Friday, June 24, 2011


Perhaps it is wrong to admit that I am a writing gardener. Gardeners garden, and writers write. For me, you do what you do, whether it's sanctified by habit or authority, or not. Life starts all over again each day...when I write, the words may not pertain to custom, just as when I garden, the gardens made may not pertain to customs taken as customary gardening.
But the custom is, of course, to explain what I'm doing. In these poems, I am living the life I would otherwise be living if my garden were other than it is. I am writing myself out of the way.. I am writing to transplant myself into the garden I have always seen, but never encountered...
( Please note, the writer apologises for not gardening ).


Colourless, I nonetheless
wade through
the night, unblinking.

Who'd have thought
such camouflage
would last?

Some there are, suggest
such faith unthinking,
the future, past...

Faisal Grant, 24 June, 2011.


  1. Hello Faisal:
    And, why not a writing gardener? We think that it is the most perfect of combinations as both are art forms in our eyes!

  2. Hello Jane and Lance,
    thankyou again. There really doesn't seem to be much happening in my garden at the moment, at least, nothing photogenic. Gardeners may not be as willing as you are to embrace non-gardening content! I could think of far worse things to post...

  3. dear Faisal, I think there may be something very deep and philosophical about the relationship between life and writing. (I'm not sure what exactly ...) I remember you once wrote to me something about being guardian to the garden in winter. I'm not doing much gardening, and I'm not even writing poetry! cheers, cm

  4. Hi Catmint. I was expecting not to find so much garden work to do this winter, but in fact I've masses. I'm not sure what I wrote about being a guardian, but that's part of being a gardener, isn't it? With the sun so marginal at this time of year, I feel that all the more, that the garden needs help. It would, however, be much easier to stay indoors!