If gale-force Fortune sweeps you off you feet,
let it; ride it; and admit defeat.
There’s no point in resisting; it’s too strong –
willy-nilly, you’ll get swept along.
Palladas. Tony Harrrison
It was an unseasonably warm October night. The high winds of the midweek had ceased and it was still. My own turmoil was resting, licking its wounds, trying to heal itself. This was the second time we had ventured out on a Saturday evening to see my favourite poet. The first time had been a wrong call; I got the month wrong. Perhaps my father was right when he insisted that I was dateless. My wife shares this acute judgement of the strange being that is her husband. A month late, but on time, I prayed that the firmaments were now in line.
The last time that I attended a reading of his poetry was almost thirty years…
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