Poetry Practice: Day Eight

So my poetry practice continues, where now into the second week, and still I hope to continue upon this path. I am going to start introducing mandatory elements into my daily practice poems, just to liven it up, and stretch myself technically, and emotively. I will cover these in more details in a post later, laying out what I intend on doing.

That being said, it is possibly that I won’t be posting for a few days as I go away, however I will try to avoid this, as I really like keeping to a poem a day, and will be writing them, so it is only a minor hassle to fathom a way to post them.

Anyway, onto today’s poem – as I write this, I haven’t started writing the poem, this is coming straight out of my head and into the pages of this blog. No preparation, or hesitation.

The Gifts of Poets Gone

As I lay here, on the backs of giants,
Poetry forebearers that carried the skill into art,
Whose tireless efforts, and many a sacrifice,
Have given me today,
The bed upon which I lay.

By which I mean the literary warrants,
The rules, tempers, and heritages they impart,
For which I am able to add my words, spice,
And never say nay,
The words my mind may.

As I lay here dwelling in fragments,
Of poetry past and present, musing my part,
I have yet to play, indulging my vice,
I suffer no defray,
It will be words day.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

I think this poem is relatively clear, and it’s source easy to identify (see my last blog post), it is also something I genuinely believe and hold dear. Though I am a pale imitation of their art, their skill, and their lives, I am no less beholden to them for the gifts they have given that have led me to where I am.

Where I imitate there style, where I borrow from their prose, I hope they would be flattered, and hope they would appreciate my gratitude.

Poetry Season on the BBC

It’s always great when poetry gets media focus, it is one of the great things about the BBC, and definitely something that proves the license fee is needed. I doubt advertisers would have any interest in poetry – look what happened to Richard and Judy, that was a ratings winner, it’s book club was a major influence on the book charts, and still it was booted to some random minor Sky channel, and then promptly retired.

The BBC is currently running a poetry season (no doubt the appointment of the new Poet Laureate, and the positive media coverage, with hits on the new story on the website, helping influence the idea). Last night Griff Rhys Jones was on a program on the Beeb called “Why Poetry Matters”, haven’t had chance to watch it yet, but will do this afternoon. Here’s the program description from iPlayer:

Griff Rhys Jones makes a passionate and personal plea for poetry, exploring how verse has the power to enlighten, entertain, stimulate and seduce.

Griff dissects Keats with Simon Armitage, views a line-up of poetic dandies with Andrew Motion and encounters an experimental poem made from a dozen beach balls. He celebrates W.H. Auden’s Night Mail with a team of railway drivers, takes a Shakespearean masterclass with Nick Hytner and is thrown into the bardic bear pit at a poetry slam.

If you’re in the UK you can watch it on iPlayer, the link is http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00kmtyn/Why_Poetry_Matters/

I’m watching it as I write this, some amazing poetry readings, and some wise words as to the importance, and impact of poetry among society. I may write  a proper review of it later.

There’s also a whole Poetry season website here:  http://www.bbc.co.uk/poetryseason/

I’ve been going through it today, and it’s well worth spending some time on. I did get caught up short though, they’re doing a vote for the Nation’s Favourite Poet, and I figured “Oh yeah, ace, I’ll have a bit of that!”, as you do, only to find myself torn over the choices. I’m intending on doing a post at some point in the future to explore my love of various poets, so I don’t want to spoil that in this post. However, let me just cover the poets on whom I am torn, and briefly why.

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Favourite Writing Moment

I’ve been trying to be a writer for about nineteen years. I was about six or seven when I first said “I want to be a writer,” which is a lucky and wise choice. Had I said “I want to be an astronaut,” or “I want to be superhero,” only by changing who I am physically, and mentally, achieving the top in every course I was not great at, at school – could I have hoped to be in the long list of eligible hopefuls trying to get on the very short list of astronaut, or I could have been waiting around for the meteor with mystical powers to fall and grant me my super powers. Because I always wanted to be a writer, a poet, even a journalist – I have always been able to be what I wanted to be when I grew up.

You see, wanting to be a writer, is as easily achieved as writing. I am a writer, I’m not a rich or successful writer, I’m not even published, but no one can ever take that dream away from me. I didn’t need qualifications, and you can get by with minimal education – you don’t even need good language skills really, cave painting is as valid a story telling form as good old ink. Even as I progress in my career as a business analyst, my day job does not affect my dreams outside of work. Unless it distracts me with the stresses and pressures of work – but that’s the grind stone we carry.

It is a very charmed path in that sense, one for which I do feel privileged every time I’m moved to put pen to paper, or sat in front of a keyboard with a word processor open.

With nineteen years of desire and action behind me, I’ve written a lot – a handful of novels (sadly I most admit most unfinished, at the moment), dozens of short stories, hundreds of poems, and in recent years, a piece of fan fiction or two. Some of these are more successful than others, some of been technically brilliant, some have been naive in their inception at best, and some have really meant something to me, or to others.

I’ve had lots of fantastic writing experiences, I’ve met some truly fantastic people in the writing world, and I’ve achieved things that I consider special. Despite the fact that I don’t have the moral fortitude to test my theory that I lack the talent to be published (whether a novel with a publishing house, self publishing, or a short story or poem in a magazine), I am really happy with where I am as a writer, and where I could go in the future.

I found myself asking a question today, of myself, “What is your favourite writing moment?” (well to date, I’m really hoping my ride continues).

This is far from an easy question to answer, there are many moments in my life that I will treasure as a writer. There are many reasons for treasuring them. There are events outside of writing, that make me treasure a writing moment more, than just for the moment alone. How do you pick and choose these great moments? Can I measure a moment from when I was eleven and felt fantastic because I’d written something to be proud of at eleven, against another moment where I actually won an accolade for something I’ve written? To answer the question I have to. “Life is about choices, suck it up boy”, clearly my inner drill sergeant agrees.

However, before coming to my answer, I’m going to explore a handful of my cherished writing memories, to help me weigh up and decide.

What is my Favourite Writing Moment?

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