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?

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.../ Her tiny lover clinging to her back like a carbuncle (Frieda Hughes)

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.