A portion, of course, from East Coker ‘The Four Quartets’ by T. S Eliot, a poem in its entirety that continues to move and intrigue me as I spend my portion of life on an increasingly perturbed island on the edge of Europe, very much greater in it’s own mind than is realistic or desirable. But then in his words ‘Mankind cannot bear too much reality’
This is where I come in – reality is where I live and it hurts. I notice others can perform the human dance a lot better than I – there is a dissembling in order to accommodate and I find it a tricky route. I feel stranger than perhaps I am – a half century on feeling on the edge of a tribe, and never within it.. Even the one I produced myself , of which I am inordinately pleased with.
I would liked to have met Thomas Stearns, spent an evening of ordinary discourse, shared a bottle of wine and a meal. It’s not going to happen. But like Mr W.B. Yeats, he is as much a presence in my life as the living, and a very welcome one that.
I shall be raising a glass to both my companions, and feel gratitude that they were here – in their end was my beginning.