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.

First up is WH Auden, Auden most people know in some form, even if only for his poem “Funeral Blues” – though commonly identified as “Stop all the clocks”, like everyone else I find this a profound and moving poem – but, I have to say I prefer September 1, 1939, it is an epoch marking poem, it was written during the first days of the second world war. I always think it was kind of sad that he grew to hate it, but sometimes, as a reader of poetry, you have to ignore the poet, and celebrate the poem and what it means to you.

Next up we have Seamus Heaney, his poetry is different to most I read, partly because I don’t read a great deal of contemporary Irish poetry, however I was introduced to his works at school, and still hold them in dear regard. His poetry is lovely of detail, and often feels like real life captured in poetry – and makes you wish that you had some of those memories, until it triggers a memory in you, and then your just piggy backing from his memories into your own, which seems to make the poetry even more real, and draws you in. It is a tremendous gift to share, and to recieve.

Carol Ann Duffy is in there, another one of my favourite poets, and another I was introduced to at school (in fact Auden, Heaney, and Duffy were all part of my national curriculum set poetry for English Literature), she’s written some of the best poetry I’ve ever written. What I like about her poetry is the technical side, not because it’s technical poetry, but because her technique is more simple, more accessible. You’re able to pick up an anthology of poetry, flick through to a Duffy poem, and just read. Her poetry has an often childlike quality to it, even as it handles adult themes and characters, there’s a level of honesty, and understanding, that as adults, poets tend to lose in the need to appear intelligent, to hide depths within lines, and give altering meanings to written work. Of all her poetry, Valentine is my favourite, again it has an almost childlike concept of love, by childlike I mean innocent and idealised, something we find hard to achieve as adults.

WB Yeats, now there’s a towering man of whom I am associated (intellectually, sadly he died before my time), with in many fields. I do honestly like his poetry, but I also have to admit, I have spent more time studying places in history he went. Not purposefully, however he was there, and that added great interest to my studies. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the Theosophical Society of London, and the Golden Dawn, the whole change in spirituality, and the mood of the nation at the time – and the world in general. However, I would say of his poetry, Sailing to Byzantium is my favourite, it’s a very bleak view of getting old, and of dying.

William Wordsworth, there’s not a great deal to say here. I strongly suspect that he wrote possibly the best known poem, the most often repeated, and the poem more people think of, than any other, when asked “Can you think of a poem”. Of course, this is very much a matter of opinion – I don’t have statistical evidence of this. However, “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”, is there, if it’s not as I describe, it’s not far behind. He did contribute far more than that to the art of poetry, he helped usher in the romantic age, his vast array of poetry is some of the world’s most beautiful, most meaning and poignant, and he was of course Poet Laureate for a while.

Lastly (that I will cover) is Keats. Now I didn’t come to Keats until I was in college, studying my AS Level in English Literature, however he is the poet who’s probably influenced upon my life the most. He lived a relatively short life, yet I feel his impact on modern poetry has been as potent and powerful as any of the romantics, he was sadly ill recieved as a poet during his time, but his influence secured his recognition.  He was prolific well, he died at twenty-six (my age), but he had dozens of poem published.  I would be hard pressed to choose my favourite, and i’ll save my favourite Keats for poem for another post, dedicated to finding just that.

Now I’ve written that, I’ve made my choice – it’s not an easy choice, all those I have listed have had a major effect on my love of poetry, and my writing of poetry. There are others too, but I don’t want to exhaust myself trying to analyse them all.  I would have mentioned Kipling, Coleridge, Shakespeare, Milton, Blake, Byron, and Plath – each deserves as much of a mention as above, and indeed each of these, and all those above deserve a post each – and I aspire to provide that over time.

My choice however is Keats, his impact on me, on the romantics, and the profound sense of loss I have that he did not live to write more, I would have loved to see how his poetry evolved over time, what would have changed, what would have stayed the same.

There will be more to come from this poetry season, more programs, the results of the vote, and I’ll be here to offer my humble commentary, and analysis, and celebration of a worthwhile idea, and hopefully finding inspiration among the poetic greats of past and present.

Today’s poetry practice is brought to you by 12Seconds, the short video blogging site to which I just signed up. No idea what I’m going to do with a 12 seconds account, I’m not exactly photogenic, and my voice isn’t great – but for 12 seconds, who cares? It’s a bit of fun. Anyway, it’s the inspiration for today’s poem, and I’ve even done a 12 second version for 12Second, which will add after the poem itself.

12 Seconds…
“12 seconds you’re on Mister Legend”,
“Who me? I’m just well me”,
“It’s your 12 seconds Mister”,
“Erm, what do I say?”
That woman with the camera,
She looked at me funny,
And then just laughed,
“You’re 12 seconds is up Mister Legend,”
She said, with an impish giggle,
Indeed they were,
12 seconds flies by,
My 12 seconds of fame,
Good bye.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

[12svideo id="167600"]

Video of me doing a 12 second version of this poem.

On Tom Welling

In regards to Tom Welling,
I’m reliably informed,
The actor of Superman to be,
Is hotness to the core,
His love for fellow man is to be admired,
His humility in the face of fame,
Well shames even the fameless.

A story telling,
I am impressed by his Clark,
Across fandom it has stormed,
I’m told the love he portrays,
For villanous Lex Luthor,
Will be a thing of a legend making,
That isn’t the in my rules of the game,
I just love the hero making I guess.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

I was struggling a bit today, didn’t think I would make it for poem of the day, but hils came up with this idea, in response to my plea on Twitter. Now I do love Smallville, even as people are struggling with it – I think it’s been better, but since watching the most recent episode, initially I thought I was more disappointed than anything else – but once my super random brain kicked in, I’d formulated at least a handful of brilliant points, and ideas where it could be going when it restarts in Autumn.

Anyway, this is a short poetic tribute to the shows main star, Tom Welling who plays Clark Kent, the Superman in the making.

Hope you enjoy.

Sleep Protector

Lie down in velvet shadows,
Find warmth in the heavy presence,
Wrap yourself in the love we share,
Feel our protection from the darkness,
I will be there for now by your side,
You need not fear this deep night,
As we rest in peaceful slumber,
Enjoy.

Rise in caramel illumination,
Flood awareness flood to your senses,
Find your way out of your downy care,
Avoid realising your profound cureless,
In your dreams to yourself you lied,
Found comfort away in the fright,
I’m a figment in the dream of forever,
Sorry.

©, Jonathan Lawrence 2009

This is a really sad poem, it starts off sounding romantic, but it’s almost unreal. A couple go to bed, nice and romantic, but only one talks, sooths, the other offers no reaction, but to fall asleep. My intention was to invoke the feeling of a night guardian, he stands watch over our fateful sleeper.

I don’t know about you, but I long for that – it’s almost a magical romantic ideal. Which the second verse reveals is the truth. I would feel a prodound sense of loss at realising this dream wasn’t real, but can you be sure can you? The figment apologised – which to me, says that maybe this phantom protector is real, but gone when you awake.

I have written a poem each day, as I committed to – none of them are really great, one I’ve really struggled with, partly because I was busy, and partly because the ideas just wouldn’t organise themselves into a decent poem. I’ve covered three topics: politics, society, and family (well I can honestly say my interest in sociological topics does in no way affect my writing – okay I can’t say that).

Like I said, none of them are really great, but I don’t think any of them are really terrible. Got to keep it up though, I would love to think that come June 1st, I’ll be confident of my own abilities again, also it’s good to know, even though I can’t write a story (in the traditional sense), it doesn’t affect my ability to write poetry.

What I’m going to do, under the ‘Read more’ link is display each poem, and after each one give a a few lines of explanation.  If you care to read some of my practice poetry,  feel free, comments are always good, if you want to be critical, that’s great – this is practice after all.

Thursday’s poem

Be Afraid

Be afraid,

Terrible things to lament,

Dawn raid,

Terrorising the different,

Dark shade,

Petty criminals in goverment,

End made,

Fabric of tyranny rent,

He bade,

A hero comes, power is lent,

Be afraid.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

Now, I admit, this poem does meander a bit, however it only seems that way. It’s easy to believe that Labour are responsible for draconian measures alone, that is them we need to be afraid – the point of this short peace (written in the wake  of the expenses scandal),  is that these issues are cross party. The Tories, and the Lib Dems haven’t really lived up to their billing as opposition, they don’t balance the power system out, instead they score political points over less important things, and usually just follow the Labour party, in the hopes of gaining some sort of slip stream. Only when the horse has bolted, do they give any appearance of countering the ruling party.

As to the hero, well the hero is no better than the villain he replaces, because he is already one of them. I don’t believe democracy is always like this, or will be like this – but I fail to see, from the current crop of choices, any serious difference, certainly not for the better.

Friday’s poem

The Tempestuous Man

The Tempestuous Man stood bellowing,

All the wrongs of his life,

Sat huddling amid the strife.

The Tempestuous Man began demanding,

Unparalleled respect,

From the political sect.

The Tempestuous Man started deflating,

When he saw the frown,

That would bring him down.

The Tempestuous Man was moaning,

As the last dagger struck,

Rending his future unstuck.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

If you don’t know the workings of British politics so well, you might not get this – however in the lower house of parliament, we have what is known as the “speaker”, he controls proceedings, and technically statements are presented to him. He has no real power outside the chamber, but inside the chamber he his responsible for the proceedings. Our current Speaker is one Michael Martin, an odious little twat, who I felt was a mistake at the time of his appointment, and still is to this day. There have been some humourous moments, but mostly aimed at him, rather than with him. He’s litigious, believing that his solicitors Carter Fuck (or properly known as Carter Ruck), then there’s giving carte blanche to the police to search parlimentary offices (well one office), which he let his juniors take the blame for. I have no respect for him, and with several ministers arguing he should step down, and a vote of no confidence over how he has handled the expenses controversy (his handling is to be expected, but clearly far from justified, since he’s already been stung in the past by leaks of inappropriate use of expenses). Anyway, this poem is about that self same man, for whom trouble is something he seems to attract to himself.

Saturday’s poem

Our Heroes Chased

The State of the modern world,

Is always one of exigeny,

All of our problems seem to need action now,

Never later,

Yet for all media’s commentaries no knows how,

Trapped by our own hesitancy,

Our state remains unchanged.

All our greatest heroes are chased,

We embrace their abandonment,

Our problems collectively dumped on them,

Never support,

As if we aren’t the cause, they are the stem,

But when things are tough we expect their commitment.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

This is the poem I really struggled with, it was a nice idea, the first verse sets the scene for the reason of the poem, kind of self explaining where I’m coming from. I did want to add a third verse,  kind of a consequences of our actions,what happens when our heroes abandon us, as we abandon them. However, my mind kept going down apocalyptic routes, which wasn’t exactly where I wanted to go – the world lives on without heroes, it’s just a far less interesting, and safe world to go on in.

Suffice to say, it ended on two verses, losing a little bit of the beginning, middle, and end structure – but, it kind of works, I mean it’s about the state of the world today, not tomorrow, it’s where we are.

Sunday’s poem (today)

Family Grace

I was born into a family of aspiriationalists,

My mother and father aspired to be,

They tried to make their dreams come true,

Made themselves into better people,

Changed their lots in life,

It didn’t last, but nothing does,

They still try though,

To see the other side,

The pay off for all that effort,

Things can’t always go there way,

But while I’m here, I’ll help them while I can,

Because, like them, I aspire to be,

More than sum of my parts,

I will always be the sum of my up bringing though,

Which has lead me all the way to here,

And one day it’ll lead me to where happiness lies,

Not from rags to riches,

Nothing to do with fame and fortune,

It’s the pleasant feeling,

That general sense of well being,

That comes from a job well done,

I hope they make it,

And that I do too.

© Jonathan L. Lawrence, May 2009

Not really sure anything needs to be said about this, for all their troubles, for all the trials they bring on themselves, I love my parents dearly – and they are an inspiration to me, they’ve supported me all my life, for which I will be eternally grateful. Without them, I wouldn’t aspire to be a writer, I wouldn’t aspire to be a better analyst, I wouldn’t have interests in matters sociological, theological, scientific, art and a myriad of other things they’ve supported me in over the years. I am the man I am, in all the best ways, because of them, and their aspirations. So this poem, is just a dedication to that, simple as.

Well that’s your lot for today, if you’ve found time to read them, I hope they weren’t too appalling to thine eyes, or boring of subject, or style. I’m actually quite happy with them, so much so, I wouldn’t begin to say which was my favourite.

Truth be told, I’ve had writers block for the better part of six months, which has been phenomenly frustrating, I guess lots of it comes down to having a lot in my life to deal with, it detracts from my will, but not inspiration I have some great ideas. Life isn’t getting any easier.

Thing is, on that note, I’m going to aim to publish a new poem here every day from now till the end of the month. If I can power through this blockage I can unleash my creativity, and I’ll feel better.

So I’m a bit rusty, I’m not going to try for quality or originality, perfectionism is it’s own creative block, I’m just going to write skill be damned!

Pen and paper at the ready!

I don’t know why I don’t enter more, I should do really, but it’s finding the right poetry competitions to enter, then being brave enough.

I did once enter poems on poetry.com, (not sure if it’s the same poetry.com from back then now, I do hope not), and yes I did feel giddy when they started writing to me saying they wanted to publish my poems in an anthology. Even my family were impressed, and wanted copies of the anthology. Being the pessimist it didn’t take me long to check out the company and decide it was a con, that you’d be throwing good money after bad on your route to gaining the mythical anthology, and attending it’s “award ceremonies” in the US. The most telling statistic it was a limited liability company based off shore. Also none of it’s celebrity “sponsors” had even heard of it seemed.

Though I had protected myself and not fallen for it – I did feel sad that it wasn’t real.

It was after that I decided I wanted to help others, I decided to setup a forum at writers-ramblings.com, something I was very proud of, for me it was a success, at it’s peak it had about one hundred registered members, many of whom were active and taking part. It died off after I moved away and didn’t have net effort. It limped on, but eventually I let it go, however I still remember how good that made me feel. When I tried to resurrect it, the domain was no longer available, so I came up with aspiring.org. I never could get a forum setup that made me quite so happy as the first, and eventually I went with a blog, (which of you’re reading.) I hope maybe in some small (even if it’s infintisimal) way this helps the writing world, and a writer or poet or too along the way.

Anyway, running our own forum (with a lot of help from a couple of friends that I have drifted apart from sadly), we ran competitions, there were no prizes, just the warm feeling of having achieved something.

I think the time has come to do something else though and enter a competition or two, and see if I can achieve some luadible again. I’ll never make Poet Laureate if I don’t take risks and let others see what I write.

If I do well, it might give me the confidence to both finish a piece of writing (as in finish writing, revise, rewrite, etic…), and attempt to get it published.

It isn’t fear of being conned that stops me, it is the fear of having my hopes dashed, that is what poetry.com did, yet the college competition put me on cloud nine. Two heads of the same coin we call risk. However if I want to advance myself as a poet, to make my poetry mean something beyond myself, I think it’s a step I need to make.

So having said all that, and concluded I need to do it, now I just have to act. I need to find some poetry competitions, and start writing.

It would probably be helpful to specialise, but I’m a bit of a Jack of All Trades when it comes to poetry. That said my personal favourite (but probably what I’m worse at) are sonnets – so just up the ante on myself, that should get me going.

I can do this, I think.

On Friday it was announced that Carol Ann Duffy was confirmed as Poet Laureate.  I find this really exciting, Carol Ann Duffy is an amazing poet, I’ve been reading her poems for years,  I studied her for my GCSE’s, over a decade ago. I don’t find it exciting for any of the first’s that are banded about (first Poet Laureate appointee of the 21st century, first woman, first open lesbian, or first Scot).

I honestly do love her poetry, my favourite being the exquisite Valentine.  I think if I could find an ideal of love, then I’d be able to demonstrate my love in an unconventional form – I haven’t yet, and that does make me sad, but hopeful.

She is very deserving of the title, and job Poet Laureate – I’m hoping she has the opportunity to produce more in her role, than Andrew Motion was able to do. I’m kind of romantic about the notion of Poet Laureate. It’s a wonderful role to aspire too. To me, it’s the pinnacle, above all awards, and rewards, it’s recognition of being the best.

With the change to the post being for ten years, it may feel slightly less special, I don’t know, but I’d still hold it up there as being at the top of the game. Ten years is a long time, so there’s plenty of scope for poets present and future to also aspire.

So congratulations to Carol Ann Duffy, I’m looking forward to her first poems as Poet Laureate, and her next poetry to come out.