The word present
If the government absolutely have to make cuts, I suggest culling the adverb. We don't absolutely need it, absolutely.
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Sunday, 16 May 2010
Divine Inspiration
The Roman poet Ovid, writing in around AD 6 seems to have accurately anticipated the most widely-accepted explanation for the origin of bacterial life on Earth today:
“Then man was made perhaps from seed divine
Formed by the great Creator, so to found
A better world, perhaps the new made earth,
so lately parted from the ethereal heavens,
kept still some essence from the kindred sky…”
Friday, 7 May 2010
Brian
On a late summer's day when the iron earth
roasts and the grass wilts and waves in the breeze,
the garden bees plunder for all their worth
and blackbirds tweet among the turning leaves.
A cat shelters, shaded under a tree
green eyes winking to a close as he sleeps,
paws folded neat in front, his whiskers free
he wiles away the midday heat and keeps
close his company in a hushed black heap.
And the day eases to evening and cools,
the eyes open as the scarlet sun's creep
concludes, darkness now rules in shady pools
and the cat, wrapped in the night's sooty stole
sets off to chase some quick thing down a hole.
On a late summer's day when the iron earth
roasts and the grass wilts and waves in the breeze,
the garden bees plunder for all their worth
and blackbirds tweet among the turning leaves.
A cat shelters, shaded under a tree
green eyes winking to a close as he sleeps,
paws folded neat in front, his whiskers free
he wiles away the midday heat and keeps
close his company in a hushed black heap.
And the day eases to evening and cools,
the eyes open as the scarlet sun's creep
concludes, darkness now rules in shady pools
and the cat, wrapped in the night's sooty stole
sets off to chase some quick thing down a hole.
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Sunday, 1 February 2009
Writing through the readers' eyes
This post is an extract from an email conversation I had with Henry Stead, which came about as a response to my poem Flight to the Imagination. Some of the early exchanges can be found at the foot of that poem. It got a bit silly to keep posting comments, and I thought this one was blogworthy.
When we write poetry, perhaps our primary concern should be how each word will look to the new reader at the expense of everything else. It's very hard to pretend you're not the author of a poem that you're writing and to look upon it with fresh eyes. But if you can, you have the freedom to depersonalise completely, and leave everything out of the poem that isn't 'affecting'. If you were to get really good at this, it would be like pressing buttons inside readers, making poetry happen in their hearts/minds/pricks/ bits at the instant of reading.
Certain words in a certain order will produce effects different to other words placed in other orders. Now I've always come to poetry with a desire to put myself into it. That's been my standard of 'rightness' for a long time. I tried to describe a sentiment using imagery and pretty phrases that evoke something close to the original feeling. With the new approach, there's no need for personal experience or indeed personal sentiment. You just have to be a wordsmith with a very clear idea of how people will react to certain words and phrasings.
Instead of telling a 'true' story of how you feel, which has it's merits, you can sacrifice this on the altar of effect. Meaning you can write about absolutely anything. Your experiences and feelings will however inform your word choice because your emotional intelligence will allow you to understand how readers will react to that word.
In essence, this is how poetry 'works' anyway, right? That explains why certain poems (and indeed much art and music) have more meaning at certain times in your life. As you say, people bring their own potential for poetry to texts. Some things will only resonate with some people based on what's going on inside their heads (in terms of experiences). I think the best poets tap into this potential for poetry, sometimes subconsciously, on a wide scale, or if you will, a fundamental level. Usually when we talk about a 'great' poet, we're talking about those who 'speak' to most people.
Possibly, members of culture are very similar. We will react in similar ways despite our different experience. The poets who are remembered don't divide; instead, they unite.
With Imagination the buttons I've identified are those that react to rhyme; when back clicks with black something should go crackle. When I spill into the next line but still make that line (vaguely) iambic, something should go crackle pop.
For me at least, this is quite a cool inversion. I feel a dose more humble. I feel it's not about me, but about 'them' - the reader.
This post is an extract from an email conversation I had with Henry Stead, which came about as a response to my poem Flight to the Imagination. Some of the early exchanges can be found at the foot of that poem. It got a bit silly to keep posting comments, and I thought this one was blogworthy.
When we write poetry, perhaps our primary concern should be how each word will look to the new reader at the expense of everything else. It's very hard to pretend you're not the author of a poem that you're writing and to look upon it with fresh eyes. But if you can, you have the freedom to depersonalise completely, and leave everything out of the poem that isn't 'affecting'. If you were to get really good at this, it would be like pressing buttons inside readers, making poetry happen in their hearts/minds/pricks/ bits at the instant of reading.
Certain words in a certain order will produce effects different to other words placed in other orders. Now I've always come to poetry with a desire to put myself into it. That's been my standard of 'rightness' for a long time. I tried to describe a sentiment using imagery and pretty phrases that evoke something close to the original feeling. With the new approach, there's no need for personal experience or indeed personal sentiment. You just have to be a wordsmith with a very clear idea of how people will react to certain words and phrasings.
Instead of telling a 'true' story of how you feel, which has it's merits, you can sacrifice this on the altar of effect. Meaning you can write about absolutely anything. Your experiences and feelings will however inform your word choice because your emotional intelligence will allow you to understand how readers will react to that word.
In essence, this is how poetry 'works' anyway, right? That explains why certain poems (and indeed much art and music) have more meaning at certain times in your life. As you say, people bring their own potential for poetry to texts. Some things will only resonate with some people based on what's going on inside their heads (in terms of experiences). I think the best poets tap into this potential for poetry, sometimes subconsciously, on a wide scale, or if you will, a fundamental level. Usually when we talk about a 'great' poet, we're talking about those who 'speak' to most people.
Possibly, members of culture are very similar. We will react in similar ways despite our different experience. The poets who are remembered don't divide; instead, they unite.
With Imagination the buttons I've identified are those that react to rhyme; when back clicks with black something should go crackle. When I spill into the next line but still make that line (vaguely) iambic, something should go crackle pop.
For me at least, this is quite a cool inversion. I feel a dose more humble. I feel it's not about me, but about 'them' - the reader.
Let that be a lesson
I finished Romeo and Juliet over xmas. Really loved the ending, set in the Capulet tomb. I wasn't expecting Paris to die; his was quite an unnecessary death which emphasises the sense of wastage.
Romeo has developed a long way by the time we see him trying to break into the tomb with a crowbar. I'm struck by the contrast with Paris, who by the final scene is starting to fill his boots as a Romantic lover, much in the same mould as the early Romeo. He intends to spread 'sweet water' over the grave and repeat this measure every night. Yet Romeo has become, bleak, desperate and practical in his desolation:
PARIS
What cursèd foot wonders this way tonight
To cross my obsequies and love’s true right?
…
Enter Romeo etc
ROMEO
Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
I can imagine Romeo, now totally resigned to fate's direction, storming onto the scene completely focused on the job in hand (his imminent suicide). The actor can emphasise the stressed syllables, turning the iambic line into an irrefutable command.
Paris' earlier appeal to 'love's true rite', sounds, well, more than a little lightweight in comparison. He is however, not far short of the mark (unintentionally) with 'cursèd' though....
Two Gentlemen of Verona is up next..!
I finished Romeo and Juliet over xmas. Really loved the ending, set in the Capulet tomb. I wasn't expecting Paris to die; his was quite an unnecessary death which emphasises the sense of wastage.
Romeo has developed a long way by the time we see him trying to break into the tomb with a crowbar. I'm struck by the contrast with Paris, who by the final scene is starting to fill his boots as a Romantic lover, much in the same mould as the early Romeo. He intends to spread 'sweet water' over the grave and repeat this measure every night. Yet Romeo has become, bleak, desperate and practical in his desolation:
PARIS
What cursèd foot wonders this way tonight
To cross my obsequies and love’s true right?
…
Enter Romeo etc
ROMEO
Give me that mattock and the wrenching iron.
I can imagine Romeo, now totally resigned to fate's direction, storming onto the scene completely focused on the job in hand (his imminent suicide). The actor can emphasise the stressed syllables, turning the iambic line into an irrefutable command.
Paris' earlier appeal to 'love's true rite', sounds, well, more than a little lightweight in comparison. He is however, not far short of the mark (unintentionally) with 'cursèd' though....
Two Gentlemen of Verona is up next..!
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