Death hangs a long way off. Must I just wait
And pass my youth through to my greying days
In petty pastimes and misery for ways
Of life I dare not hope to live? My gait
Is twisted and my speech uncouth. I hate
The pity and the distance set around
By those who see and dare not know, so bound
By other's expectations. Am I too late
To live; to study how to learn; to try
And fail yet seek another way to give,
To gain myself? In this exchange the dry
Desert of my poverty may bloom - live
In undreamed ways - and the pain of fading
Hopes will disappear in life's rich trading.
Jonathan Griffith. August, 1977.
So, age 40, I wrote that sonnet on a creative writing course, in the middle of the night in floods of tears, as one has to with such nativities. It summed up my attitude to life that far. I’ve been ‘trading’ ever since!
The artist as a young man, aged 19. Took an age to get my hand to rest on my knee! And how respectable; suit, shirt and tie – knotted by Father!
At first I expect this blog will mostly be copy and paste from stuff I’ve written before, while I catch up with myself.