Day 28 - Why I want to be a Famous Poet

1. Obviously, there's the breathing space. If my own ideas were in short supply, I could just copy whatever other people were writing, if I liked it, if I found it striking. Everyone would credit me, because they'd never have heard of the poet I was taking my cue from. "No one else writing today has approached LOVE with such disarming irreverence," is one of the things they would say about my half-inched style upgrade.

2. I would not get sore at losing a quiz when I had all the correct answers, or losing a pound in a malfunctioning vintage table arcade. These would be more than compensated for by unfair victories over lesser known poets. At some point I would have to win the T. S. Eliot prize by default, in order for the judges to prove that they have 'recognised' my presence, and are not snubbing me.

3. I would be well liked. Not just because I have money, but also because having money will stop me fretting about the day the rent comes out and where exactly other people are procuring their pillows of wealth. It would not hurt me, right in the caret of the chest, to hear tales of other people's adventures and exotic excursions because I'd have outmatched them tenfold. Because of this, I would be a friendlier, more loveable person. I'd tolerate others' neediness and weaknesses with the sympathy and gentlemanly manner of a person within one month's reach of a skiing holiday, since that is exactly what I'd be. People would sing of my modesty because conversations would often go like this:

YOU: How are you?; ME: OK. You?; YOU (delighted that we have moved on from me to you so quickly): Oh, you know...

As opposed to this:

YOU: How are you?; ME (lying): Ugh. OK. You?; YOU (detecting the lie and feeling very awkward now because any glowing report you give me will be stained by my down-and-outness): Um...

Who knows - since I would be a famous poet, I may even open the conversation.

4. People would be extremely interested in what I did. No one would complain that my poems are mundane accounts of everyday activities, because famous poets are always up to something clever. 'Warmly anecdotal' is a phrase that will come into play. One strong image per piece will keep people's hope alive. A 'lean period' would be tolerated. If anyone did dare to say that they thought it was lacking, he would be ridiculed and told to learn more about poetry before he questions the masters.

5. I would be better-looking. Wealth and pleasure are the perfect adornments for a good bone structure. The sinking of my eyes and the tightening of the skin atop my tent-pole ribs would be miraculously reversed.

6. If I did have a nervous breakdown, I would automatically become a national treasure. It would be assumed that I now have special insight into other people who have had nervous breakdowns. I could probably make a TV series about it. Any collection - no, any poem - no, any line I wrote about the experience would be lingered over by millions with tears ballooning in their eyes. I wouldn't have to worry about it making me unemployable, or looking like a useless kid who can't cope.

7. I could buy myself a lifetime's supply of Rooibos tea.