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       it was my turn to deliver the talk
       the presentation I had been working on all this time
       in a newly opened room with a stage and raised seating
       a performance room a lecture room the way of the future
       for Roan School back in the 1970s

       it was my turn to deliver
       I had been one of the students
       I had been one of the Young Men
       I had spent a long time preparing
       but I had done it with craft and care and honesty
       pencilled blocks of ideas and summary points
       scattered on different-sized bits of paper and card

       I didn’t really need the notes

       my long period of exploration and work
       had left me with a simple topic
       I started talking about Allen Ginsberg
       and had soon spent a long time already on
       William Carlos Williams a major influence

       the audience didn’t really want to listen
       but listened because they were supposed to
                 – my turn –
       I could slightly feel that I was holding
       less and less people’s attention
       (the way I do after my lessons start at school)

       there were one or two technicians moving around
       then an administrator and some men in dark polo shirts
       moving equipment making it difficult for the audience to focus anyway
       there were more and more support workers getting on with something else
       the audience started chatting among themselves quietly
       eventually there were as many workers as audience
       setting something up in preparation need to get everything right
       as ‘there was an audience for this’
       some of my audience were leaving thinking it had all finished
       and all the while I continued delivering my clever and careful construction

       eventually I allowed myself to realise
       that no one was listening anymore
       the preparation for the next event
       had completely swallowed the event which was my presentation
       mid-sentence I just stopped
       gathered up my papers
       and wandered out of the dream

       no one noticed that I had stopped




Allen Ginsberg wormhole: 1958
being wormhole: ‘I should never want for something to write …’
career wormhole: poessay I
doing wormhole: the / Four Noble Truths / on a train
dream wormhole: a written life
teaching wormhole: plaintive // plaintiff? // but not precious

William Carlos Williams wormhole: William Carlos Williams