Somniloquy

Shared dreams in the Morris –
snowbound and silent.

I saw you in silhouette
and I loved what I saw.

Illuminated briefly
I saw still further
and loved still more.


(For F.)


22 January 1984
 
 

By 1984 F. and I were a thing. No one knew what kind of a thing—not sure we did—but it was impossible to hide there was something between us. She, as I’ve said already, was still technically married and, at least at the start, I might’ve been too; I’d have to check the dates. Either way we shouldn’t have been anything. But that’s the trouble with things. They just want to be and there’s not much you can do to stop them.

We decided to go to the pictures in Glasgow, out of the sight or prying eyes. I have no idea where I got my hands on a Morris and I couldn’t even tell you what model it was but none of the images on Google look right. Suffice to say we drove to Glasgow—the La Scala on Sauchiehall Street (long gone)—and as we left it began to snow and heavily. About five miles from home it was obvious we weren’t going to make it and so I put the car in a spin (I must’ve been mad to attempt that) and headed back to the nearest settlement. So, technically (that word again), I’m not sure we were ever snowbound. We found a pub where it was obvious a lot of others had had the same idea and we waited on the snowploughs.

People write poetry for many different reasons and one is certainly to commemorate significant events. The events of that Saturday night weren’t the most memorable—we didn’t cross the Rubicon or the Delaware or anything—but they form a part of the fabric of my life. Most of the poems written about this time were never really written for public consumption; I, although I never realised it at the time of writing, was only ever going to be their ideal reader. I wonder if F. still has her copies.