Charles Bukowski is an interesting chap. He intrigues me but I gather from friends who have ventured deeper into his smoky, whiskey-soaked world, that I may not particularly like him if I get to know him too well. Which is why I’m inclined to keep my distance for now.
As the western world turns a judgemental eye on the ‘beach bodies’ of the world, I’m reminded of this wonderful poem by Joyce Sutphen. Sadly I am not sunning myself on a beach here or abroad but I have been conscious of how much strain I’ve been putting my body under this year. I am conscious, mostly, because my body has been sending me gentle reminders that I am not superhuman – it need sleep and fruit and much more movement than it currently experiences on a weekly basis.
This poem has cropped up again and again in both my professional and personal lives, and every time it makes me stop and think and soak it all back up again.