Running without end!
Anadi and I were running along Bankside by the river Thames – approaching Southwark bridge – ten miles into our Sunday Adventure, when I spotted a poet sitting on a chair -his typewrite on a table in front of him.
The sign said ‘Poet for Hire’…
We’d almost run by, when I said to Anadi ‘I’d like him to write a poem for me..’
And so we went over and chatted a bit – and I hired him there and then!
I asked him to write about my running bare feet – running along – and I told him the plan they have!
The clackatty clack of his typing reminded me of my childhood, hearing my mother write letters, and stories – and other things…
I started to learn on her typewrite to touch-type too, but didn’t get much further than the ‘scales of typing’ ‘asdfgfd’ ‘;lkjhj’ – and then trying to type ‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’ with all the proper fingers, using all the letters of the alphabet…
And so we stood there while Luke Davis, ‘my poet’ for a few minutes typed me a poem straight from within him.
Out it came onto the page, clickity clackatty clack clack clack…
And then he pulled it out of his typewriter and handed it to me to read…
‘I love it’! I exclaimed…
‘Would you be in my video?’ I asked ‘And would you read it?’
He read it exactly as the poem was meant to be read – poetry needs to be read out loud – and by the actual poet who wrote it is beyond words to describe …
It felt like bumping into William Wordsworth while out for a morning run – he out for one of his walks and him sharing with me what he had just written down – reading it out loud to me…
“Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
at noon, the bank and hedge-rows all the way…”
And this is what Luke wrote about me and my feet when I hired him for a few magical minutes…
The force transmitted through it,
against the skin of it, the rock beneath the feet,
the curve of earth, the London clay, yielding
the weight, echoing with the
footstep, the rhythms of
with fleet deer, with galloping horse, with
sly fox, running
with the birds
through meadow where wild flowers incline
their heads towards the sun
through streets paved with York stone
curbed with granite up
where gorse and heather grow
up and down the spine of the land
tors where bone breaks the skin
moors where the land is treacherous and
boggy and ponies play
running with the breathing deep and steady
the heart excited and feeling of
life itself, electric in the veins
tasting the wind and outpacing it
running for the joy of it
Running without end!