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| Cupid and Psyche, late 18th or early 19th century, in terracotta
. Claude Michel, 'Clodion' (1738-1814). Photograph by Barry Green. |
Why this blog?
For many reasons, among them the perceived need to separate the fundamentally literary stuff from the more personal issue of grief. Another reason: because I'm about to quit my job of 4 years and will have (should have) more time for myself. Yet another reason: because I want to challenge silence, and throw the gauntlet to indifference. Yet another reason: boys don't cry?
Why the name?
It comes from one of my poems, the second of the 'Four Sonnets' I wrote
in 2010 and published last year, in what was an attempt to describe the despair
and hopelessness I felt after waking up from the most beautiful dream I have
had since Clea died. (By the way, mostly, they've been nightmares, not dreams).
But in this dream of mine, Clea and I were again playing, she was chatting to
me in that giggly girly voice of hers, I was once again holding her arms and
spinning her around the way I used to do when I dropped her at school in the
mornings – Clea just loved that. Timeless swoon defines the state I’d prefer to
be in: an endless sleep where everything is right again, where my life is the
way it was before 29 September 2009, a dream from which I would rather not wake
up, not ever again.
Why in English?
Why not? I'm not afraid of words, are you?
What will appear here?
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