November Diary: Stop all the Clocks

Funerals / Little Stars / Winter

Nov 29, 2024

Books Read: Loving Sylvia Plath: A Reclamation by Emily Van Duyne, Dream Story by Arthur Schnitzler, The Obscene Madame D by Hilda Hilst

Podcast of the Month: Frank Skinner’s Poetry Podcast

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,” wrote W H Auden; a poem referenced in popular culture, most notably in Four Weddings and a Funeral.

And my November begins with two funerals in the space of a week. Two people in my family became stars again. C stopped traffic with her carousel of mourners, and the birds stopped chirping for F. I wonder why we wear black at funerals: then I find out. I think of Queen Victoria (in her permanent mourning of Prince Albert) in that footage from 1900:

For days I try to write a poem. I draw connections to different words in my notebook—to no avail. Then, the election comes. The orange man is back in power, much to everyone’s chagrin. I write Ghazal: Mono America. Everyone seems to like it for its sheer anger. A Ghazal is a tricky form because of the repetition; it can get boring if you’re not careful.

When I started writing at a young age, I was a fiction writer through and through. I did enjoy writing a poem for a class assignment, but it wasn’t until I was seventeen that I threw myself in at the deep end. Today, poetry consumes my entire being. I still adore fiction—often writing the occasional story—but poetry has my heart. I want to have the staying power of Auden, Plath, Yeats, etc. I shall never know, of course, for I will be a pile of old bones.

Ever since my parents’ divorce, the pain of nostalgia has grown. I have vivid memories of us flying kites in the countryside, playing shop on Friday Film Nights, travelling to my grandparents’ house on Christmas Eve, and other ones. It hurts me to know I will never experience these things again. Due to circumstances, I can only discuss these memories with one parent. I’m three years away from turning thirty, and I feel as though a part of me is stuck in the star-studded past. My upbringing was full of magic and laughter.

At Christmastime, my father would jingle his keys in the front of the car, and I would believe it was Santa Claus. In our area, the rotary club used to send Santa on his sleigh round to the different streets: the lights and music could be heard / seen well before they got there. I would run down the stairs to get a pound coin from my mother, run outside, and give it in exchange for a lollipop.

Then there was the Christmas fete at my school. I always remember decorating the jars of sweets for people to guess. We used glitter, sticky stars, tinsel, and fairy dust. I see our silhouettes walking down to the school, hand in hand. There I would see my friend, M, who I met when we were both three years old.

Christmas was always always a special time. This was until the time of the divorce. After that, every Christmas has come with death, upheaval, sickness, or some other devilish spoke. I hope to find the magic once again. When I do, I will watch the things I did as a child: Mickey’s Christmas Carol and Tweenies’ Christmas Specials. The short film, Small One, before Mickey was absolutely heartbreaking, and it still is! It came as an extra with my VHS tape.

On the 18th of November, my baby brother is born. This makes him a Scorpio Sun, Gemini Moon, and Libra Rising! Arlan was born at 4:23am! This prompts me to write an acrostic poem for him:

Across the river of milk fats and carnelian comets, you came bounding like a
Rune of the Earth; playing hopscotch with the moon.
Like a supernova you emerge from star-stuff and a pulsating organ.
Aloft in antiseptic spheres, you—Arlan—are the sunbeam calling out for magic.
Needle to the dark; fists full of Neptune, we anticipate your dragon-roots.

My first gift for my little star is a book of children’s poems, edited by Roger McGough. Arlan shall grow to love Literature just like I. There’s Rossetti, Eliot, Tennyson, McGough, and more!

When I was in Year 6, our teacher—Mr. Bruce—read Carroll’s Jabberwocky to us. I remember how I felt hearing this fantastical poem. Growing up, Literature was exciting! My entire life was surrounded by my daydreaming of magic. Even in school I played little films inside my head.

I wish I could find some of my school books where I wrote little poems for class. I also wish I’d have kept my creative work from when I was a child. Unfortunately, because we moved house in a bizarre way, I didn’t get a chance to collect all my belongings. Just know that I was writing little stories from a very young age.

I have gained a few more paid subscribers. I would like to thank those of you who were able to do so! The money I receive really helps me continue creating work for the world! I am really very appreciative of those who do pay because I know times are tough right now, and there are other things we need to pay for.

With this money, I replenished my crystal collection! I bought a chunk of citrine, natural emerald (my birthstone), selenite, amethyst dragon egg, and some carnelian runes. I am a lifelong crystal lover: some of which I collected over twenty years ago. Because of how popular crystals have become, people who indulge are made fun of, but the true art of crystal healing is particular. I cast my runes for my fortune.

November is the year of the bonfire: a celebration of a failed terrorist attack? We celebrate parliament not blowing up by…blowing up pretty colours. It’s a nightmare for my sensory issues. November is when the cold truly sets in. I wish it could be cold and smoky all year round! I cannot hack the sticky, writhing heat of the spring and summer months. Christmas songs play in the supermarkets and on the radio. de Burgh’s A Spaceman Came Travelling is one of my favourites because it reminds me of my father.

We’re almost into the last month of the year. It has almost gone quite quickly! I remember buying a notebook in January to do my daily journaling. Now, we are at the end. Stop all the clocks.