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Book details
  • Genre:POETRY
  • SubGenre:General
  • Language:English
  • Series title:One Hundred Poems series
  • Series Number:2
  • Pages:144
  • Format:Paperback
  • Paperback ISBN:9781543932799


The White Scum That Floats in the Surf

by D. L. Forbes

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Here one sprawl in the symbolic surf of life, emblematic one might say, bobbing about with the flotsam of one-hundred perhaps amusing, weird, poem-like erections and excrescences, jetsam sodden on paper. These poetic leakages span a period of over thirty years and are not cast chronologically or on merit, but taken roughly at random as a drifting sampler from my notebooks and journals; poems that drew my interest or particular remembrance.
Someone told me – myself, I think. Yes, my self, for whom else would I take any notice? "Your poems," I said to me, "many are pretty much self-obsessed, aren't they; all about the very special, unique, joys and tribulations – though mostly tribulations, of being you. Not too much 'Every Day' humanity going on in your writing, is there?" "Yes, you may be right," I told me, "but 'Every Day Poems' they most certainly are, for this is one's life when one happens to live as a neurotic, anti-social, extrovert, introverted invert who writes poems in private, personal diary-form over many decades, and then decides to slap some of them together in poetry-book-form. Not much getting away from the self in a diary, is there? Not too much chat about politics and social reform either, particularly with so much intrusive self-yakking going on all the time. "I wish I could say, I am ready at last to step up and out, volunteer and do good altruistic works for humankind, but that would be a sham, because quite frankly deep in my heart of hearts I don't give a rat's arse." "Yes, no," I replied, "I think you are right." I took myself out for coffee, and we sat in the window of the café watching the other people's world go by: disinterested, ironic, separate and melancholic, but also taking in everything around us, amused and appalled, playing our game of stripping the people to the bare bone and beyond. "There now," I suggested after a time, "don't you feel better, having unburdened and faced up to your-me-me-me self?" "No, I cannot say I do," I confirmed, "but I think I will leave you now and return to my solitary room . . . I would like to be alone." "Yes, okay . . . me, too." So there I am, you see – we do have a few good times together, me and I; and life not entirely angst ridden . . . though life in general is, for all people that on earth do dwell.
About the author
D. L. Forbes works as an artist & writer & resides in Northern California Western Scotland & Southern England
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