Sailing Alone Around The Room (2011) - Plot & Excerpts
The fellow may be gazing over an English landscape, hillsides dotted with sheep, a row of tall trees topping the downs, or he could be moping through the shadows of a dark Bavarian forest, a wedge of cheese and a volume of fairy tales tucked into his rucksack. But the feeling is always the same. It was better the first time. This time is not nearly as good. I’m not feeling as chipper as I did back then. Something is always missing— swans, a glint on the surface of a lake, some minor but essential touch. Or the quality of things has diminished. The sky was a deeper, more dimensional blue, clouds were more cathedral-like, and water rushed over rock with greater effervescence. From our chairs we have watched the poor author in his waistcoat as he recalls the dizzying icebergs of childhood and mills around in a field of weeds. We have heard the poets long dead declaim their dying from a promontory, a riverbank, next to a haycock, within a copse. We have listened to their dismay, the kind that issues from poems the way water issues forth from hoses, the way the match always gives its little speech on fire.
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