Sunday, July 11, 2004

To Jukka, on holiday in Heinola

There was an owl in the
garden last night, showing up
as a moving patch of grey
in the dark hollows between
the palmtrees. It paused
on a low branch about
two metres above the ground
& ten metres from where I sat
having a cigarette. Turned
its back on me when I turned
a flashlight on it. I haven't
got around to planting
bananas yet; but the
pineapples are coming along
in that piece of what was
overgrown undergrowth I
cleared especially for them.
Several varieties. No fruit yet,
not even a central stalk; but
the leaves are glossy green
& increasing in size. All this
from the small piece of core
that remained when the crown
was twisted off. Plugged into
the soil. Watered well. How's
it going in Heinola, fixing
the cabin, digging the well?
Hope you don't get blisters on
your palmpilot hands. Holiday
cabins in New Zealand are
generally built near the beach.
You'll love what the local name
for them is. Pronounced "batch"
but spelt "bach". I've sent Eileen
the bionotes & a short publicity piece
called "A True History of the
Oracular Sonnets". So everything's
in place. I'm leaving for Auckland
in a couple of days, off to be a
public poet for the first time in
thirty years. You gone north, me
going south. Even closer to our
respective Poles. But what's
another thousand or so kilometres
between friends? Distance is a
relative thing. Will write again soon.

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