poetry

year of the poem – diary

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Perhaps I already had an inkling about the year of the poem.  But I had forgotten all about it.  My sister-in-law hadn’t however, and among my lovely Christmas presents was a Faber and Faber Poetry diary.  This asked-for gift came into the category of things I absolutely did not need – I already had very serviceable book and iCalendar diaries after all – but had an instant on-sight irrational desire for.  I wanted to own a Poetry Diary even if I never even really looked at the poetry diary.  I wanted a Poetry Diary even if a real poet would never use such a self-conscious wannabe item.  I wanted a Poetry Diary because somehow it conferred on me a magical inclusion in the year of poetry doings and poetry imaginings that and things that are important to Poets.

Needless to state, such a wanted but not actually that useful item stayed in its bag until the 10th January.

But on Sunday, there was a moment of glimmering quiet when I felt like getting it out.  It turns out that I do have a use for a Poetry Diary, and I am using it to record my postings and ideas for things.  I do have a normal daily journal where I write down poem things, but if I finish the journal before I use the idea, it gets a bit lost.  In the Poetry Diary, I can record ideas as I have them, as they flit in and out, and then when I have forgotten how to write, I can flick through and stir them all back up into a flutter.

And I can record mini milestones – ‘most likes ever; 18’ – and overlook poems that turn to blog dust – [no likes whatsoever, not even accidentally] – but see a developing journey that helps me recall that I am on my way to somewhere, and coming from somewhere and although it is a vast unknown, there is a little thread of titles and ideas and thoughts that is held in place neatly by days and weeks and months, and I can ponder the mysterious and beguiling thought that the diary has gone ahead of me…

And then, when I look at the diary’s other pages, I am immersed in the evidence of a quiet hum of poetry across time and space, inhabiting the hearts of those who sit quietly and allow the deepest realities to surface, or who catch joyful moments in their nets and tickle them into words.

And I feel love.

It seems that my relationship to the Faber and Faber Poetry Diary 2016 goes far beyond need.

poem by the light switch

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(For Ruth)

Water is taught by
click – on
thirst; Land 
wipe off grubby finger mark
click – off
by the oceans passed;
Transport, by the throe;
click – still off,
click, change bulb,
click – on
Peace, by 
‘What do you mean,
“what am I doing in there?”‘
its battles told.
Love, by memorial
click – off,
(distant) ‘I’m here now’
mould; Birds,
by the 
click – on
(forgot something)
‘oh look it’s…’
click – off
snow.

Note: This poem is an homage to my friend’s music teaching room where she had taped lines by Emily Dickinson to her wall, above the light switch. On investigation, the lines are from poem CXXXIII in the ‘Time and Eternity’ section in Collected Works (1924).

year of the poem – action

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Hot on the heels of the revelation that the year of the poem arrived of its own accord (‘thoughts‘) was the impetus to take immediate action.

So I did:

* I researched a poetry course
* I asked for poetry course tutor recommendations
* I rang up the poetry centre
* I booked a poetry place
* I ordered the poetry books of the poetry tutors

My lurking fear of my poems being annihilated by the glare of flesh and  blood onlookers seems to have lurked its final lurk.

I may say that this is in no small part due to you, readers of extraplorer, who have performed a fairy godmother-like ting of wand onto my poetry, turning it from ether to real by the mere click of your ‘like’ button.

Thank you.

(The poetry course is not for a few months so I am excited to see what unfolds in the ‘year of the poem’s adventures in the meantime.)

 

year of the poem – thoughts

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Having christened 2016 the year of the poem, I have been continuing to ponder the actions that will honour the name. How can I weave a path that eschews the rigidity of pre-planned milestones and preempts the risk of listlessness?

A living structure is starting to emerge.

It turns out that somewhere in me, a poetic year is unfurling itself. I want to talk about poetry, I want to ask people about poems, I want to explore poem things. The year of the poem is on its way seemingly of its own accord. Milestones even as an idea are already redundant and floaty listlessness seems remote as the momentum gathers itself.

While it is still early in the year, I am coming to understand that the year of the poem declared itself. It was going to happen and I merely announced its arrival.

So instead of worrying about the year of the poem becoming a place of constraint, or requiring a battle of wills (‘the year of the poem‘), or a list of ‘poetry resvolutions‘, I discover a curious peace, requiring nothing more than my own love and attention.

Some more small notes:

* An interesting question occurred to me:  What if my mother (and fan of extraplorer) was not complimentary about my writing merely from motherly duty, but because she –  an adult woman lover of literature in her own right – really saw a gift?

* What if I was not excited about my own poetry merely because I love myself (ego, ha!) but because I could recognise something good there?

I do not usually think of myself as someone who is unduly self-critical, but as I give myself a little shake, I notice the dust of a million tiny arguments belittling my writing drifting away from me.

the year of the poem

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Almost the minute I pressed ‘publish’ on the post discussing ‘poetry resvolutions‘, I felt the sick feeling of having overcommitted myself instead of maintaining a ‘free spirit’ feeling about the year.  Why make something  a ‘project’ that is perfectly happy being a joy?  Why imprison something fleeting and mysterious in a cage of expectation?  I contemplated deleting the post, liberating myself from my own too-quickly imposed concept.

Well, I haven’t taken the post down yet.  Instead, I decided that I will be in charge of what the ‘year of the poem’ means to me, and it will certainly not involve anything that compromises joy.

The idea of the ‘year of the poem’ is to be an enabler, a permission giver.  By orientating my attitude toward poetry, I make it more likely that I will devote space in my life to poems, words, silence, story, experience, contemplation.  These things bring some of the deepest joy I experience in myself, a different joy to the joy I experience in the presence of other people, a very valid and precious happiness of my own.  I know from my observations so far that space for poetry is the quickest to disappear and the slowest to return. It is easily overwhelmed by to-do lists, travel, chores, demands and needs. While I don’t want to slip into a battle metaphor I do want to be alert to everything I can do to create a little space for poetry whenever it wants.

Like a pet, maybe!

(I am now completely distracted by the idea of poetry as a pet, and a thousand thought avenues of pondering whether this is a good or bad metaphor for poetry itself.)

Come back, come back!

I’m still not quite ready to make resvolutions (maybe I will put a question mark in the post title to let myself off that hook), but I can report that I have so far found two possibilities – a WordPress poetry boot camp in April, and a series of residential poetry courses.  I have asked my poet friend to recommend which of these he thinks would be the best for me.

Two small notes:

* A friend sent a message to say that they wish for a poem to be published in 2016.  Thank you!

* I read a poem which included the line ‘you are truly the poetry of God’ – a phrase of such power I had to put the book down. What could that possibly mean for my life? For all our lives?

So I think these things are the kinds of things that the year of the poem means, and I will try to be open to new ones and to growing and to what is still unknown…