This is the first in a series of guest blog posts by writers I admire.
Having enjoyed speaking and reading with her at The Aldeburgh Poetry Festival last year, I am especially pleased to have Beverly Rycroft as my first guest blogger. Full details of Beverly’s recent work can be found at the end of this blog post.
In the winter of 1984 I lived in London. Homesick, cold and tired, I glanced up in the Tube one day and read these lines:
Days I have held,
days I have lost,
days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.
The rush of heimwee (Afrikaans: homesickness/nostalgia) that I felt on reading Derek Walcott’s Midsummer, Tobago was triggered not only by missing my family in South Africa, from longing to be a daughter protected by parents again. The first stanza of the poem, describing the “white heat” and “scorched yellow palms”…
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