We spoke about forgetfulness the other week, Linda Sargent and I. I forget why.
No, I had not heard of the poem Forgetfulness by Billy Collins. At least, I don’t think so.
Linda very kindly sent me the words after she got home, so I could read the poem. Thank goodness she remembered. Because I didn’t, until it arrived in the post.
It’s quite reassuring in a way, as it describes me perfectly. And I suppose it’s good to know I’m not alone in this. But whether or not us old and confused readers stand a chance of improving, I have no idea. Presumably not.
The page I received had a comment by Billy, mentioning people in their thirties, and people in their forties or fifties. He didn’t say anything about those of us a little older than that.
So whatever you do, don’t ask me if I’ve read anything good recently. Well, by all means do, but my reply won’t go further than ‘yes.’ If pressed for examples, I will be forced to turn to Bookwitch. She will know what I read last week.
So you might as well have looked there.
What about you? Did you have a nice Easter?