The girl much complimented
for her great ass
would rather win a Man Booker.
Too bad there is no categ’ry
for her taut, perfected writer’s seat.
Today’s light-hearted five-liner conveys unashamed auto-biography.
The lack of craft and productivity in my writing annoys me. My attempt at the professional/ aspirational middle class life has been a total non-starter for the last half decade. While I churn these frustrations, I do a lot of exercise. I practise yoga when I wake. I walk in the nearby woods, which I follow with some exercise on the grass when the weather is accommodating. I attend dance and other lessons and in the evening, when I have the energy, it’s time for press-ups on my bedroom carpet. The press-ups started with one in April this year. The aim is to reach 100 by February 2015. Currently the mark is 76/78.
I am neither naturally athletic nor trim. When I was younger, I hated playing sport. At High School, playing a team sport was compulsory. I couldn’t face it, so I requested exemptions based on my health issues and cultural involvements. I was the kid who was picked last for teams in Phys Ed. I certainly failed Physical Education in Std. 3 because I couldn’t do a bunny hop. Yet I can now do a yoga crow and I can still cartwheel. Life is a funny business.
In my mid-20s, when I did a lot of Ashtanga yoga, I was leaner but not as strong – or as adept with a wooden sword. I don’t know how long this fitness spell will last (I keep thinking I’m going to get sick again, as I did in 2012, and it will all implode and have been for naught). For now, while other people may be earning reasonable pay-checks, building careers or producing more literary writing, I walk around with an apparently “great ass.” It has been called “the most perfect bum.”
Well, here’s to life’s small achievements, because this writer’s seat was hard won.
(Here’s an entertaining piece about writers and their physiques.)
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012