Saturday, January 16, 2010

I spent this morning in IKEA choosing furniture (or having it chosen) for my teenage daughter's bedroom. I spent this afternoon putting up a curtain rail in the same bedroom (yes, it took that long). I'll probably spend tomorrow assembling aformentioned flat-pack furniture. This is no life for a poet!

I remember reading that when WS Graham moved house in Cornwall, he left in only the clothes he stood up in and walked to the the new house. Sounds like a dream of freedom and simplicity. I hate to say it, but I'm more like Philip Larkin who wondered what he might have achieved if he hadn't written his poetry at the end of long working days.

3 comments:

John B-R said...

You're not like Philip Larkin, I could neve have worked a book fair with him. Or maybe that's what assembling IKEA furniture does to you. As for wondering about what you've accomplished, again, maybe that's what assembling IKEA furniture does to you. I hate assembling furniture. It's despair-inducing.

richard lopez said...

i hear you, alan. been there, done that and shall do it again in the near-future. i'm afraid ikea is bent on world domination and anna, who loves watching home and garden tv, lost count on how many home makeover shows feature pieces from ikea, even in france.

larkin, i think, would've boozily assembled the billy bookcase only if it could hold his porno stash.

as for me, i must confess, shopping at ikea and constructing, often at hours at a time, its products is part of my domestic bohemia. i got nothing against larkin. in fact, i like much of his verse, but i don't think he'd hack being a father, husband and poet too.

my back aches in sympathy with you.

Alan Baker said...

John, Richard, thanks for your solidarity. The furniture has been duly assembled without mishap. Actually, I don't mind doing it too much: follow the instructions and you end up with a desk or wardrobe. With poetry, there are no instructions...