One or two people have commented that I rarely mention dance. Obviously I can dance. Anybody with an elegant leg, a well turned ankle and a poet’s appreciation of tempo and rhythm can dance. But I rarely dance nowadays; one feels sorry for the young and their strange way of dancing. Where are lascivious gyrations of our youth, the lubricious gestures and salacious glances? Now their dances are so staid, so formal, and so frigid.

But still, I have danced. Yet more importantly I, as a poet, have worked with dancers. After all, how could somebody who has known Calina Salin for as many years as I have manage to avoid working with dancers? But any fool can dance, how many poets have been commissioned to produce an Urlan Saga? This is perhaps less a tale of dancers than of how I came to achieve that rare honour.

Still it…