. So, across my front room floor, I made a carpet of my poems, drafts and ideas. Somehow I needed to see all the material I had - perhaps to get a sense of the shape of it. And I think it was also that I had a feeling that the language was shouting out to me - I just needed to sit down for a moment in a quiet space and listen to it. So I did.
Passing off those doubts of not being able to do justice to the language, of being wrapped up in wanting to let the language speak for itself, while knowing I have to handle it in some way - I came to the realisation that, once I sat quietly and listened, in this instance, it was my own voice that I was hearing and because it was my own, that explained why I had been missing it. In amongst the array of voices spreading out around me, I hadn’t thought to be listening out for my own.