A poetry workshop

Yesterday I attended the Ruth Padel's workshop in the afternoon. Did not have any idea what it was for; learned it was a workshop for writing poetry. Got interesting points, really, have them written down in a notebook on my desk (I shall put them here so I won't forget). Arrived the last and got the chair next, very next to her. Has the eyes of H., careless dressing -as common in artists, I guess- and, at some point, she took off mechanically her shoes_ a hole, big hole, a billion light-years across in her sock. And so, her toes were wriggling happily. A peep-sock, instead of a peep-shoe.

Padel's hands were neat for a woman of her age, slightly bulged in the fingerjoints and had thick blue veins crossing over. She has naughty nails, mine are of the kind, as well. Like the mischievous one in a pair of twins, you have the nails clean, but they, themselves, come back home at night in a mess. I guess, the nails of an artist.

She asked us to write a poem under the following conditions: verses 1-4: you are in a kitchen (your mother kitchen, I was free about it), there is something green and something dead; verses 5-6: describe what you see through the window; 7-8: someone/something comes in; 9-10: someone says something; 11-12: something physical happens; 13-14: free ending.

And this is what I came up with, twenty minutes later:

1. The night is out hunting, I know.
2. But inside, the clock is ticking silence [she corrected something here].
3. [something about eating salad that I don't remember now]
4. Beside the sink, above the counter, away from the window-door [or something like that]
5. Just now -I don't mind- allow myself to sit blind,
6. and even the dark dawn is too dark to be seen.
7. If only she came to me now,
8. came and walked one, two, three little steps,
9. I could try to say what I should have [said, correction here].
10. But she, oh, she! Shhh, would keep me quiet and hypnotized.
11. The Universe would at once heave in two,
12. And the inner worlds would part with a tremendous sound.
13. [something I don't remember at all here]
14. Silence and time could take us away.

**

There were curious, different people out there. For example, this guy, with a hair-do like in the 60s, very dark hair, very well-gelled, combed very neatly _George McFly. He wore this black-framed lenses, and had a couple of small eyes retreated behind the glasses, but restless -although not anxious- when looking for the right word to say. His whole left arm wore a titanic tattoo, from wrist to shoulder. And spoke in well-tempered, baritone voice, probably somehow imposted. At first sight, he got me very interested in his presence and himself.

And I remember I wondered, and I wrote down: how the hell these people behave, speak, do when they buy a kilo of bananas in the super? How do they look like? How is their voice? Wouldn't they think what is the cashier thinking of me? Or... How do they argue with their wives? When all magic, all mystery, all truce is gone...? What a pity, what a disappointment if this paraphernalia is only a pose!

Maybe, we are all alike, in different clothing and skin.

What I should do is talk to this people... . And learn whatever is to be learned.

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