One Night Stanzas

Bird poems.
Bird poems are so common that they’ve even become a little bit of a joke, I think… and yet dozens of them land in Read This‘ inbox every month. Thanks to Ted Hughes, Wallace Stevens and Edgar Allen Poe, crows, blackbirds and ravens are particularly popular, followed closely by rooks, jackdaws, pigeons and magpies. You’re all totally correct, birds are absolutely awesome… but for the sake of originality you might want to avoid giving them human voices, human characteristics, or going for the ‘birds are like the thoughts of trees’ analogy.

Reworkings of fairy tales.
I strongly believe that we have Carol Ann Duffy’s The World’s Wife to thank for this particular trend… or perhaps it was Shrek, who knows? All I know for certain is this is something that’s done a hell of a lot, and sadly, 99% of the time it’s done badly, or there’s just no originality there. Cinderella from the point of view of the misunderstood Stepmother? Snow White as a hilarious dwarf orgy? Rapunzel as a metaphor for a downtrodden wife in a present-day high rise? Sorry, they’ve all been done. That doesn’t mean they can’t be done again… they just need to be done really, really well.

Odes to Sylvia Plath.
Can you think of any other poet who polarizes opinion quite like Sylvia? Maybe Charles Bukowski. Basically, she’s a marmite poet… you love her or you hate her, no middle ground. But one thing unites both the Plath fanclub and Sylvia’s greatest critics: they all like to write poems about her, for her, to her, from her point of view etc etc etc.
I can’t count the number of submissions I’ve seen to Read This which were essentially one reader’s love letter to this tragic lady… and there are nearly as many “I hope you rot in hell, Sylvia Plath!”-style offerings out there. The vast majority of them seem to use/borrow/steal her “I eat men like air” line in some way. Beware the ghost of Sylvia, people!

“You and me” poems.
Incredibly common among just-starting-out writers… the RT editorial team also refer to “you and me” poems as “therapy poems,” as they generally seem to have been written in an attempt to exorcise an emotional demon or two. We call them “you and me” poems, because they generally consist of a first-person narrative voice (the “me”) speaking to a nameless second person (the “you”) about a happening or issue into which the reader has absolutely no insight whatsoever. These poems often include lines like “how dare you?”, or “if only you knew…”
Please don’t start thinking that you can’t use “you” or “me” in your poems now… but please, if you’re going to give a poem to other people to read, don’t make it so insular that we have no idea what’s going on! Who are you? Who is this person you’re lecturing? What the hell happened? Show me!

“Poems about what it is to write a poem, or worse, what it is NOT to be able to write one.”
The above is a snippet from Ambit’s list of stuff they really don’t want to be sent, and I agree… writing a poem that essentially says “HERE I AM WRITING A POEM” or “shit, I can’t write anything, I have writer’s block, doesn’t that suck?” generally leave me cold. There’s nothing worse than the aren’t-I-clever-ness of a poem that begins “I pick up my pen to write a poem…” and ends “I put down my pen and I’ve written a poem!”, with a blow-by-blow account of the composing of this work of genius in between. Billy Collins (king of the “default” poem!) did that already, and chances are, he did it with more humour. Basically, if you can’t think of anything better to write about than “look, I’m writing a poem,” then you probably need to get out more.

What do you think? Is it difficult to write on an ‘overdone’ subject, or does it just make it easier to stand out? Are there other subjects like this that need extra work in order to catch the eye? Or am I wrong? You know where the comments box is!

(Photo courtesy of Faber Books)

“xxsarahxx” on William Shakespeare’s Hamlet
If it didnt [sic] hav [sic] Shakespeare on the front, i wudnt[sic] look twice: I read Macbeth not too long ago, i [sic] really enjoyed it. It was clever, intelligent, thought provoking but a really good story too. So perhaps my expectations were too high, when i [sic] came to study Hamlet as a text for GCSE.
It’s dull, monotinous [sic], boring. The only way you can get anything out of it is if you over-analyse to such a level that you change the plot of the play completely! I apologise to all Hamlet fans out there, but i [sic] really dont see why this play demonstrates Shakespeare as a great British writer.
The soliloquies are perhaps why the play is most famous, and i [sic] had to write a 3000 word essay on how they connect Hamlet to the audience. But they don’t. Apart from one, “tis now the very witching time of night…” they are all bland and show nothing but Hamlet’s idiocy, stupidity, and cowardice.
So there you go, read it if you will. Who knows, it may be a question in a pub quiz, but i [sic] just want to warn you that compared to a lot of Shakespeare’s other work, this just isnt up to scratch. sorry xxx
(Just for fun, here’s another of xxsarahxx’s reviews… of Harry Potter!: “its [sic] not just a lot of codswallop okay - it is amazing, and if u [sic] dont believe me then read it agen [sic], and agen [sic] until you realise just how good this book is!…
The characters are, dare i use the cliche [sic], ‘’so real i feel like i’ve known them my whole life” hehe. The plot is engaging, and immense!! I just hope that people arent [sic] put off by the media frenzy and Daniel Radcliff; and take opeertunity [sic] of one of Britains [sic] betsliterary [sic] talents.”)

“James Murdoch” on William Shakespeare’s Macbeth:
This book is incredibly boring.

This Shakespeare guy is way over-rated.

Iit is written in old English so you need an other [sic] book to simply translate it’s [sic] text. In this day and age you would be insane to read this for fun. Rent a blu-ray disc or go to the cinema or something.

On the other hand if you are doing it for school then I guess you have to buy it.

“A Customer” on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein:
Mary Shelley wrote this book when she was 18 and it really shows. This was the one of the worst books I have ever read, seriously I would rather read the berstein bears. Mary Shelley uses a lot of fancy words and complicated sentence stucture but the book really doesn’t say anything. There is no underlying message, it seems that she creates scenes to move her plot along, for instance the monster must learn how to talk and read so he camps out in someones [sic] shed and observes them for months without detection, it just so happens that there is a foreign woman at the house learning how to speak French. What a coincidence. The plot is not justified, Victor hates the monster because …. I don’t know he isn’t the evil spawn of satan or anything, and then there is the monster drove [sic] to kill because he was lonely? Come on now. Shelley tries to reach emotional climaxes and moving passages but she didn’t have anything to say. The book was boring, it had a bland and combined a very vague writing style full of tautology with not much content, and a “sissy” plot, not at all scary or even plausible

“Dr. Joey Raymoss” on James Joyce’s Ulysses:
My goodness, I honestly pity those unfortunately pretentious people that claim this is a good, let alone great, piece of literature.
The reality is, Joyce wrote this book knowing that the psudo-intellectuals [sic] would read into it in the fear of being regarded as less intellectual than their piers [sic].
Let me set the record straight, I have an official Mensa IQ of 169, and i [sic] studied this book at university. Do you know what I thought?
This book is useless. It’s nonesense [sic]… and it’s meant to be. The joke is on you people that actually buy into the lie and hype of this work. It is nothing but random clip bits of a meaningless bunch of boring characters.
Those who haven’t read it: you gain more from not doing so, because reading this book will do nothing but depress you!

“DARREN “Big Nose” WALKER Darren” (really) on JD Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye
As this is viewed as a 20th Century classic I thought I might give it a read. Oh dear, thats [sic] a few hours of my life I’ve wasted and will never get back again. This is almost 200 pages of drivel. It tells the inane story of a youth who finds everything he sees and does boring and because he has no enthusiasm for anything I found it impossible to find anything he did of any interest. Plus the 1940’s jargon has not aged well and got on my nerves.

“A Customer” on Allen Ginsberg’s Howl
Trite and undecypherable [sic], this is muck from the human demon that brought us NAMBLA*.

Filks [sic], I could pound on my keyboard randomly and come up with content equally meaningless. However, I doubt it would be accepted by so-called poetry fans with equal rabid enthusiasm.

*NB: Allen Ginsberg did not create the NAMBLA.

“J. Roberts “Jinny” (Maryland)” on Carol Ann Duffy’s Selected Poems
One particularly tired technique used is writing in Scottish dialect. Janet Paisley also uses this technique, achieving a similarly dull and infuriating result. If she had written her poetry in Gaelic, I would have admired her more, even though I cannot understand Gaelic. I would have admired her more because Gaelic is an actual language, whereas ‘Scottish’ is not. ‘Scottish’ is a dialect, and not even a particularly attractive one at that. It sounds unrefined, and frankly, ugly - and this is coming from a person who has lived in Scotland for 20 odd years. This doesn’t even touch on the fact that it limits the readership of her poetry. Anyone other than a Scottish person simply won’t understand words like ‘dug’ (dog), or ‘kenned’ (knew). Besides which, the use of these words doesn’t ring particularly ring true [sic]. People don’t even use words like ‘kenned’ in Scotland. All this serves to do is highlight the contrivance and lack of sincerity in Duffy’s writing. She has probably never spoken in Scottish slang in her life. She is merely using it to marginalise her poetry and give a small-time publisher something ‘local’ to market. Such insincere gimmickry is infuriating.

OK… when you’ve got over the feeling of wanting to repeatedly slap “J. Roberts “Jinny” (Maryland)” in the face, see what you can find. I bet you can dig up a gem to better this lot… anyone who does will win a prize (for reals!).

(Photo by Soozika)

One of the most interesting lectures centred around the question “what is scholarship?”, and a fair chunk of the two hours was devoted to the idea of becoming a scholar — not just by signing some forms and paying some hefty fees, but by ‘earning the right’ to call yourself scholar. To do this, we were told, we’d have to conduct ourselves correctly — learn to “be scholars” in our speech, approach to our work and general overall demeanour (I know this sounds a bit bizarre and draconian, but the University of Edinburgh’s English Lit department is the oldest in the world, and they like to go in for this stuff).

It all sounds very dry and typically British, but the lecturer was actually a very cool and enthusiastic Canadian guy who spoke in frank and simple terms about how we should project ourselves as literature enthusiasts — we would, he said, see a huge difference in other people’s responses to our work and interests if we thought carefully about how we talked about them. Essentially, if you can speak eloquently and interestingly about your field of study, pretty much regardless of what it is, you’ll get other people interested. And this absolutely applies to poetry, I think — any of you who are involved with editing, publishing or promoting it know that Getting People Interested is kind of the Holy Grail. Can it be as simple as the way we ‘project’ about our poetry?

I know “make yourself interesting and people will be interested” seems like common sense, but I think most of the time we (most people I think, but poets certainly) wander around not really thinking very much about what we’re projecting — or if we do think about it, we concentrate on the wrong things. Getting up at a poetry reading, I find myself all too often wondering “what if the mic fails?” or “what the heck was I wanting to say in my preamble again?” or “do these lights make my forehead look unnaturally shiny?” I got told off when reading at Utter! during this year’s Edinburgh Festival for saying “sorry my poems aren’t very funny.” I’m pretty much always concentrating on Getting It Right, rather than enthusing others about my work and poetry in general… even though that’s something I believe I’m very passionate about doing.

I see it a lot in other poets, too. So many of us are too worried about Getting It Right — whether that means getting people to ‘notice’ you, getting your work into a particular journal, getting a good review, finding a home for your collection, or all too often, just doing better than That Other Poet You Hate. There are cynics lining up around the block to tell us all that poetry is a dying artform, readers are few and far between, there’s no money, we’re all on a hiding to nothing… and we’re all searingly aware of that, whether we buy into it or not. Could the answer to this “problem” be as simple as realigning the way we talk about, think about and approach our art, just on a personal level?

Example: there are heaps of initiatives and projects out there aimed at ‘getting people interested in poetry.’ There are passionate but unpaid volunteers all over the place doing all sorts of weird and wonderful things to try and get Joe Public to pick up a poetry book. But what about the days before Arts Council Grants, publicity drives, reading initiatives and the so-called public literacy crisis? How did people enthuse others about literature? They sat down in the pub and said “hey, I just finished this book and it was bloody amazing — read it.”

Think: when was the last time you recommended poetry to a “non-poetry reader”… without apologising for yourself even slightly? How often do you start a literary recommendation with “look, I know it’s poetry, but…” or “just try it and see what you think…”? Is this the way to enthuse someone else to your interests? I could be offering you free deluxe double chocolate chip ice cream, but if I said “OK look, I’m sorry, I know it’s just ice cream, but you know…” would you be really up for eating it? Like the budding academics in my lecture were advised, we poets all need to step back from the nitty-gritty weird little issues surrounding our artform and be proud of it — speak about it like it’s vibrant, constantly evolving, exciting and new… because IT IS. Sure, non-poetry-readers can be seriously pig-headed in their ALL POETRY SUCKS attitudes, but instead of apologising to them, convince them otherwise. Rather than trying to convert The General Public through bells-and-whistles publicity and BBC documentaries, I say we go stealth… one person at a time.

Thoughts? Head South for the comments box!

(Photo by Kvdl)

Tells us about your poems.
The poems touch on myriad themes including folklore, nuances in nature, social befuddlement and altruism –- everything that makes reveries a little stormier; it comes from the type of thinking that causes a flip in the face –- the type of thing that happens to the commuter’s expression when they announce the train delays. There are a lot of sounds and colours hidden beneath the floorboards of the stanzas too –- so both verve and energy run along the lines.
Philanthropy and humanism are of central importance to me on both life and writing; I co-founded and help run a Scottish registered charity Himalayan Hope (www.himalayanhope.co.uk).

How long have you been writing?
It’s the generic response to this one I’m afraid: for as long as I can remember. It has always down to visceral impulse, the reaction to the action, rather than being something I was encouraged to do at school or by the family. Due to that fact that what started making you write, is commonly what keeps you writing indefinitely, it can come across as a tad brazen to talk of poetic surfacings rather than a triggering event. It becomes even more so when weeding through the offal in what you’ve been writing of recent to capture the weighty diction. However, the concept of finding poetry and it finding you continues to make sense on even the most basic levels.

Do you have any publications to your name? What’s the next stage for your work?
Like most in my position I have a host of magazine publications and juvenile acknowledgements but this is my first chapook.
As far as Part-Truths is concerned I intend to release it as a cross-medium trilogy:
* Part One is the Part-Truths chapbook published by Koo Press (featuring art work by Ryan Clee and Alexandra Hurcikova);
* Part Two is fifteen poems to be married to the bespoke illustrations of fifteen different artists; and
* Part Three is a musician friend’s, Bill Ryder-Jones, musical interpretation of selected poems from the first two hampers.
The premise behind this is that zealots of all the different art forms (fans of the artists and musicians) will pick up one part of the three and then fall into another.
I have also been doing a bit of script-editing for the forthcoming play and motion picture Dream Tower Inn (www.dreamtower.com) - featured as a finalist on BBC McMuscial (endorsed by Sir Cameron Mackintosh). There’s a lot more to come from this wily beast which is set to take off on both sides of the pond sometime next year.

Got any suggestions for young, upcoming poets?
At this stage, 24 and first chapbook, I wouldn’t dare; I’m still working it all out myself. One thing I would say is find mentors and muses, as many as possible; poets, musicians, academics of every ilk, even the bard of the local boozer and, of course, read as fervently and frequently as you can stomach.

Who/What are your influences.
The poets I’d have to pick are Ted Hughes, Tom Buchan, and Edwin Morgan; amongst the authors I’ve been most faithful to Aldous Huxley, George Orwell and Mervyn Peake. This could go on for a while and is subject innumerable vagaries: weather, caffeine, wine; so is best left adumbrated. My brightest star among the young wordsmiths is Katharine Kilalea – I think she’s assembling fantastic pieces and is just at the start of it all. Let’s hope that makes two of us.

Colmar

is a matrix of criss-cross canals, capitale des vins d’Alsace
And where, at 13, on the school French exchange
I met Elodie Mullan.
All summer I would insist on croissants, slurp expresso
And defame Scotland with a fraudulent harshness;

For I knew nothing of our propinquity to the Rhine
Or Vosges mountains, only that Elodie lived a stone’s throw
Away and with craned neck out the attic window
I could see her boudoir; where there must have been
Frequent nakedness.

Our moments were few: we sat side-by-side on a boat tour
Locked hands walking through a rusting vineyard
And were dancing partners for three songs;
Linked together like salted pretzels.

A photograph of us in partial embrace shows Elodie, alluring
As Julie Delpy and me, wholly disparate, in a Scotland strip
With peroxide-blonde hair. The sky, like the shirt, ultramarine
Whilst I blushed rouge from little-boy syndrome.

I used to dream of returning ‘fabulous and famous’
In a histrionic display of extravagance. It would have been
Horrendous: white-limo, champagne, skunk
One-liners - like something from a hip-hop video.

Nowadays, I’d explain how a poem is like a bomb
A bomb like a poem, when assembled correctly
Both explode rather than arrive, become
Instantly important; as she did and could again.

Want to see your poems featured here? Drop me a line to [email protected]!

(Photo by Poagao)

The Booker Prize: same old same old // Poem of the week // The lost art of handwriting (Definatalie’s talking about this too!) // Happy Birthday, HG Wells! // The Picture of Dorian Gray = awesome // Quiz: how well do you know your weird words? // & hooray!

Found online this week: Former Featured Poet Wendy Kwok at Bolts of Silk // Last week’s FP Matt gave me a mention // More cool vispo from Stephen Nelson // Another lovely poem from Regina — the girl’s prolific! // Howie Good at a handful of stones

I want this man to illustrate my bookcover…

Tattoo overload: Paris Tattoo Art Fest (Facebook) // The Hell City Tattoo Fest // Geeky physics tattoos // The Heart vs The Head /It’s Medusa! // A TS Eliot tattoo // & people always ask me “what will you do about your tattoos when you’ve grown up?” …my new response will be: “I hope I’ll still be rocking them with all the style of this lady!”

& finally… hilarious mobile phone drama!

& shock revelation: Lady Gaga used to make great music!

(Photo by Bob.Fornal)

You can see Michael’s poem from yesterday here — his interview will be up tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy this piece!

BoomTown

She was a tall bright Sihanoukville noon
Dress hiked up to the pelvis, sun thumping
Down on the commotion: a sandy kid
Who’s pulled an unexploded bomb from a sack
Of spoiled greens. Gleams beastly
Bright as any US import; the throng of the crowd
Like a lit match. Probably a dud, but if it did go off
We all like to think we’d have moved a little quicker.

At whites full of worry the Khmers giggle
With insouciance and awe; must have been a dozen
Smiling faces reflected in its coat, and that’s before
The dust downs or touch ups. We make an exchange
Slap bang in the middle of the fragrant high street
4,000 riel to hold it, but worth every sweating note.
As if nursing a newborn, something stirs
Inside my gut, disturbs the sticky rice
And stomach worms.

You arrive this same day with a bang of a different sort
By Kang Ken airstrip, amidst landing lights and neon fuzz
Grandiose - as only a royal or foreigner could.
Though this is a port city, boats bring you here
Sideways, with nameless infants and trade narcotics;
That way you’re not salting the wounds
Of mother Cambodia.

Narith drops us by piebald mutt in cockerel pen;
It’s easier than saying ‘King Gold Hotel’, for me
Who’s trying to fit in. Though lovely
Even when at your most captious, it’s a short walk
And you just wouldn’t get it. In the same way
You won’t go barefoot or cut through jungle fringes;
In the same way you curse philandering monks
Buying dollar drinks for local ladies.

I tame your pique with trips to Victory
And Serendipity beach; rent us a ‘sunbrellas’
But your thoughts are further off than home
And there’s a growl in my glare that the softness
Of your skin can’t cure. Three weeks of mating
And mutiny and I’ve aged a year. Thrice
Sign your name on the checkout sheet;
Like bluebottle blood the ink turns sticky.

Ten nailless toes of a cab driver
Evoke one last whimper before you fly back
To London, to spring’s unexploded bloom.
I stay here with this silent bomb; me in the east
Hemisphere, you in the West; me an alley cat
Slight sunburn all over; you
With eyes slant.

Want to see your poems featured here? Drop me a line to [email protected]!

(Photo by drakegoodman)

Pigeon

A bird squawks sharp
Like a screaming kettle -
The spoonbill’s alarm:
A breed of dissonance
So remarkably unfamiliar
I instead salute
This beaked racketeer;

And all the little cannibals
Robbing fruit from the orchards -
Scoffing pip, juice, peels
Of yellow goodness.

‘See you in a few haircuts’
I told Ma, before depositing
The phone into an airport Charity bucket
- they get a fair price, I leave
In a plush flash of altruism.

Eight months, two twilight eyes
Wide as children’s mouths, choking
On English vowels, rolling Os and Es
Around their dust-caked cheeks
Like gobstoppers.

‘Those kids’d sooner open throats
Than imaginations’, a drunk pal
Splurges before I skip town, country,
Continent. I think of this
As his muddled-up way of saying:
‘Goodbye. I’ll miss you’.

As I’ll miss petrol sellers, corn field
Confabs, posing as Teacher; rain
Like nobody’s business, like revenge
Making the imposter leather pong.

A sightseer riding the bus giggles
On noticing that the heel on the sock
Of a Khmer passenger
Is not aligned with the heel
Of his foot; the toes drip off
Like wax slopping from a candle lip
Or a tensing tongue, grown
Droopy.

Her mocking of the sock
Is the point two kingdoms meet.

In crossing my legs, I insert
Into the scene, a similarly tousled
Foot garment; bolder still
Is the confirmation of a kinship
Beyond heritage.

Want to see your poems featured here? Drop me a line to [email protected]!

(Photo by NaPix — Hmong Life)

1. “Why isn’t your poetry more scholarly? All you ever write are safe little narratives.”
This is a direct quote, and shockingly, it fell from the lips of a fairly good friend of mine. Fortunately for him, we were in a busy coffee shop and he was quite a long way away on the other side of a sturdy table, so I couldn’t smack him in the mouth, which was my gut reaction. Instead, I had to formulate a proper answer made of words, and since so many people were around, I felt it wasn’t really appropriate for any of those words to be expletives.
This wasn’t the first time I’ve had to “defend” my poetry, and it probably won’t be the last. If you’re in the business of sending your poems out into the world, chances are you’ll also have to do this at some point, too — perhaps you’ve already had to. It’s sad, but so many people in the poetry world are fiercely competitive and will always compare your work to their own, to the work of your collective peers, to the folks who get their stuff in the big journals. It’s very easy to feel undermined, particularly if the person who’s questioning your abilities as a writer also happens to be someone you like, respect or look up to — but the best response is to stick to your guns. I like to point out that, in order to succeed, grow and evolve, the poetry world should incorporate all manner of styles and voices, including mine thankyouverymuch. It’s also pretty tricky to argue with “so you don’t like what I do? No worries — no one’s making you read it!” I have a friend whose favourite response to criticism of his work is, “welcome to Postmodernism, baby.” Sure, maybe your poetry sucks — but some cynic coming along and being deliberately derogatory about it isn’t going to change that any. People who can’t be constructive aren’t worth your time.

2. “Why the hell do I have to read other people’s poetry to be a good poet?!”
This is perhaps the most awkward writing-related question you can really be asked. Why? Well, chances are, the asker’s poems are fairly terrible… and it’s very hard to answer without having to say that. My horrible ex boyfriend once asked me this question — he never read poetry, and his main inspiration came from Nine Inch Nails and Nirvana lyrics. Needless to say, his works were somewhat lacking in… well, most of the things poetry needs in order to be called poetry. We broke up soon after.
It’s a common question — weird as it may seem, so many just-starting-out poets are non-poetry-readers. When faced with this particular query, one of the best things to do is ask “why don’t you read poetry?” Some people will say they don’t want to be influenced by others or are worried about “copying”; some genuinely think that poetry stopped happening sometime around William Wordsworth and that they’re some kind of trailblazer. Then there’ll be people like my ex boyfriend who think that Kurt Cobain provides all the “poetry” they’ll ever need… and some people are just damn lazy. Unfortunately, these are all misconceptions and lame excuses. Writing good poetry is a fine and subtle art, like throwing a pot or tiling a roof or writing a symphony. Could you do any of those things without first seeing someone else do it, reading up on it, practicing? You could, but the results would probably suck. It’s the same with poetry… and the sooner your non-reading friend realises it, the better!

3. “When are you going to get a real job?”
If I had a penny for every time someone’s flung the “writing is a naive activity and you need to get a grip” argument at me… well, I’d have a freaking big handful of change to pelt the ignorant weirdos with. It seems that the standard response to “I write poetry” these days is “oh my GOD what is wrong with you?!” Everyone’s so keen to point out that it’s a pointless exercise, that it’s embarrassing, that it’s a waste of time, and most importantly… it doesn’t make any money.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again — why does this only seem to apply to writing and writers? Why does everyone seem to think we’re all ethereal weirdos who float around totally detached from reality assuming that some day we’re going to write the next “If…” and make a million off it? For most of us, writing is a hobby. Sure, we’d all love to win heaps of literary prizes and give up the day job to live off our five-figure advances, but we know that’s probably not going to happen (and if we don’t, we’ll get there eventually). Heaps of people play football on a Saturday afternoon or go running every day… but chances are none of these people believe they’re going to become the next David Beckham or Usain Bolt. Personally, I rather like to string the “get a real job” crowd along a bit — “I’m waiting for the Poet Laureateship to come vacant again” always works a treat.

4. “How can I make it big as a poet?”
Perhaps the only people more awkward than the “poetry is totally pointless” crowd are the “I’m going to make a living off writing poetry!” crowd. “How can I make a living writing poetry?” and “how can I make my poetry famous?” are by far the most common questions I get asked — they arrive in my inbox from writers of all ages and backgrounds, and they pop up with alarming regularity on Yahoo! Answers and such (here, here, here, here, here, here… though perhaps more alarming are the responses… “try Poetry.com”?! Argh!).
It’s easy to be angry and frustrated with these people. Firstly, they’re clearly not writing poetry because they love it — or if they are, that’s not enough incentive for them, what they really want is cash. Secondly, they’re obviously about as involved with the poetry community as I’m involved with NASA’s latest misson — they have no idea what’s going on or what contemporary poetry really is. Thirdly, a lot of them seem really very stupid indeed — anyone who can’t tell that a site claiming “YOU CAN MAKE $1000 PER LINE OF VERSE!” = huge con is surely a moron, no? And fourthly, their poems usually suck.
However, you need to be gentle. I always find responding to “how can I make it big?” emails very tricky, but honesty is the best policy. I tend to take the “here are some things you can do to make your poems better, but you should know that you’ll probably never make any cash out of them anyway” line… so at least I’m helping these people improve, even if I am crushing their million-dollar writing dreams. Be constructive all the way… even if it’s hard.

5. “How DARE you reject my INCREDIBLE poem you freakin’ moron?!”
Welcome to the wonderful world of Being An Editor. If you’ve ever had the unenviable task of making a value judgement about someone else’s work, you’ll probably know how it feels to be on the receiving end of a rejected poet’s wrathful scorn. If you’re thinking of taking up an editor-ing job at any point in the future, just bear in mind that this is what you get. Even the nicest “we’re really sorry, it just wasn’t quite right for us”-style letter can result in “OMG how dare you!” For my sins, I’ve been on both ends of the exchange. It is never, ever pretty.
Poets: to save the poor editors of this world from having to answer this particular awkward question, please just don’t do this. Yes, some editors are total dicks, and some of them really do ask for this kind of treatment. However, most of us really are doing our best — we really do have valid reasons for rejecting your poems and you’d do well to listen to them and make edits accordingly. Editors: when you’re on the receiving end of this particular awkward question, probably the best response is no response at all. However tempting it may be to a) grovel piteously to the poet in question to try and get them to see your point of view, OR b) tell them exactly what they can do with their god-awful little sonnet series in your opinion… just don’t. Chances are they just wanted to vent — we all know being rejected is never pleasant. Now they’ve done it, they can probably move on… and so should you!

A few more from my personal Archive of Awkward:
“How can I write poems just like yours?”
“Do you think your poems are male or female?”
“Can I borrow one of your poems to enter into a contest? It’s OK because it’s US residents only so you can’t enter yourself.”
“I got the impression from reading your poems that you’re in need of a mother figure in your life, is that true?”
“Will you write me a poem about my car?”

What’s the weirdest or most awkward poetry-related question you’ve ever been asked…?

(Photo by G-mark)

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When did you initially get into tutoring? Was it before you started master’s study? Do you have a professional qualification or is it totally experience based?
I’m trying desperately to find some sort of tutoring work but I’m not getting very far!

This email couldn’t have come at a better time. I’d been deliberating whether or not to write a post or two on the topic, but I was unsure how interested you’d all be in hearing about it. However, it seems that at least some of you out there are considering teaching as a possible career option… and I know how hard it is for creative people to reconcile themselves to a 9-5. So if you’re thinking about teaching, here’s a bit more about what I do, and how I ended up doing it. Hopefully it’ll help you make up your mind, and maybe get started!

How did you get into teaching?
There are a lot of ways to get into teaching, but my personal trajectory so far goes thus. I spent the first three years of my four-year undergrad degree supporting myself through a series of terrible office jobs — legal secretary, market research telephonist, envelope-stuffer, social care support worker (sounds like more responsiblity than it is. I mostly filed confidential medical documents and took phone calls from angry GPs). I responded to these jobs the way most creative people do when they’re put behind a desk and told to get on with it: I hated, loathed and detested pretty much every waking second. I was constantly on the lookout for any new job that sounded even remotely more interesting than the last one, and one day I happened across an agency ad for one-to-one tutors. For years I’d avoided stuff like this, as ever since I decided to study English at Uni (I was about 12 at the time), I’d been taunted by adults who loved to tell me how “people who study English only ever become English teachers!” I had been determined to prove them all wrong, but boredom and desperation drove me to apply — plus, the pay was nearly twice what I earned per hour typing and filing.

I had some childcare experience: I’d worked as a nanny for a year, done some babysitting, volunteered as a Young Leader with Girl Guiding UK and set up a drama group at my high school, which I ran for two full academic years. This, along with my in-progress degree, got me the job. I started out with just one student — a severely dyslexic public schoolboy in desperate need of help with his writing skills, which felt like being chucked in the deep end in itself. But then as the academic year progressed, I ended up with more and more students on my books. By the time the exams rolled around a year later, I was teaching ten kids, two one-hour sessions each per week. I taught English, English Literature, Drama and Creative Writing, and was totally responsible for planning the lessons and doing all the marking in my spare time; spare time not covered by my £9-per-session fee (less than a third what the agency charged the parents, naturally). It was loads of work and loads of responsibility and all still very new… but I freaking loved doing it.

Next, I had a bit of luck. I took about six months out to write my undergrad dissertation and by the time I started looking for jobs again the recession was beginning to really heat up and I was dreading the thought of ending up with another office job. Fortunately, Boy was working at Edinburgh’s Telford College, and spotted that they had an open supply list — you could just go online, stick your name on it, and if a job came up they might well get in touch. I didn’t reckon my one-to-one experience gave me much of a chance, but I stuck my name on the list and got ready to forget about it. Shockingly, the English & Communications Curriculum Manager called me the very next day, and asked me to get on a bus and go for an interview right then. They needed cover for a lecturer who was on long-term sick, and I was the first to get there. Four days later I taught my first class — a room full of 25 English students. Having never taught a class before, it scared me half to death… but I only had to teach five hours per week and it was always the same class, who thankfully turned out to be a really sweet group. A year later and I’m back for more, and I’ve upped my game — I’m now teaching Literature and Communications rather than English, which has meant learning a new subject, and teaching six different classes over fourteen hours per week — that doesn’t include marking or prep. I’m also soliciting private students at present who might be in need of one-to-one tuition. Suffice to say, all my detractors were correct: it seems I was destined to become an English teacher.

Do you have a professional qualification or is it totally experience based?
At present, I don’t have any kind of teaching certificate — it’s not a total necessity unless you want to become the typical primary or secondary school kind of teacher, though it always helps! I’ve got all my teaching jobs based on the fact that I have a degree in English Literature, and now an MSc in Creative Writing and a PhD in the works. I also have experience — running a drama group and supervising a crazy pack of Girl Guides showed I could hack the pressure when I applied for my first job; having taught students of all ages and abilities on a one-to-one basis — plus a knowledge of the curriculum — helped get me a place at Telford. Basically, when I started out, I was more interested in becoming an academic than a high school teacher — otherwise I’d have done a PGDE qualification. Now, however, a big ambition is to become a Head Teacher, so a PGDE may be in the offing once the PhD is out of the way (what’s a bit more student debt, eh?). In terms of qualifications, you need to think about what kind of teacher you want to be and what kind of institution you want to teach at (you don’t need Qualified Teacher Status to be a self-employed tutor for example, but it helps), and then act accordingly — if you fancy the traditional school teacher role, get a degree in Primary or Secondary Teaching, or specialise in a core subject (English, Maths, or a science or modern language) at degree level and then get a PGDE. If you fancy the academic route, my advice is to concentrate on gaining academic qualifications and working your way up. If the idea of qualifications scares the crap out of you generally, you can always start out working self-employed as a private tutor or as a classroom assistant, and work your way up based solely on experience — just bear in mind, it’ll be harder and probably take longer. But it is do-able. Technically the only piece of paper you absolutely need to have is a CRB or Advanced Disclosure check. If you’re safe to work with kids, you’re good to go.

I’m trying desperately to find some sort of tutoring work but I’m not getting very far!
I have a friend of a friend who’s just finished her Primary Teaching degree — she’s completed her probationary year and now she’s been looking for a job all summer… without any success. She’s been told that there are 300 applicants for every primary school post that comes up. This may be an exaggeration, but even so — times are a little bit bleak for teachers right now.
What to do? Well, firstly: live in a city. Sorry country-dwellers… cities have more schools, more kids in need of tutoring, more tutoring agencies and organisations and more opportunities. Sure, there’s also more competition, but I think the pros outweigh the cons here. Secondly: widen your search. Childcare and education jobs are advertised in a weird and wonderful way, and word of mouth is a big deal among parents, teachers and kids alike. If you’re currently only looking for jobs online, in your student careers office or in the education papers, you need to cast your net wider. Go round schools and check out their public noticeboards — make a note of the names of tutoring agencies and call them up to offer your services (yes, whether they say they’re hiring or not!). Make flyers to advertise your tutoring services and pin them to these aforementioned noticeboards. If you’re freelancing out of your own home (make sure you have a CRB or Disclosure check, though!), advertise in your local area, particularly around schools. Write to schools and inform them you’re seeking students. Go on supply lists. Make yourself visible.
Thirdly: If this doesn’t work, try getting some more experience, if you can. Find a way you can work with children through volunteering, or maybe doing something non-academic like working in a creche or babysitting. Yes, this seems a far cry from teaching, but by working with kids you’re getting to know parents and making contacts (word of mouth, remember). The little kids in your creche might have older siblings in desperate need of a tutor — their parents might have friends who are looking for someone who comes recommended. And fourthly: know the curriculum. As well as you can. This isn’t easy if you don’t work in education already, but check out the Scottish Qualification Authority — or your local equivalent — and find as many curriculum support materials and sample documents you can get your hands on. Knowing the curriculum means you’re equipped to start tomorrow (this can be a very attractive quality), and that you don’t just expect to rock up and get a teaching job — you know what’s involved.

Are you a teacher, or have you ever taught? If so, how did you get started, and what job-hunting tips do you have? Are you looking to start teaching but feeling lost — do you have questions? Get thee to the comments box!

Part II… coming soon!

(Phto by Coo)

Tell us about your poems.
A lot of people say they’re very visual, but all I can say right now is that they’re constantly evolving.

How long have you been writing?
Since I was 16. I started out with ambitions of writing an erotic cyberpunk novel about dysfunctional characters drifting in an imaginary dystopia. Poetry came along just over a year ago.

Do you have any publications to your name? What’s the next stage for your work?
My first poem was published in Poetry Wales earlier this year, but that feels a lifetime away from the style I inhabit now. Being creative is all that’s important for me, so I just want to keep pushing myself, and maybe pluck up the courage to read to an audience.

What do you think is your biggest poetic achievement to date?
The positive comments from editors, friends and family.

What’s the best thing about writing poetry? And the worst?
The best thing for me is using poetry as a device to get people looking at things in a way they hadn’t considered before. The worst thing is how writing it often feels like trying to hit a target while standing drunk in a pitch-black room.

Got any suggestions for young, upcoming poets?
Don’t hold yourself back. Try to avoid the fear of appearing “difficult.” Getting poetry out there is good, it should aim to be inclusive, but I don’t believe the art itself should be sacrificed for popularity. We are complex, we are difficult, and good poetry reflects this. There’s nothing wrong with challenging people and making them think a bit.

Who/what influences your poetry?
Most of the time it’s just these images popping into my head out of the blue, but also the struggle for something original. Worrying about whether the end result is good or complete rubbish doesn’t matter so much as long as I’m being different and experimental. I could try to play it safe and maybe it would get published, but I think that would be a pretty boring way to work.

Dismantle

Take your head, pick the lock with a knife,
or for that thick skull use a hatchet,
then with gloves (to avoid the stain)
methodically start to unpack it.

Crack apart the two halves
as you would an Easter egg, drain
all fluids, nostalgia’s pool,
and siphon off the memory dregs.

Remove with care those tricky parts -
the medulla oblongata -
neurons and chambers like greenhouses
growing buds of laughter.

Tip upside down this toolbox,
give the skull a pat and a shake:
dislodged, your dreams will clatter out
(they betrayed you anyway) and break.

Scoop out a handful of mossy veins:
unravel, stretch, press flat and bend
‘till you have a map of humankind
with tracks and roads that never end.

Once empty you’ll find the root cause
of those bad thoughts - the parasite
who crawled in through your ear, and shrunk
himself to an inch in height.

With thumb and forefinger, prise out the old flame
as you would the tail of a crayfish or
tarantula’s bite. Then, with head dismantled,
get on with your life.

Want to see your poems featured here? Drop me a line to [email protected]!

(Photo by Lelyha)