In her last poem for The Independent, Frieda Hughes reflects on what she has gained and lost throughout her time diarising her life through poetry, and leaves an invitation for readers.
The Final Independent Poem
It’s been a blast, I’ve had a ball, I have no idea who you are but I love you all! The internet audience must have come and gone as the sun rose and shone above the stage, and through each recording of my poem they got to watch me age.
I’ll miss those late-night scribblings, racing deadlines into daylight, chipping my weekly happenings into no more than 20 lines. Some things I’d like undone: the eye surgery and knee operation, the loss of the top of my thumb – that fingertip is still not recognised by my mobile phone.
This week I broke a toe and my swollen foot tells me it’s time to write another book and paint another art show. Don’t shed a tear – if you email me your details, I’ll invite you to the opening next year. friedahughes.art@gmail.com
