This is the lair of the landlady br br She is br a raw voice br loose in the rooms beneath me. br br the continuous henyard br squabble going on below br thought in this house like br the bicker of blood through the head. br br She is everywhere, intrusive as the smells br that bulge in under my doorsill; br she presides over my br meagre eating, generates br the light for eyestrain. br br From her I rent my time: br she slams br my days like doors. br Nothing is mine. br br and when I dream images br of daring escapes through the snow br I find myself walking br always over a vast face br which is the land- br lady's, and wake up shouting. br br She is a bulk, a knot br swollen in a space. Though I have tried br to find some way around br her, my senses br are cluttered by perception br and can't see through her. br br She stands there, a raucous fact br blocking my way: br immutable, a slab br of what is real. br br solid as bacon.