Ik schaam mij!

Herinner je je nog dat ik [hier] schreef over het Knit a Poem project van de Britse Poetry Society? Heel enthousiast heb ik mij toen opgegeven voor de nederige taak een spatie te breien. En, geloof het of niet, vervolgens was ik dit rats vergeten. Ik dacht er pas terug aan toen de deadline al lang was verlopen. Tot mijn grote schaamte kreeg ik nu een email van de organisatoren om mij - en de anderen - te bedanken. Een stukje uit de e-mail:
{(...) Fuelled by endless cups of tea and generous slices of cake, volunteers were frantically stitching during the three weeks leading up to the unveiling. (...) The choice of poem seemed more and more appropriate as we laboured by singing light, to sew together Dylan Thomas’s beautiful poem – In My Craft or Sullen Art. “Wow! That poem could have been written about knitting.' (...). The poem was unveiled for its first moment of glory on the British Library Piazza, London, on the morning of 7th October. The weather forecast was atrocious, with torrential downpours expected. Despite advice to cancel, we kept the faith, and miraculously the storms held off long enough to roll out the 13x 9m woolen marvel for a few exhilarating hours, while the press queued up to take its photograph. Thomas’s daughter Aeronwy gave the project her blessing when we approached her with the idea; and she had hoped to be there to unveil the finished knitted poem. Sadly, Aeronwy died in July, and our thoughts were with her as we stitched those beautiful words into place.}
Meer foto's vind je hier en hier. Een breispelletje met de letters hier.
In My Craft or Sullen Art
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
Dylan Thomas