To say that my Tomas Lurgsy poll was inundated by tribes of eager critics salivating over the chance to have their say on the greatest Bulgarian-poetry-related mystery since the peculiar disappearance of Ludomir Birovnik’s fountain pen would be what politicians don’t like to call a lie (but which, all things considered, is).
A rough handful of personages, nonetheless, have managed to complete the strenuous task of thinking for ten seconds and checking a box, for which I heap blessings upon them. As for the rest of you scruffy scoundrels, may all the potatoes in your pantry turn green and all the small children in your neighbourhood chant your name in mildly malicious tones whensoever you leave the house.
I suppose I could leave the poll open for a little while longer and I suppose I shall (though god knows four months is long enough to ask for an answer to a question). Meanwhile I don’t see the harm in exploring the results thus far, which seem to lean overwhelmingly (well, forty percent anyway) in favour of the word ‘body’. To put that in the context of the poem:
the body crushed, blood thoughts regather:
roll to rivers in bad weather;
rushing forth to greet again
the field of my dear father’s grave
Now one has the opportunity to see the lines reproduced as such, I wonder whether anyone has second thoughts. My wife, for instance, awoke from a fourteen hour sleep last week with the theory that the missing word might be ‘kitten’. I daresay she’s wrong – and that she ought not to lie in bed quite so long – but it’s always nice to view things from another perspective.
And what of my ideas? Well, I’ve always been a fan of ‘berries’, partially inspired by the knowledge that Lurgsy was once, like the best of us, rather too fond of the old bilberry wine. Still, I’m as open as anyone to suggestions…