Art's Trojan Horse

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The picture restorer’s invoice

Under honeysuckle sprays, a cinder path 

runs up to the barn and around its brick footings

to a thick archway of clipped privet, through which 

lies the picture restorer’s door. He stands mixing 

pigments with linseed oil, cleans brushes with turps

and stares intently at the painting before him.

A woman in rags looks up from the canvas 

to feet she has tenderly washed. At night

She licks a bowl in the stairwell’s shadow,

left there for her wellbeing. As usual, her meal’s

gruel. She is offered little but a goodnight kiss

and willingly binds wounds for peach stones.

Too soon the clatter of others’ laden breakfasts

drowns out dawn chorus. She has washed

his white dress, which has fallen from a nail

at the focal centre of this period piece.

A subtle tint of Western flesh turns her anguish

into something warmer but expressionless.

The craftsman clouds over with past’s varnish

and wearily writes out an invoice for his work.

Complete, he follows the cinder path round the barn,

under the pink and fragrant canopy to the yard

and lifts the latch to his terracotta tiled kitchen,

where the smell of Arabica coffee greets him.

His wife’s smile meets his. Her complexion 

Is olive-skinned, a brunette, Middle Eastern. 

He addresses an envelope, seals it with a lick,

kisses his wife’s forehead and counts his blessings.

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Stable Press, Haverhill Poetry Group, Ipswich Poetry Workshop and the Jubilee... with a poem, The Corn Dolly dole queue blues,' to round it off.

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From skimming the pit in the meat factory to riding the Lansing Bagnall across the factory floor, while trying to hang on to a dream.

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Back from Liverpool I returned to education, briefly, but was I born to tip my cap or was I a fire raiser after all?

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Called back to Liverpool from Clare, Suffolk, to help make a film. Here too is 'Something in the Air,' the Woodside Ferry and the reality of poverty in the city.

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The Haverhill Echo was an independent newspaper in Suffolk. Now long gone, I look back at my highs and lows working as a trainee reporter there in 1972

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Here is part one of my autobiography (1967-1971). This autobiography will cover my enthusiasms  in drama, art and poetry over the years. In part one, an English teacher saves me via a play,  a drama course makes me and a spell in Liverpool finds me eating supper with Adrian Henri.

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A diary exploring playwriting. In this edition: theatre courses, psychology in plays, 1968, Silent Witness and remembering Max Wall.

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A fortnightly diary on playwriting and culture. First episode: Line of Duty, the existential threat and writing an audio play. Coming up: my journey in staging a play.

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An appreciation of poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who died this week. Through him, I discovered poetry and a lot more besides.

Note: apologies for pronouncing the poet Rimbaud as Rambo - but hey, Rambo The Poet is quite cool...