Tuesday, 30 August 2016

The Dyslexic Poet

Not a poem or even reference to a poem (well, that’s almost true) but I wanted to drivel-on about something that I find an issue – dyslexia!

When I was first thinking of starting a blog – with trepidation as I prefer not to write off-the-cuff – I had considered calling my page ‘The Dyslexic Poet’. Obviously the reason is that I am dyslexic and I thought it might help others who were trying to summon the courage to write BUT I didn’t have the courage to do it. I felt that my dyslexia would be more important than any poetry I managed to write and anyway, dyslexia was something I’d hidden for so long that it would have taken a massive change of behaviours to just ‘out with it’ in public. So I didn’t!

Recently however I’ve thought this through and wonder if I did the right thing.

For the first time in my life I now admit to being dyslexic – admittedly this is due to being confronted with situations I can’t control: Having to hand in an expenses form with (horror of horrors) calculations on it, taking exams and yes, submitting poetry that a (thankfully) kind person found typos (well, spell-o’s) in. Not good! I wonder if those who read those mistakes – and my maths ability is far worse than my appalling spelling – can guess how admitting to being less than perfect makes me feel.

I think I manage it with a practiced attitude of amusement. Sometimes I’m genuinely amused by my mistakes – you’d be amazed how often words make themselves into quite suggestive alternatives to the actual word wanted for instance.  I’ve also given up explaining that walking into a loo clearly marked with an ‘M’ instead of the prescribed ‘W’ isn’t me getting fresh with bemused gents with their todgers out. However, there are times when I’m nearly reduced to tears at the embarrassment of it all.

Anyway, now I’ve mulled that little bit over I’d best get back to causing confusion and consternation and hoping (originally spelt hopping) there’s a poet out there who really does have the chutzpah to which I aspire. Perhaps he/she can hold up the banner of ‘Yes, You Can’ for the rest of us who have a sneaking feeling that ‘no, we can’t’ is more likely once you strip all the bravado away.

Monday, 29 August 2016

Two Concrete Poems from my Concrete Poetry Diary Published.

At last I can say that two of my 'concrete' poems are published at The Goose -  I wasn't mentioning anything until they were safely published and visible. I'm really delighted as I know concrete and non-conventional poetry can be a little 'out there' but here is a site that has embraced that!


Sunday, 21 August 2016

Finding Poetry in the Working-Classes

Finding a Working-Class Found Poem ;-)

Note on Working-Class Solidarity, A

O for Doors to be Open
On a Portrait of a Deaf Man

Part of Plenty
                                Poetry of the Thirties, ed. Robin Skelton, Penguin Books
                                index of titles, p.300

Monday, 15 August 2016

Pleasure in a Box

Do you remember
boring days or journeys
we’d take an object
any object,
place it on a pedestal of grey
cells and tell it
‘You can be anything.’
We’d reveal the world
that awaited it, transformations
it would undergo to reach
its protean potential.

A book would be
a doorstop; bi-plane
chock block; a hat to shelter
under; a make-shift hammer.
The list went on and so did our

But the zenith of all
Our ruminations
was the humble box.
The unrivalled joy
of its reality… the solid-
ifying of thoughts to
tangible pleasures.

A carton water bomb dropped
from the upstairs window
to splatter the path below;
a match pack jewellery box,
or rattle, a bed for a doll;
The wonder of a packing case
that erased your teenage 
cool exterior, enticed
you to crawl inside, uninhibited,
to sit in pride of place
in the heart
of the kitchen floor.

I remember
and when I see
patisserie housed
in boxes, surrounded
by waves of love,
I think of you, so far away
and hope you’ve flown
your box-rocket to the moon
and reached your Zenith.

Thursday, 11 August 2016

(found poem) Poem, Poem, Poema!

(Found poem)

Poem, Poem, Poema!
Poetry of the Thirties,
ed. Robin Skelton, Penguin.

Monday, 1 August 2016

The Man Who Planted Plastic Flowers

I'm just back from a looooooong weekend at WOMAD - sun, world music, wonderful food, and company; the compensation for coming back to reality is seeing my poem 'The Man Who Planted Plastic Flowers' published in issue 4 of Alyss Literary Magazines poetry section.

What a lovely treat!