An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop

An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop
My hair was gleaming in the yellow sun
What surprise, what care, but what a shock

What grace there was in customs , mainly stopped
My face was bright, my  stockings had no runs
A man  just kissed my hand  outside a shop

I   should have done a selfie, what a cop!
I bet  he fell in love ,ah Beatrice won
What surprise, what care, but what a shock

He was not drunk, his  hands had just been mopped
I  had not  been  so  touched by anyone
Till this  man  kissed my hand  outside a shop

In a silent morning, love erupts
We know what’s passed but not what is to come
A man  just kissed my hand  outside a shop

Give us  our  applause, oh  come on,clap!
I think we’ve fallen off the usual map
An old man kissed my hand  outside a shop
What surprise, what feeling, what good luck

 

Iris Murdoch and the reality of other people

ancient architecture art asia
Photo by icon0.com on Pexels.com

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2019/jul/13/iris-murdoch-100-books-full-passion-disaster

Short extract:

A crucial idea in Murdoch’s fiction is the reality of others, a material fact that we are confronted with daily but, in our innermost selves, seem hardly able to grasp. We glimpse them in continually evolving contexts inflected with our own agendas, which may also remain mysterious to us. That situation, often manifesting itself in the form of a dilemma, struck her as the novel’s primary concern. An essay she wrote in 1959 argues: “Prose literature can reveal an aspect of the world which no other art can reveal … and in the case of the novel, the most important thing to be thus revealed, not necessarily the only thing, but incomparably the most important thing, is that other people exist.”

To write a novel, Murdoch continues, is to quickly discover that “however much one is in the ordinary sense ‘interested in other people’, this interest has left one far short of possessing the knowledge required to create a real character who is not oneself. It is impossible, it seems to me, not to see one’s failure here as a sort of spiritual failure.”