and (Dear James)
it occurs to me now, just thinking out loud, that in a way Kenneth and Frank actually were Twitter, ahead of their time I mean, obviously, the jokey, in the moment repetitions and close-up examining of tiny yet grand experience, and those short poems, obviously, how they would have loved to have used it, I think (I think?), how at home they would
have been, especially tonally, I think they would have had a ball. But you, you were always slower, slyer, the introvert at the party in the corner looking for a way out or to the drinks trolley (and I love that), even though your poems could shift and swerve with the best of them, now this, then that, Oh, look, it’s tomorrow (again, already), all happening in the same time frame, or
purporting to be. I wonder what you did in between those shifts at the desk, not in terms of life/living, I mean did you worry that it might not come back tomorrow with only a page and a bit of Hymn to Life completed, how did you hold on to what you needed to say, or did what you needed to say just turn up like a cat padding under the table unannounced, that
high wire trick of trust in your self, your voice, your steel determination to get it down, quick, before time or death (or breakfast) could take it away. That is why I think (I know) I love June 30, 1974 so much, you didn’t let life get in the way, you celebrated it with every fibre even when nothing was happening and ‘I/ think I’ll make more toast’ is the greatest last line possibly
ever
Anthony Wilson 