One of the things I wanted to say

Bird with a damaged wing 

We should help it. No, it's alright. Look, it's still moving.

In the early days, when MS was new to me, it was like a game of what comes next. I didn't know, nor did the experts, and the world at large was oblivious.

I was on a bus and my leg seized up. I was at the open door, couldn't move, passengers tutting, driver shouting, and I could have said I have MS, please help.

But I didn't. I threw myself forward and fell onto the pavement. No-one tried to help me, likely thinking I was drunk. It passed. I got up, limped off.

But can it fly? I don't know. Does it have to?

First published in Under the Radar, Nine Arches Press

Poetry and care

I'm not sure what I want to say - or if I'm conflating two distinct issues here - but I know I'm angry about so many things at the moment. One of those things is the lack of respect for, understanding of, and funding of social care. 

I worked in the voluntary sector in social care for many years, largely with older people and (informal) carers. Loss was an underlying, if not manifest, feature of the lives of those I worked with - loss of independence, health, dignity, and loss of self and/or a loved one. Some dealt with this calmly, positively even, some didn't. Most struggled to express how they were feeling, or kept quiet about it, but at some point, broke down in anger or tears. 

There was a lot of 'I used to be able to... but now I can't.'

Some people write poems about their experiences of disability, illness, loss of independence, or about their experiences of caring for and/or losing someone. Why? Because they want to express or understand how they're feeling? Because they want to be heard and understood? As a memorial to a loved one, or to the part of themselves they've lost? As a way of fighting back? As a way of grieving? As a way of saying 'I used to be... but now I'm not.'? 

We struggle with expressing how we feel - in life and in poetry. As a disabled, sick or cared for person, there may be a balancing act we try to sustain between wanting to still appear independent, positive, in control, and allowing ourselves to look vulnerable and say how bad we sometimes feel.

As a carer, the balancing act may be between wanting to express that we care and love, and suppressing the frustration, resentment, guilt, we may sometimes feel.

There is a pressure to be positive, even when going through hell. Because positive people fight on, put on a brave face, smile through the tears, and are inspirational. If you say the pain is unbearable, the loss of dignity is destroying you, that you can't cope any more, then you're at risk of being seen as whining, weak... 

I'm not suggesting that positivity is bad - it can provide comfort and hope to many, but it can, unintentionally, mask some very harsh realities and lessen people's perception that there are a very large number of people who really need help.

There are acclaimed poets who write about these things, and others - often carers - who make no claim to be poets, but write their feelings in poetic form - and both can help others to understand in their own way.

Where am I going with this? Can poetry make a difference? Can the personal show a broader truth? Can the personal be political? Not if poets and occasional writers of poems are not allowed to express how they're feeling because it's either seen as whinging or as not good poetry. If people who write poetry succumb to the pressures to be constantly positive, how will anyone ever know their truth? How will people know change is needed?

Because people need to know what it's like for people with disabilities and loss of independence and dignity (and all the conditions that require care), because if they don't we will continue to show the total lack of regard for them and for social care in this country which we are currently displaying. Social care is by no means the only issue that needs addressing - poverty, health care, mental health... are equally in need of attention. And poetry is obviously not the only, or the most important, way to change things, but it could be part of it. If we let it.

Introduction

 (after Billy Collins)

I think the poem speaks for itself. But for clarity:

When I say 'I',

I do not mean me.

Except when I do.

Or when I didn't,

but it turned out

it was me anyway.

Oh, and whether 'I' is me or not

does not mean any of the things

in the poem actually happened,

or that if they did, that they happened to me,

or to anyone in particular.

Though they probably did.

So, for the record:

'I' may not be telling the truth

and this will be deliberate.

This may be for the purposes

of a greater truth,

or that I just don't want you to know the truth.

Anyway, I think the poem should be clear now.

It's called 'Me'.

The dangers of specifics and specifically the specifics of nature in poetry

Let us take, for example:

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils...

This poem immediately demands the reader think about specifics - specifically specific ways of doing things, and daffodils.

What are the problems with that? 

Firstly, it prevents the reader exploring their own ideas of how, for example, to wander in a lonely manner, or what they might see when doing so.

If one instead said:

I wandered lonely as a wandering lonely thing

and:

A host of things you could see a host of

then the reader's imagination is allowed to run free inserting his or her own images as applicable to their own experience.

Even better:

I did something in the way I like doing it

and:

I could see what I wanted.

thus not restricting them to wandering, being lonely, or seeing too many things at once.

Secondly, the nature question. These nature specifics - and they appear in an awful lot of poems - also exclude those readers who do not have access to 'nature'.

The city dweller is lucky if they've ever seen a vale or hill, and their knowledge of daffodils is likely to be either of that circle of yellow planted by the council on the concrete roundabout where the turn-off for Tesco is, or the drooping yellow things they've taken out of the green bucket outside the petrol station as a last minute present for Aunty Nora. These daffs are not dancing in the breeze - they're gasping for air. 

So what is this poem supposed to mean to these people?

To sum up: such specifics limit the imagination of the reader and are also exclusive.

While I'm at it, may I suggest that poets are a bit too obsessed with loneliness, solitude, lying on couches, and being vacant and pensive. They should get out there, get some mates, and get a life. And if they can't be bothered to get off the couch (ok, fair enough), at least watch something decent on Netflix.

Villanellia

You thought that you would try the villanelle.

The sonnet form just didn't work for you.

The villanelle has caught you in its spell.

Your free form was... too free, so what the hell,

You thought that you would really turn the screw.

You thought that you would try the villanelle.

You confined yourself to your small writing cell.

You thought that it might take a day or two.

The villanelle has caught you in its spell.

You thought, at first, that it was going well.

You thought it couldn't be that hard to do.

You thought that you would try the villanelle.

The police were called because of the bad smell.

All your efforts had just made you start to stew.

The villanelle has caught you in its spell.

I'm afraid that it's a sorry tale I tell.

Dylan Thomas, Auden, Bishop, Plath, they knew.

You thought that you would try the villanelle.

But the villanelle's a bugger to do well.

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Beowulf today

I studied Beowulf at Leeds University over 40 years ago under Tom Shippey (worth looking up if you don't know who he is). Or, to be completely honest, I was young and nervous and sat watching this brilliant, unnerving, sexy man trying to enthuse us, while I tried to hide, comprehending little, and therefore missing a great chance to really appreciate this work - probably. Apart from Shippey himself, what I remember is struggling to understand Old English and hoping that we'd be given a clue as to what was going to come up in the exams. Which is not a great way to remember Beowulf.

When it first came out, I read Seamus Heaney's Beowulf, but probably wasn't in the right place for it at the time. I've just re-read it and have finally found myself in the right place to appreciate it. I'm still not in a position to argue over the merits of reading this 'poetic translation' over reading the original. Heaney covers this in his introduction (as well as the experience of students studying it at university - I was not alone.)

What I have done this time is loved the language and the story, and seen how the best works transcend time, and in the following passage, I think you'll see what I mean:

'A Geat woman too sang out in grief;

with hair bound up, she unburdened herself

of her worst fears, a wild litany

of nightmare and lament: her nation invaded,

enemies on the rampage, bodies in piles,

slavery and abasement. Heaven swallowed the smoke.'

How do you read a poem?

There are hundreds of books, articles, courses, blogs, etc which address this question. There are also a large number of different, sometimes complementary, sometimes conflicting, answers.

The somewhat bizarre reason that I'm raising the question again now is a recent article in an established magazine about Philip Larkin, and something which, it is argued, impacted on his life and poetry. I found this on Twitter, and am not sure whether or not I'm glad I read it. I'm not giving a link, because you may not want to read it. (Except now you're really curious about it, aren't you?)

So, does a poem stand isolated from its author, or from its historical and cultural background? Do you just read a poem and see what it means for you/how it makes you feel, or do you do a close reading of the poem, based entirely on the text in front of you (and, of course, your knowledge of prosody, etc), or do you look at it in the context of what you can find out about the poet, their background, the time, place, etc when/where it was written. (I'm not going to list all the possible factors that could influence the poet and the poem - I'm sure you know what I mean.)

The question has been often raised about whether a poem should have explanatory notes, if for example, there are refs to Greek mythology, which not everyone may be familiar with, or whether it's up to the reader to make the effort to seek out that information, or whether the poem may well stand without that specific knowledge, or indeed, whether there should be references at all in a poem which the 'average' reader may not understand. No definitive answers on that question yet.

The question, based on the Philip Larkin article, could now become whether a poem should (also?) have explanatory notes that cover such biographical factors as may have affected the poem. Of course, in many cases, this information already exists with the better known poets - in introductions to collections, or in separate biographies, etc. Most poets, when a poem or collection is published, supply some biographical info, even if it's only where they live and where else they've been published. Reviews and blurbs often go into more detail about, for example, disability, sexuality, culture, class, etc, but not the detail given in this article, as far as I know.

So, to what extent, can or should, a poem stand alone? To what extent should the poem itself be able to convey its context, its intention? For example, I have mental health issues, which sometimes I want to explore in my writing, but sometimes it's just a background to my writing. Do I need to tell you that, or should whatever I write convey that, when it's relevant to do so? And when is it relevant? (Not here, for example.)

Which leads, of course, to the poet's intention. What does the poet want to convey, and how best to do that? What can the poet assume about the reader, if anything? How much can you put in one poem, or even a collection, to convey everything you want to convey? How much do you leave to the reader to work out, or find out? And what, if like Larkin, probably, you don't want the reader to know, or maybe you do, but not explicitly? 

Do you judge a poem by the poet? What if, as has happened to me, you've read a poem, and you think, wow, that's brilliant (or some more literary response than that) and then you find out the poet is really not the great person you hoped they'd be (or worse). Yes, people you may not like can actually write poems that you do like. Except now you know what the poet's like, it's ruined the poem for you (probably an exaggeration). I'm not suggesting this article on Larkin would have that effect. Whether you like or dislike Larkin's poems or the man, such as you know anything about him from what you've read - and don't forget biographies (and autobiographies) are selective/subjective too - this new 'fact' is, at the very least, likely to prove a distraction when reading the poems. Is that a good thing? 

You will gather I don't have the answers to these questions. I don't think anyone has. It's up to the individual, probably, to decide. But therein lies the difficulty - because people will often write or talk as if their view is right, rather than a suggestion, and also give you information that you didn't necessarily want (because it's impossible to completely block out this information - sorry). And, clearly, all of this can affect not just how you read a poem, but how you write one too.  

Access to nature

I watch the presenters on wildlife/nature programmes, walking through the empty countryside, enjoying the beautiful views, the flora and fauna, and I think: I want to be there - or at least out and about. Some people can get out into nature. Some can't. Access to nature is a topic covered in numerous articles and official papers and is a vast subject. This is just my view, doubtless coloured by how I feel right now. 

It's not a straightforward issue, because different people want different things, obviously. For example, how do we protect the feeling of actually being in nature? If everyone has access to nature and uses it, then you could find you've gone out into a crowd rather than into nature, unless you go somewhere really wild, and, oh yes, less accessible. Difficult to reconcile the two. There's also the issue of protecting nature, not damaging it, while out enjoying it.

I am very lucky in that I live near the sea, on an island with wonderful habitats for nature, where, theoretically, I could walk for miles or just sit and observe. But I can't walk for miles - I have MS, my legs are not as strong as they were and I have real balance issues and can fall very easily. Many of the places I want to see I need a car to get to, and some places now charge for entry too. There are other issues as well, which I'll get to. But I'm still one of the lucky ones, because, with help, I can still get out and about, but oh, how nice it would be if I could do it on my own. Oh, and I have a small garden, so I can go there.

But large numbers of people don't have a garden, or a local green space, let alone access to nature reserves or the wide open spaces of the countryside. And if they can get there, will they be able to get about independently? Wheelchair users and people with disabilities of all kinds may find navigating open spaces difficult, if not impossible, on their own. Many places are not accessible by public transport and most places where you go by car, if you have one, now charge for parking and/or entry, so it's also a question of whether you can afford it.

Women often don't feel safe alone on the streets. There is no good reason why they'd feel any safer in natural open spaces. You could go in a group - which can be great, if you're a group sort of person - but what if you're trying to get away from everyone and everything? You just want peace and quiet and nature. Some people like groups, some like crowds, but some want to be on their own, at least some of the time. And if you don't feel safe, you can't.

It's also about feeling you belong. People from ethnic minorities are less likely, statistically, to go out to natural spaces. There are many reasons for this, but part of it is their feeling that they don't belong. I'm not equating them, but there are other ways too that you may not feel you belong. What if, for example, you're not an expert birder, or you haven't got the 'right gear', or you're not a dog-walker or cyclist, or you feel too old, too young...? There is no implied criticism of these 'categories', but when you go out somewhere, if you don't feel you 'fit' with others in that particular space, for whatever reason, you just may not feel comfortable. That's not to say there aren't lots of people and places which are friendly and welcoming to all, but you can't always know in advance what a place is like, and it can still be limiting. One bad experience can put you off. Again, it's about freedom for each person to experience nature in a way that feels safe and right for them. 

In terms of health benefits, it is now far more widely acknowledged that getting out into nature can be good for people suffering with some mental health problems, like anxiety and depression (and also for some people with certain physical conditions, and indeed, everyone), though, of course, it's just one of many things needed. And again, it's only any good if it's something people can access easily, freely and safely. Otherwise, it's still only available to those who have green spaces on their doorstep, or who can afford it, and/or have someone to take them and support them while they're there. If you suffer from anxiety, as I do, you may not want to be among other people that you don't know. If you suffer from depression, as I do, you may not feel better knowing you're dependent on someone else. When it works, it's great, and I would definitely endorse the idea of it, but it doesn't work for everyone all the time.

Everybody's different. Everyone has their own circumstances to deal with. Like I said, I'm lucky in many ways - despite the issues I have, I can still get out and enjoy nature at times, even if it's not exactly as I would want to. So many people can't. And I really don't think that's getting any better. The need to invest in nature is an issue which is well-documented, but words aren't yet matched with sufficient action. We need also, I think, to ensure that the positive experience of being out in nature is preserved, and that all people can enjoy nature in a way which is right for them, without excluding, or being to the detriment of, others - and that means thinking about the needs of different people, enabling them as appropriate, increasing understanding, and looking at the difficulties that can arise - and that's a really major issue that will take a lot more thought, and action, to resolve. 

Birds and poetry

I am pleased to be part of the feature on birds and poetry in the current issue of Bird Watching magazine, and to be able to share how and why birds play a part in my poems. The feature illustrates some of the many ways that birds can inspire, or appear in, poetry. 

I'm not going to repeat what I said in the feature, but you can get some idea of my thoughts, if you want, from some of my earlier posts. Likewise, there are so many great poets who you could look to, if you wanted to see more bird poetry - see eg, my post, The poetry of birds - 30 March 2020. 

My own poems which feature birds vary enormously. Most typically, they are like the following poems, the first being the one in Bird Watching Magazine, the second published in Sarasvati, poetry magazine (Indigo Dreams Publishing) in 2018.

Common Redshank

I will call across the mudflat

and answer your call.

I will search with you along the tideline

and flicker-fly with you when the sea returns.

But sometimes I will stand alone

at the end of a groyne as the waves lap round

and just stare out to sea.

(untitled)

in chill morning sun

grass sparkles; banks of purple

lift above the sea;

oystercatcher's distant call:

remember this was the dream

Birds and poetry both play an important part in my life, so it's not surprising that they overlap at times. I hope that others will also find inspiration from birds or poetry, or maybe even both.