The Watch on Venus
It was a wondrous
experience, as night after night in a message area known as
'the Rubber Room' poem followed marvellous poem under the pen
name of Abernathy. Some of them appeared shortly afterwards
in Scribble, the Echo, each of them viewed with the same bemusement
and awe. Talent such as this does not, whatever the tabloids
might suggest, spring overnight onto the page, it takes time
to develop even the basic skills, however little time it may
take to throw the final sentences up on the screen.
The night I first
read the Grey's Song I wept. I wasn't thinking about the talent,
or the skill. I was unable to assess, analyse or do much else
but read. From then on the story took, I think, each of us.
We were engrossed, eager for the next poem, fearful that it
wouldn't match up, stunned by the convolutions. But above all
we were snared by the bardic gift.
''The Grey's Song
that some of us first came deeply in touch with a new and Dragonish,
order of compassion, insight, humour and cynicism. It may look
at first as if this is a simple short form half sci- fantasy.
Look again at these images of the human soul and the spiritual
adventure. Look again, and again, and again at history, myth
and the human memory- the solutions to these human problems,
the hints of them in the dreams, will not be possible until
we humans grow out of the playground we call practical reality
into the world of the creative dream.
Whatever he says,
the depths and wonders of The Watch on Venus cannot be blamed
on the contents of a tin can except in so far as those contents
let loose the contents of his soul and mind, let loose in us
the experience to see such things, and set free the talent of
a bard to understand their weaving, if only enough to find the
words..
