What do I live for? Poetry, I would have to say, now that I am living alone and no longer live for my relationship. Poetry has been the thing practically all my life really, the thing that has gone on alongside the relationships, alongside the adventures and joys, and problems and failures, and all the whole conglomeration we call life. It's the constant.
It probably keeps me from killing myself — not that I am suicidal, but maybe I would be if I didn't have poetry. As it is, if something causes angst, I am liable to start writing about it instead of going for the razor blades or sleeping tablets.
Poetry. Reading wonderful poems by other people, yes; and also making poetry, the thing I have given my life to. I live for poetry because it has given life to me. Well, in a way. I suppose that sounds grandiloquent, and also anatomically ridiculous. Nevertheless.
I can't imagine life without poetry in it. What do people do, I ask my fellow poets in times of grief or stress — people who haven't got poetry? How do they cope?
Other joys get me out of bed. The cats, a sunny day, a visit from friends... But poetry is the great essential that is always fresh, never boring or tiring — not to me (and what it does to others is none of my concern).
It is the crown on life, the meaning to it, the approach to God.
This post is part of an online event to celebrate the re-launch of Fiona Robyn's writing career under her new name, Satya Robyn.