Missed a day again. An old friend in hospital, sudden phone call from her husband. Took Coetzee along, instead of poetry. Didn't get to read anything anyway. Went again today. She'll recover well.
Am now reading my fellow students' sonnets for tomorrow's critiquing sessions. Ran into Kay unexpectedly at Aro Video, told her of our experience with a possum in the Cobb valley. I should write the story.
On my desk a book by Richard von Sturmer, entitled Suchness, Zen Poetry and Prose. Published in 2005, by HeadworX Publishers (NZ). Funded in part with the assistance of Creative New Zealand. Wonderful photo on the cover. Reminds me of the first photo I ever took, of snow and a river, one of my best photos. Beginners mind. Mysterious poems, interesting essays towards the back.
Have not had time to settle down seriously with this book, lent by Bill. Shall take it along tomorrow and see if I can keep it longer. Stupidly, instead of reading the book, phoned the Porirua von Sturmers in the phone book. He lives in Auckland.
My desk is swamped with bills, and other must-do things not related to poetry. The house has not been cleaned since we got back.
This morning lying in bed, cosy and warm, an almost perfect haiku formed itself in my mind - totally gone by now (it is evening). I wonder at the complete confidence I had then that the words and idea would remain, and at the equally overpowering certitude that they are gone forever, which is what I am experiencing now.