When your computer croaks, there’s only one thing to do
So much of our lives (and loves) are stored in virtual space, writes poet and artist Frieda Hughes – when things go wrong and we are shut out from our electronic selves, what is left to mourn?
MY COMPUTER CRASHED
I don’t want to show you an image
Of my desktop computer, the black slab sides
Like the walls of a dam containing
The many thousands of emails that make up my existence;
I’ve pored over my communications with others,
Some successful, some disappointing when I discover
They have ulterior motives and not a friendship at heart.
There are searches for houses and planning applications,
Love and warmth, arguments and reasoning
With other human beings (mostly in the planning office).
My thought processes and memories are documented
In the electronic circuits that now mirror me blankly
Through the vacant screen, with HP encircled like a ring seal,
Unresponsive. No waiting symbol, no cursor, no way in.
No reaction to keyboard depression or my own;
The computer heartbeat will not ignite its brain.
Instead, I want to share with you the photograph I took
On my morning dog walk, of a female frog
Treading tarmac on her way to find water and spawn,
Her tiny lover clinging to her back like a carbuncle.