This month saw the publication of a poem that I first wrote about 7 or 8 years ago. It is called Manchester and has been published on the Manchester Libraries website: Manchester Lit List and it can be found here.
The poem was first written as an entry to a BBC radio competition. The winning poem was to be transcribed on the side of a new building that was being erected in Piccadily Gardens. The poem that won was quite bland but the competition involved writing a 50 syllable poem based around the subject of Manchester.
This version is a result of the well used adage to review and edit your own work repeatedly. This is its sixth or seventh revised draft and one that I am quite happy with, particularly as it provoked a response: one person questioning the blue swagger. Personally I was pleased with balance I got in the two stanzas reflecting the two epochs of the city's life. I took my inspiration from a book called Manchester, England by Dave Haslam. A book that I can well recommend.
Manchester
Back then, working class wise,
Cloth capped and carrying,
Transatlantic textile treasure,
King of the world was I.
But now, august architecture tram laced,
Dance crazed capital of culture,
Theatre thronged, gallery graced,
Northern prince with red and blue swagger.
Les Murry - Poet Genius and Football Commentator?
I thought I was an atheist until I came across Les Murry. I then thought that he had to be a god in being both a football commentator in Oz as well as a fantastic poet. Then I realised there were two Les Murrys in Oz. This left how wonderful and accessible I find Les Murry.
To begin with Murry uses colour so that the images blossom in your mind. He is the sort of poet that is both dexterous without needing to create puzzles. His writing works on many levels but for me the first and most important level is the simplest. I like to get something out of a poem on the first reading. Yes I love to reread and reread poems getting more each time but the first read matters to me. I dis-guard books within 100 pages if it is not pulling me in, I turn the television over if I am not swayed by characters dialogue, I've left the cinema before the end of a film.
Take Murry's poem performance dealing with a single night. He uses the metaphor of a firework display to compare to a night out. I can see the rocket that 'wriggled up and shot/ darkness with a parasol of brilliants' and further the 'para-flares spot-welding heaven' is a wonderful panoramic image in one line.
Murry uses colour simply but effectively. How do you describe glowing embers? In Late Summer Fires he talks about red-black wounds.
My ember photograph from the summer in Czech.
How do you capture the baking heat that leads to drought in Australia? He talks of the light in the 'white of the drought'.
I think Murry appeals to my visual learning style. Maybe it's that he doesn't try to be cryptic in his message. I get it when I read it. I don't need to decipher it through ten readings. I don't have a literary background in my education (an A-level in Eccles doesn't really count for squat) and don't have peerless peers to debate denouement and subtlety. Have a look - Les Murry is one of the most accessible poets around today.
Read him here at: http://www.lesmurray.org/pm_pf.htm
To begin with Murry uses colour so that the images blossom in your mind. He is the sort of poet that is both dexterous without needing to create puzzles. His writing works on many levels but for me the first and most important level is the simplest. I like to get something out of a poem on the first reading. Yes I love to reread and reread poems getting more each time but the first read matters to me. I dis-guard books within 100 pages if it is not pulling me in, I turn the television over if I am not swayed by characters dialogue, I've left the cinema before the end of a film.
Take Murry's poem performance dealing with a single night. He uses the metaphor of a firework display to compare to a night out. I can see the rocket that 'wriggled up and shot/ darkness with a parasol of brilliants' and further the 'para-flares spot-welding heaven' is a wonderful panoramic image in one line.
Murry uses colour simply but effectively. How do you describe glowing embers? In Late Summer Fires he talks about red-black wounds.
How do you capture the baking heat that leads to drought in Australia? He talks of the light in the 'white of the drought'.
I think Murry appeals to my visual learning style. Maybe it's that he doesn't try to be cryptic in his message. I get it when I read it. I don't need to decipher it through ten readings. I don't have a literary background in my education (an A-level in Eccles doesn't really count for squat) and don't have peerless peers to debate denouement and subtlety. Have a look - Les Murry is one of the most accessible poets around today.
Read him here at: http://www.lesmurray.org/pm_pf.htm
What is Poetry?
Whilst teaching in England I found that poetry and poetry teaching was generally a well enjoyed part of the curriculum. Like any discipline some teachers saw it as a strength and some saw it as their weakness but schools on the whole studied and experienced poetry to quite high standards. Here in Doha, I have found that the common place opinion of poetry is that it is not a useful part of the English language. So what is poetry? Where does it come from? What are its roots?
I am not looking for a definition. This just contemplates its place in today's society. At the end of this article you'll find a poll and I would be really interested in your opinions. Just tick a box and click vote.
We know that poetry expresses emotion, particularly the emotions of love, lust and longing. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" being a chat up line that I feel is well under used. Poetry often overly complicates description of thoughts, feelings and situations- doesn't it? Hmm let's see. It is not just a stereotype that it is often associated with angst ridden young men. Although when you peruse the blogs of today, you will see that it is often dominated by women expressing their angst, ire and melancholy at loneliness, being misunderstood and under appreciated. But poetry is the lost art. It does not have a presence in modern popular culture. Or I should say that it doesn't have a presence with the denomination or labelling as poetry. (I'll come to that later.)
The earliest form of Poetry can be seen in commentries by Aristotle. He spoke about poetics and rhetoric in a similar fashion. Poetry was a means of bringing talk to life. It added drama or created mood or tension for a tradgedy. He felt that poetry was a way of imitating real events. Therefore ealry poetry focused on rhythm (as is the main focus today), and verse form and rhyme came much later.
Today Poetry is a global art form. Aristotles Poetics was appreciated in the Middle East and Poetry is held in high esteem within that culture today.We all know the petite but wonderful Haiku of the Japanese. The common English form of haiku being a seventeen syllable, three line 5-7-5. From norse Kennings (that replace a normal noun with a colourful metaphor) to shorter poems intended to be sung developed by the Greeks: from the word Lyre comes Lyrics.
Lyrics and song is a whole new debate: Can modern song lysics be considered poetry? I will deal with my thoughts on that on another occassion.
So what do I think Poetry is today? Poetry paints ideas and moments in words. It does so with care and precision. But what value does this have? Value! I remember the birth of modern pop culture. It started with video killing the radio star. And then a largesse gave us Dire Straight's Money For Nothing and gone was the pedestrian pace of yesteryear and in blew the modern pop era. The MTV era. The frantic, in yer face, 100 mile an hour, soundbite, tweet and your out of here era. I have to say as a young man I loved it as any generation loves something new. Then there is real life and by that I mean quality real life. As a society we no longer stop to smell the trees. We didn't absorb or fawn over natures' ambiences. We tick off - been there done that (got the t-shirt) had a niiice day. But to really slow down. Oh no. We don't do that. We love to take a book on holiday and lose ourselves in that. But that's not appreciation of what's around us. That's us escaping our own deep thought because they go so fast we can't handle them anymore. We can't turn them off so we distract them. We love to turn up the music or even step into those bubble, ex-pat, pseudo societies. Anything that avoids connecting. Never mind all those kids and teens blissed in their video games, we as adults are no different.
So what has that got to do with the price of cod and fish at the Laurel and Hardy chippy in Patricroft? Sorry I meant to say what has that to do with poetry? Well. Everything. Poetry are those moments that we miss. Poetry captures those moments between seconds that mean so much. Poetry captures what that glance means, not just the glance. Poetry divides the atom of the moment into glorious pieces. Poetry is the appreciation of the moment.
I'll leave it to Larkin:
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Although Larkin can't help but add an after thought to step out of this celebration of life:
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
Days
by Philip Larkin
Question - Does Poetry matter to you?
I am not looking for a definition. This just contemplates its place in today's society. At the end of this article you'll find a poll and I would be really interested in your opinions. Just tick a box and click vote.
We know that poetry expresses emotion, particularly the emotions of love, lust and longing. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" being a chat up line that I feel is well under used. Poetry often overly complicates description of thoughts, feelings and situations- doesn't it? Hmm let's see. It is not just a stereotype that it is often associated with angst ridden young men. Although when you peruse the blogs of today, you will see that it is often dominated by women expressing their angst, ire and melancholy at loneliness, being misunderstood and under appreciated. But poetry is the lost art. It does not have a presence in modern popular culture. Or I should say that it doesn't have a presence with the denomination or labelling as poetry. (I'll come to that later.)
The earliest form of Poetry can be seen in commentries by Aristotle. He spoke about poetics and rhetoric in a similar fashion. Poetry was a means of bringing talk to life. It added drama or created mood or tension for a tradgedy. He felt that poetry was a way of imitating real events. Therefore ealry poetry focused on rhythm (as is the main focus today), and verse form and rhyme came much later.
Today Poetry is a global art form. Aristotles Poetics was appreciated in the Middle East and Poetry is held in high esteem within that culture today.We all know the petite but wonderful Haiku of the Japanese. The common English form of haiku being a seventeen syllable, three line 5-7-5. From norse Kennings (that replace a normal noun with a colourful metaphor) to shorter poems intended to be sung developed by the Greeks: from the word Lyre comes Lyrics.
Lyrics and song is a whole new debate: Can modern song lysics be considered poetry? I will deal with my thoughts on that on another occassion.
So what do I think Poetry is today? Poetry paints ideas and moments in words. It does so with care and precision. But what value does this have? Value! I remember the birth of modern pop culture. It started with video killing the radio star. And then a largesse gave us Dire Straight's Money For Nothing and gone was the pedestrian pace of yesteryear and in blew the modern pop era. The MTV era. The frantic, in yer face, 100 mile an hour, soundbite, tweet and your out of here era. I have to say as a young man I loved it as any generation loves something new. Then there is real life and by that I mean quality real life. As a society we no longer stop to smell the trees. We didn't absorb or fawn over natures' ambiences. We tick off - been there done that (got the t-shirt) had a niiice day. But to really slow down. Oh no. We don't do that. We love to take a book on holiday and lose ourselves in that. But that's not appreciation of what's around us. That's us escaping our own deep thought because they go so fast we can't handle them anymore. We can't turn them off so we distract them. We love to turn up the music or even step into those bubble, ex-pat, pseudo societies. Anything that avoids connecting. Never mind all those kids and teens blissed in their video games, we as adults are no different.
So what has that got to do with the price of cod and fish at the Laurel and Hardy chippy in Patricroft? Sorry I meant to say what has that to do with poetry? Well. Everything. Poetry are those moments that we miss. Poetry captures those moments between seconds that mean so much. Poetry captures what that glance means, not just the glance. Poetry divides the atom of the moment into glorious pieces. Poetry is the appreciation of the moment.
I'll leave it to Larkin:
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Although Larkin can't help but add an after thought to step out of this celebration of life:
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
Days
by Philip Larkin
Question - Does Poetry matter to you?
Top of the Pile: What I'm Reading Now #4
As well as writing a blog, I recognise the importance of immersing myself in what other people are saying. Over the last few weeks I have read a number of blogs that I just thought 'That's great.' So here is one from Caroline Mary Crew in which the poem at the bottom - Hüm (noun) really took me to Pennines. Okay in actual fact the poem is about the Shetlands but the weather and culture push through. I particularly loved the image of blustering a deal with the faerie in the fourth stanza. It's full of action and colour.
(For Bo)
Twilight, gloaming;
to walk blind
against the wind;
to be abject; lick snot
and rain from the top lip
like a sick calf.
To be blinded by rain
from the north.
To be blinded
by westerly rain.
To walk uphill
into a tarry peatcut
and bluster a deal
with the Trowes.
To cross the bull's field
in the dark.
To pass in the dark
a gate of hollow bars
inside which the wind is broaling.
To pass in the dark
a byre like a rotten walnut.
To not know the gate
till you run up against it.
Notes:
broal: cry of a cow or other animal; to cry as in pain
hüm: twilight; gloaming
trow: a mischievous fairy
Top of the Pile: What I'm Reading Now #4
Hüm (noun) by Jen Hadfield
(For Bo)
Twilight, gloaming;
to walk blind
against the wind;
to be abject; lick snot
and rain from the top lip
like a sick calf.
To be blinded by rain
from the north.
To be blinded
by westerly rain.
To walk uphill
into a tarry peatcut
and bluster a deal
with the Trowes.
To cross the bull's field
in the dark.
To pass in the dark
a gate of hollow bars
inside which the wind is broaling.
To pass in the dark
a byre like a rotten walnut.
To not know the gate
till you run up against it.
Notes:
broal: cry of a cow or other animal; to cry as in pain
hüm: twilight; gloaming
trow: a mischievous fairy
Top of the Pile: What I'm Reading Now #4
The Aisle 16 Poetry Collective
The Aisle 16 collective are a group of young performers, writers, bloggers and poets. They collaborate on projects together and support each other in their writing endeavours. It was John Osborne that first caught my attention with his world cup poems. Brave I thought. Then I thought, no perhaps naive. But I too climbed back on the broken rocking horse that was supporting England and Osborne's poems added a dimension to that same experience.
wingers like tourists in central London
maps folded out
asking for directions
to Buckin Ham Palace.
The England Team - John Osborne
Whilst his narrative poems meander and show insight they often capture the familiarity and mundaneness of everyday English life.
Similarly Joe Dunthorne touches on the personal weaknesses that we all share, particularly in this modern egotistical world.
Although in terms of funny, I have to give it to Chris Hicks who is far closer to stand up than preformance poetry. Although isn't 'stand up' just poetry in motion.
Definitely worth keeping your eye on them - think they would make a great evening's trip out. Just another reason for me to miss England.
wingers like tourists in central London
maps folded out
asking for directions
to Buckin Ham Palace.
The England Team - John Osborne
Whilst his narrative poems meander and show insight they often capture the familiarity and mundaneness of everyday English life.
Similarly Joe Dunthorne touches on the personal weaknesses that we all share, particularly in this modern egotistical world.
Although in terms of funny, I have to give it to Chris Hicks who is far closer to stand up than preformance poetry. Although isn't 'stand up' just poetry in motion.
Definitely worth keeping your eye on them - think they would make a great evening's trip out. Just another reason for me to miss England.
Starting to Write
‘Groping back to bed after a piss
I part the thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon's cleanliness.’
Sad Steps by Philip Larkin
So where did I begin. Not to bore you with tales of the scribblings in my jotter at Secondary school. (although I still have the anthology) when did I first take my writing seriously? More importantly how – that’s what’s useful to know. My education was a bit of a failure for me. I can’t really say it engaged me or gave me secrets that have led to success later in life. Maybe this is the result of inner city comprehensive education in England combined with growing up in Salford. Maybe my brain doesn’t quite fire in the way other brains do. But I did study English Literature at A level and between that and Richard and Judy, I did get a little out of my college education. Though it was so much time later that Larkin
and Lear
, George and Martha
and Charles Causley
seeped into my consciousness.
The fact that the deeper meanings and the subtleties of the structures and rhythms of Larkin came back to me so much later, struck me as carrying gravitas. I returned to the work years later. Low and behold it made sense. This is the starting point for anybody that wants to write poetry - read poetry. You see it repeated over and over on in ‘how to’ guide book. All those ‘Dummy writer’ or ‘Pencil Sharpening 101’. You need to go back and find a poem that speaks to you. Larkin is someone that speaks to me. Coming from the inner city I need poets to say ‘Groping back to bed after a piss’. It makes me feel good when I am doing the same. I don’t visit the bathroom briefly in the night, with sleephead upon me I just go for a piss. Actually I stumble there and grope my way back. But to think and behave uncouthly does not mean I am not allowed to have a look at the moon and appreciate it or let it give a brief slap to remind me that we age when we don’t want to be reminded of it.
‘Is a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can't come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.’
Sad Steps by Philip Larkin
So where did that lead to? This is from some ten or so years ago:
People You Work With.
Microwave feelings, convenient and quick.
These sorry people are definitely sick.
These torturing souls that lean away,
They foul the lines of communicay.
They thrust their lives upon all others,
Mate with me, friend with another.
Parasitic hellos and forgotten goodbyes,
Little of value in their smiles and sighs.
Listen to the liturgy of lies and deceit,
Listen to the godforsaken misery bleat,
Listen to me, crying for fucks sake!
My soul rolled out with luck’s stake.
Distance despite closely working together,
A shared thought about the clueless weather.
Desperate to deviate away from the dole,
No fucking questions, no fucking soul.
There are a couple of lines that I like: the first line, the second stanza, the first line of the last stanza. There are also lines that I don’t like: inventing the word communicay spoils the first stanza and there is the odd line that has no relevance. The next step after reading others poetry is to get to grips with form - rhythm and structure. That is what I have been doing for the last five years. Obviously I had a rudimentary understanding of it from the start but as I looked to write without structure I knew that I needed to understand when to escape structure and when needing to call on it, how to use it properly. This took me to Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled
. This book was my first bible and a thoroughly enjoyable read.
Poetry can be locked inside you and just poured onto the paper. Even so everyone can improve what they write and how they write it, and therefore, need to look at models and methods. Read other poets. Read books about poetry appreciation and analysis. Read books about poetry structure and form. Educate yourself continuously.
I part the thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon's cleanliness.’
Sad Steps by Philip Larkin
So where did I begin. Not to bore you with tales of the scribblings in my jotter at Secondary school. (although I still have the anthology) when did I first take my writing seriously? More importantly how – that’s what’s useful to know. My education was a bit of a failure for me. I can’t really say it engaged me or gave me secrets that have led to success later in life. Maybe this is the result of inner city comprehensive education in England combined with growing up in Salford. Maybe my brain doesn’t quite fire in the way other brains do. But I did study English Literature at A level and between that and Richard and Judy, I did get a little out of my college education. Though it was so much time later that Larkin
and Lear, George and Martha and Charles Causley seeped into my consciousness. The fact that the deeper meanings and the subtleties of the structures and rhythms of Larkin came back to me so much later, struck me as carrying gravitas. I returned to the work years later. Low and behold it made sense. This is the starting point for anybody that wants to write poetry - read poetry. You see it repeated over and over on in ‘how to’ guide book. All those ‘Dummy writer’ or ‘Pencil Sharpening 101’. You need to go back and find a poem that speaks to you. Larkin is someone that speaks to me. Coming from the inner city I need poets to say ‘Groping back to bed after a piss’. It makes me feel good when I am doing the same. I don’t visit the bathroom briefly in the night, with sleephead upon me I just go for a piss. Actually I stumble there and grope my way back. But to think and behave uncouthly does not mean I am not allowed to have a look at the moon and appreciate it or let it give a brief slap to remind me that we age when we don’t want to be reminded of it.
‘Is a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can't come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.’
Sad Steps by Philip Larkin
So where did that lead to? This is from some ten or so years ago:
People You Work With.
Microwave feelings, convenient and quick.
These sorry people are definitely sick.
These torturing souls that lean away,
They foul the lines of communicay.
They thrust their lives upon all others,
Mate with me, friend with another.
Parasitic hellos and forgotten goodbyes,
Little of value in their smiles and sighs.
Listen to the liturgy of lies and deceit,
Listen to the godforsaken misery bleat,
Listen to me, crying for fucks sake!
My soul rolled out with luck’s stake.
Distance despite closely working together,
A shared thought about the clueless weather.
Desperate to deviate away from the dole,
No fucking questions, no fucking soul.
There are a couple of lines that I like: the first line, the second stanza, the first line of the last stanza. There are also lines that I don’t like: inventing the word communicay spoils the first stanza and there is the odd line that has no relevance. The next step after reading others poetry is to get to grips with form - rhythm and structure. That is what I have been doing for the last five years. Obviously I had a rudimentary understanding of it from the start but as I looked to write without structure I knew that I needed to understand when to escape structure and when needing to call on it, how to use it properly. This took me to Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled
. This book was my first bible and a thoroughly enjoyable read. Poetry can be locked inside you and just poured onto the paper. Even so everyone can improve what they write and how they write it, and therefore, need to look at models and methods. Read other poets. Read books about poetry appreciation and analysis. Read books about poetry structure and form. Educate yourself continuously.
Day 1 - Get a blog
Get a blog, get a blog
I just knew I had to get a blog.
More important than making tea
Or removing the empty water bottles
From the glove well of the car or
Even checking the radiator.
Nappy needs changing I shouted
Over my shoulder in hope
That my wife wouldn't consider
It a joke. Hope that she'd understand
The importance of me
Getting a blog.
After scribbling since my teens, I have just had my second acceptance for one of my poems to be published. I had set my sights on doing some dedicated writing over this summer but after feeling completely fried at the summer break up, I needed most of the time up till now to relax and chill. I had just reached a crossroads where work and my pastimes intersected. Which to give priority to? I am fairly successful at work and know I have a hell of a lot more to offer the school.If I concentrate hard on work for the next five or six years then I can buy a lovely house for my lovely wife and lovely daughter, set ourselves up and then give time to my writing, but I love writing and know to get better I need to concentrate even more. Every aspect of life tells you to work hard to gain success. Success in my writing would mean getting to grips more with form and having different metrics at my finger tips and that would require oodles of hard work. Bus loads of hard work. I feel more like the Bank Holiday Extra Service than the regular 3.30 into town. I'd settle for feeling like somebody's regular lift to work rather than a once a year visit to Grandma's. Anyway I have written casually (describing posture and output) over the summer and my two aims which were to send off some of my poems to competitions and to start a blog were undone. This left me feeling undone too. I am easily undone, unbuttoned, sometimes as easy as unzipped. But equally it doesn't take much encouragement to get me excited, inflated - done up. In a frenzied burst I sent off five submissions on Sunday evening. Can the number five be classed as a frenzy? Okay more a fevered burst than a frenzy. And low and behold I have an immediate response for 'The September Poem of the Month'. Woohoo.
The poem will be published on the Manchester Libraries website. Let me keep the poem and the website address for another day. Allow me a fanfare and further blog post celebration.
I just knew I had to get a blog.
More important than making tea
Or removing the empty water bottles
From the glove well of the car or
Even checking the radiator.
Nappy needs changing I shouted
Over my shoulder in hope
That my wife wouldn't consider
It a joke. Hope that she'd understand
The importance of me
Getting a blog.
After scribbling since my teens, I have just had my second acceptance for one of my poems to be published. I had set my sights on doing some dedicated writing over this summer but after feeling completely fried at the summer break up, I needed most of the time up till now to relax and chill. I had just reached a crossroads where work and my pastimes intersected. Which to give priority to? I am fairly successful at work and know I have a hell of a lot more to offer the school.If I concentrate hard on work for the next five or six years then I can buy a lovely house for my lovely wife and lovely daughter, set ourselves up and then give time to my writing, but I love writing and know to get better I need to concentrate even more. Every aspect of life tells you to work hard to gain success. Success in my writing would mean getting to grips more with form and having different metrics at my finger tips and that would require oodles of hard work. Bus loads of hard work. I feel more like the Bank Holiday Extra Service than the regular 3.30 into town. I'd settle for feeling like somebody's regular lift to work rather than a once a year visit to Grandma's. Anyway I have written casually (describing posture and output) over the summer and my two aims which were to send off some of my poems to competitions and to start a blog were undone. This left me feeling undone too. I am easily undone, unbuttoned, sometimes as easy as unzipped. But equally it doesn't take much encouragement to get me excited, inflated - done up. In a frenzied burst I sent off five submissions on Sunday evening. Can the number five be classed as a frenzy? Okay more a fevered burst than a frenzy. And low and behold I have an immediate response for 'The September Poem of the Month'. Woohoo.
The poem will be published on the Manchester Libraries website. Let me keep the poem and the website address for another day. Allow me a fanfare and further blog post celebration.
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