Forty years ago I started on a journey that I had been planning for at least a couple of years before that. I wanted to be a poet. I came to Oxford to study language. I liked to say, as a sculptor needs to know how stone cracks, a poet needs to know how language cracks. I studied language, I got married, divorced studied more, married again. Taught, worked in early IT and management training. Got British nationality. Got divorced again. I married my first wife so she could come live in the UK. I married my second at least in part so I could stay here. In both cases I was corrupt with nationality requirements. I held the corrosive components closer than was healthy. Worked hard. Drank a lot. For 20 years I barely wrote until some time around 2000. My dog died. I was made redundant. And, my marriage fell apart. Where I wanted to get to in this post was an understanding that if one wants to be remembered as an artist, they have to do their best to forget themself. As a part of a process that means, for me, I want to put the remembering of myself somewhere else than in my poetry. For the moment, that is here.
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