METHOD POET

 

as Britain’s foremost method poet

I immerse myself deeply

in any subject I tackle

I become one with my words

I disappear

 

for my revered epic

on barnacles

I attached myself

to the underside

of a peeling trawler

for four months

eating only ocean detritus

and phytoplankton

 

if you see me at times like these

and think it is me

it is not-

I have gone native

 

my life is essentially

dedication and sacrifice

striking a balance

between art and life

 

the first casualty

was my first wife

she didn’t understand

that for me to understand

office supplies…fully

I had to lie in a cabinet

for close on a year

living, breathing, being a Post-It note

I was rewarded

with the four finest lines

ever written about stationery

– and still she left me

 

you grieve, you hurt like acid

and you move on

the poems keep you warm

 

wife number two I met on location

I’d been a plastic bag and the moon

and I’d been the sea

now I was researching

the climatic impact

of festival goers on native plants

by attending Glastonbury

in the guise of a field poppy

she’d stooped

knelt over and smelt me

cradled me delicately

like I was new born

I was so overcome

I had to break character

 

if you catch me off-guard

I will tell you she never

loved me more

than when I was a flower

 

people ask how we cope

all this time apart

but she understands this is art

this is what I must do

 

occasionally I return to our house

and find odd things there

unfamiliar hairs

pressed into the bedding

photos from our wedding

placed face-down on the mantelpiece

a sock, strange keys

 

and I think these are props

objects that I once was or one day may be

 

and I’m again clinging on like a barnacle

once more I’m all at sea

 

copyright Ash Dickinson