January 2016 - The Drawing Board and the Monkey

 

Is it to late to say happy new year? Well, happy new year anyway.It's almost Chinese New Year, which Google tells me is the Year of the Monkey (featured above). I had a spare morning, so I've been at my desk trying to write. Trying being the key word, because I'm trying to take stock of which poems are 'done' (very few), which poems could be revived and which ones will stay in the folder (going very yellow). A monkey at a typewriter might make more sense of the pile! Firstly, some good news. I have two poems in the Manchester Review, which you can read here. Secondly, Matthew Stewart has been saying some incredibly nice things about what I do on his blog.

Back to today. I don't know about you, but I seem to have an avalanche of drafts to sort through. It makes sense that January should be a time to sort things out, but I'm not sure where to start. The other week I read a blogpost by Helena Nelson on editing and the writing process. Here's a snippet:

Careful writing clarifies. Helps you see things. It’s a beautiful thing.

In Stephen King’s book On Writing, he says ‘Do not come lightly to the blank page’. Another way, I think, of remarking on the holiness of the act. And though I agree that the writer should not come lightly to the task, writing imparts lightness to the writer and, when the clarification process works, light to the reader.

This is chiming with something I'm experiencing at the moment. When I was starting out I used to write every single day. Now I've slowed down. I still enjoy noting down fresh ideas, but when I have a rough draft in front of me I know it's going to be a while before I feel I can share it with anyone. When the process is going well, however, it's still a lot of fun and the sense of 'lightness' is there. In the autumn I did something a bit odd, I sent out poems which were pretty much early drafts and they all came back pretty sharpish. It's taught me that the whole process, for me at any rate, is about slowing down. There's one poem I'm working on which I started almost two years ago and it's not even near finished. Also, in the last year or so I've found that life, news, etc. have pulled me away a bit, but taking time out allows for ideas to refresh themselves. I'm starting to wonder how some of these poems can fit together in a book. At Aldeburgh Kei Miller said he had an idea then set to work on a book. In my experience ideas come together in retrospect. I'm not sure if there's a right way round or not...but you have to do what you do to do anything. I think that makes sense.

Now I'm off to hunt for a particular half-finished poem on a scrappy piece of A4. If the monkey hasn't got it, it's around somewhere...

1) When is a Poem Finished and 2) Is it any good?

Sestina Production, mid 1960s

Hello again. How many times have you heard someone say, 'oh here's something I wrote last night?' Having been to many readings and being a 'social networker' in my case it's heard it quite a lot. I'd say that most poets drafted assiduously, cutting, re-shaping, re-ordering until they've either got something good or something which has been so heavily edited that the goodness has been sucked out of it. It's become a mouthful of over-chewed Hubba Bubba. Paul Valery said 'a poem' is never 'finished', only 'abandoned.' I'd agree but also say there's such a thing as an optimum draft.  Knowing when this is can be difficult, especially if you keep tinkering with the piece. 'Ah, but the competition deadline is tomorrow, who cares! They won't notice!' This probably isn't a good way to think about it. They will notice. It's easy to think you've written something brilliant, but give it a little rest in your notebook or hard drive. Things take time.

I haven't written much of late, but I'm hanging on waiting for something to happen. A poem takes as long as it takes, sometimes this is 3 hours and sometimes this has been 18 months. Most of the time I draft something for a little while, feel my eyes hurt, lose the will, abandon it for a while and then go back. Not all the time though. As I pursue this poetry thing more and more I am sure there will be many 'abandoned' drafts at the back of drawers that might come in for more editing at a later date. Some people, who are either very skilled or fibbing will say, 'oh I can write poems that come to me very nearly complete.' Maybe. Even so, you'd still need a bit of time to figure out if it was any good or not.

Don't force yourself to write if it's not working, STEP AWAY from the poem, go out, take a walk, clean a window, skip. Don't force it. I know I've sent off things too early and that's part of the learning curve I suppose. At least when you send something out it can stop you tinkering, and when it comes back your eyes and brain may be able to deal with it afresh. Here's Helena Nelson:

Fast or slow, it’s hard to see a poem properly when you’re close to it. They need a little time and emotional distance. Although fresh rolls are the only rolls worth eating, this analogy doesn’t work for la poésie....do not send out fresh poems. Put them in a drawer. Read them again when you can read them like a reader, not a poet. Then see how the little bastards shape up.

Helena's full post can be found here. Read it. It's very interesting.

A Night of HappenStance



hap•pen•stance [hap-uh n-stans] noun: a chance happening or event.

I have a new heroine and her name is Helena Nelson, the chief editor of HappenStance. What a great night we had on Saturday at Lee Rosy’s in Nottingham. This was the venue for ‘A Night of HappenStance,’ which featured Happenstance poets D.A.Prince, Robin Vaughan-Williams, Marilyn Ricci, Ross Kightly, Matthew Stewart and Helena Nelson. A rare treat as Helena is based in Fife and Matthew had travelled from Spain. I actually managed to have a good long talk with Helena afterwards about various things, some of which included poetry. She’s clearly interested in people, is extremely approachable and it was a pleasure to meet her. The readings were top notch and Helena’s approach was to introduce the poets by reading out the lines which most appealed to her from their poems. Take these lines from Marilyn Ricci:

‘...she yells, above the roar of her

welding torch out in the hall where she’s rebuilding

a number 39 which used to go to the Crystal Palace,

and will do again if she’s anything to do with it.’

Wonderful stuff. It was great to hear Matthew again, as I so enjoyed his pamphlet ‘Inventing Truth.’ He has a deeply engaging style. He read his poem ‘Instructions for Coming Home’ at the beginning and end of his reading. The perspective altered when he mentioned at the end that the poem was written from the point of view of a widower, the preparation of a simple meal is given a certain gravity by the final line ‘Now confront the day, bite by bite.’

Robin Vaughan-Williams read from ‘The Manager,’ and I think this was my favourite reading by him, probably because it was the longest. ‘The Manager’ is a strange and fantastically sinister short collection and one worth digging out. Ross Kightly was another writer I’d come across for the first time and he was great, despite his own admission that he was being followed by a Mafia boss. It was interesting to hear his work which was certainly entertaining. D.A. Prince was excellent, and I’m always struck by her clarity and ability to simply express what’s there without any superfluity. I think that was a trademark of all the Happenstance poets, and I imagine Helena’s editing has a lot to do with it. It’s sharp, measured and alert writing.

I’d never heard Helena read before, I knew she was probably going to be good, but my word she was better. Her writing is beautifully formed, memorable and – and – funny. Yes, funny, as in it makes you laugh. There are not many poets you can say that about, (Ok, maybe Geoff Hatterlsey, I love his work too).The imagination and verve is startling, for instance ‘Poetry Virgin’ which turns a humdrum excursion on a Virgin Train, with its mundane announcements, into something deliciously surreal:

‘A quiet stanza is situated near the rear of the poem

For readers who do not like howling.

Passengers should familiarise themselves

With the safety exits and the layout of the poem.

I brought a copy of her ‘Unsuitable Poems,’ which I’ve been dipping into since the weekend. At the post-reading drink (obligatory, it was a Saturday) local poet Roy Marshall was there and we also bumped into another local poet Sarah Jackson, completely by ... (forgive me) happenstance. Well, I think that’s a neat ending.