With International Poetry Day just passed, thought I would dig out one of my own and shine the light of publicity on it. Soon as I started, I got to wondering about the narcissism of that – I’m just too self-conscious to be an impulsive person – so it isn’t surprising really that I ended up choosing this one, both because of and in spite of myself. Still, I dawdled so much I missed tweeting it by a day, and have only got around to hanging out my thoughts to dry here after three days of self-questioning. Here’s the thing, Mexico ’86 is all about guilt, about how the hell life can not only go on but be enjoyable (watching the World Cup) even as the world collapses around others (the earthquake). As the poem suggests, these fragments of images are pretty hard to create a cohesive whole out of.
The piece appeared in Freaks, which was a pamphlet put together to support Live Aid, and also in a really big anthology of poetry published by the American Poetry Association. Even it’s published life highlights how conflicted I feel. But damn, isn’t this all a bit pious and self-deceiving?