found poem, London, autumn 2014

When was the last time you had a first time?

I forget where we were.

Desire or restlessness?
Sheer frustration inspires new design;

I can’t remember where we were, I mean.

Design solves problems.
Robin Day cleverly extended two short pencils lives
by joining them together
with a piece of metal tubing.

Every stone tells a story;
not a multiple choice.

I had a strong interest in housing,
the relationships between our homes and ourselves being a particular area of fascination.
However, this is an emotive subject and managing the enormity of the scope has probably been
my biggest challenge.

Bringing joy to everyday.

Now my heart turns to and fro,
In thinking what will the people say.
They who shall see my monument in after years,
And shall speak of what I have done.

everything that is letting happy in and other things life don’t give itself

Membership makes a difference.
Charity was born of the marriage of Poverty with Abundance,
and certainly it cannot come into existence
without the presence of the two,
side by side.

Unite in good cheer.
Engine rooms this way.
Make bold moves;
hop on hop off.

And the eyes of them both were opened,
and they knew that they were naked,
and they sewed fig leaves together,
and made themselves aprons.

take extra care of children

You never know what you are going to find.
I had to look at everything.

Notes on locations:  This is a more complex poem than the previous found poems. In order, the source texts are from: advert (Bakerloo line, Paddington, southbound), poster for concert, posters at Design Museum (DM), DM, overheard fragment of conversation, Robin Day studio replica at DM, advert, exhibition subtitle, James Christian quoted in DM (abridged), poster, Inscription on Hatsheput’s obelisk (DM), scrawled answer to question ‘What is good design?’ at DM, writing on a wall at Tower of London museum, quotation on fence around building site near Stonecutter Court, Starbucks poster, Sign at Tower Bridge, scrap of paper at DM, Routemaster Bus, Genesis 3:7 quoted at ‘Woman Fashion Power’ exhibition at DM, sign on tube, two fragments of David McCandless’s talk for the Royal Statistical Society, pattern on a scarf (DM).

inventory of subpersonalities – commentary

The minute I heard the word ‘subpersonalities’, I was fascinated to find a concept that allowed me to explore different aspects of myself as if they were actual people.  The idea of different inner ‘me’s is something that I had been aware of for a little while.  My name lends itself to multiple nicknames, and it fascinated me why people chose a particular diminutive (interesting word) and what it meant to them and to me.  I also recalled my childhood love of playing roles from The Great Escape; I was fascinated by which role was chosen by which sibling, and by the potential revealed in those early choices.  I was aware too, of the odd diversity of my reading, which over the last two or three years has encompassed all my childhood favourites, mountaineering literature from the 1950s, Russian history and culture, stories from Bletchley Park, and several times, The Happiness Project.  The choices seemed so disparate as to belong to different readers, yet they were all me.

Since I started writing extraplorer, I’ve had the phrase ‘inventory of subpersonalities’ in my head as the starting point of a kind of poem.  Now that I’ve had a look back at the sheet of paper where I first drew and labelled them all, it occurs to me that it might prove interesting at some point to give each one an actual voice and see what happens.

A couple of notes on the poem:  The mixture of capitalised and lower case first letters is intentional as the words appeared in my mind complete with the variation in these aspects and I think it is significant.  Also, originally I just wrote down the list of subpersonalities, but it seemed incomplete.  Then I added the story of their discovery, but still the list itself seemed too clumsy, too concrete for something experienced as fleeting, shifting.  The addition of the inverted commas made the poem coincide with my inner feeling.  This makes the subpersonalities relational.  You can hear the poet identifying them, rather being faced with a flat kind of list.  This made the poem feel complete in a way that I felt happy with.

The inventory of subpersonalities might initially seem a bit spooky – after all we are reaching towards the fringes of our consciousness – but really it is merely a development of our ordinary everyday experience of the different roles we play – daughter, sister, worker, friend.  Some of the ones in the poem are everyday – (‘businesswoman’ for example) and some are metaphorical (‘enigma code-breaker’, sadly).  Each image holds a kind of magic and fascination that is big enough to grow into, or evocative enough provide a warning (it is not healthy to spend too long as an orphanage worker or speck).

inventory of subpersonalities

drawn on a sheet of A2 paper,
in fine black ink,
and coloured in with caran d’ache,
labeled with more care than usual,
a window on an inner world:

‘enigma code-breaker’
‘French resistance worker’
‘Businesswoman-globetrotter’
‘Rebel with a cause (there’s no rebellion more radical than goodness)’

‘orphanage worker – or orphan’
‘good little girl’
‘Poet queen’
‘secret lover’

‘storyteller-pied piper’
‘speck’
‘dancer-choreographer’
‘Mountain climber’

an inventory of subpersonalities.

five luxuries

a perfect cup of tea, made by someone else, right to the end (into my hand)

waking up on a Saturday with no alarm, refreshed, and discovering that it is really quite early

arriving at the beach to run the moment the sun comes out after the rain

making an illicit diversion to the department store on the way to work and being welcomed with smiles, chocolate, fragrance samples and a hand-massage

using a pretty-and-robust umbrella on a rainy day

falling – commentary

I don’t know whether I want to write commentary on my poems, but I am trying it out here.

This week I have noticed that lots of old routines and facets of my life are changing or disintegrating.  I am back to writing my book after a long time away with my business work, my colleague is on maternity leave, my favourite café is no longer home, some friends are moving, some are in new relationships, and I have been trying to write daily for extraplorer, which has caused its own twenty-first century vertigo,  even my hairdresser might be changing.

Everyday this week I have felt disorientated.  I wake up, and can’t quite pin down who I am.  I am having to train myself back into the routines that serve as anchors to my everyday life.  Sometimes I forget the things that create stability or peace or connection and productivity and it’s like I have to reinvent or rediscover them.

I love the phrase ‘ontological lightness’; it means a kind of insubstantiality of being.  This week I have felt insipid, more of a breeze than a person, tipped about by circumstances.

But really this is only partial reality.  It’s more in my head than in my legs.  If I stay still for a few minutes, like right now, essence of me starts to fill up and I feel like myself again.

It’s the essence of me that is linked to the essence of the old oak in the poem ‘falling’.  Leaves falling have an ontological lightness; they will decay and fade, but the inner reality of the tree, and the reality of the acorns which although perhaps not visible to the tree do exist in the world, are full of substance.  Very full, and overflowing with life, which will become again visible through the buds of spring.

So once again, patience.