“…the best instruction you could ever give a poet: whether you’re examining a bad line in a poem or a bad motive for action, keep well your repining – meaning don’t ignore the honest muttering in your head.”  Alice Oswald

Whilst skimming through The Guardian the other day I came across this article from John Kinsella about poetry’s responsibility to bring change.

It’s one of a growing number of articles about the sponsorship of the T S Eliot prize for poetry. In short, two poets have withdrawn on ethical/political grounds from the prize following a sponsorship deal with investment management firm Aurum Funds.

I think Alice Oswald started it all off and it’s a difficult one to call. The Poetry Book Society had to look for private sponsorship following public sector funding cuts by the Arts Council.  Whatever your view, I know one good thing has come from this story;  I’m up for poetry now. Bring. It. On.

I’ve never really had the urge to explore the world of poetry and the poets.  Yet all this angsty, change the world or die, “linguistic disobedience” stuff stirs me.  Being an inquisitive soul, all this got me thinking “I don’t really get poetry”.  And then I thought, “Why?”.

Ownership

I don’t think I’ve ever owned any before this year.  Which is odd considering we have books everywhere. I grew up with books everywhere.   The piles of books by my bed could be mistaken for a paper tower of Pisa (a trait I learnt from my father). But how many of those books are by poets or on poetry?  Very few.  A dog-eared copy of The Nation’s Favourite Poems, which I am sure I have never bought so must have stolen, doesn’t count.

The reason for this? “Erm, probably Emma because of all the hours you spend in book shops you never spend any time in the poetry section.”  Completely unaware.  So I am now aware and open to the possibility that hanging in the Poetry and Drama sections of Waterstones may increase the chances of me upping my consumption.

Poetry is now on my mind.

Films, Television and Death

“Stop all the clocks.”  If I hear John Hannah reading W H Auden’s Funeral Blues I cry.  For me Auden is Four Weddings.   Actually most of the poems (or lines from poems) I can recite are because they featured in a film.  A sad state of affairs. This saddens me but it’s true so I should accept it and not feel the shame.

After films, my next realisation has been that funerals are where I have heard the most poetry.  Death is Nothing At All, Reflections, Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep.  Somehow I feel a little out of balance now I realise most of the poems I know are about death, dying and grief!

So here’s to balanced anthology of life, nature and a bit of living.

N.B. Me and Mr Auden got nice and cosy as he read me to sleep the other evening.  We are starting to become properly acquainted.

Education

My schools days contained a lot of English lessons. Not unusual. In all the hours spent in the classroom during my secondary education I seriously cannot remember one lesson or one exercise or one piece of homework about poetry. Not one.  How can that possibly be?  It was a good school. Still is to my knowledge. And I had good teachers.

But I know for a fact that we never sat down and talked about poetry as a form of social or political observation. That would have been exciting.  We never talked about it being primal, being from your gut and in your bones. Not once did it cross my mind that all the madness inside my head was what poetry could be about.  It could have been therapy.  It could have been the light.  A fire inside me. Opportunity, wasted.

I hope that this isn’t a common experience. Poetry is a tool we have made. It should be used. It’s there to help us. It has purpose.

I had a quick look around (Google Search: national curriculum poetry).  Sadly I fear it may be all too commonplace…

“Poetry in the Secondary Framework.  Apart from broad references to ‘narratives’ and ‘multi modal’ texts, the Framework itself contains no references to specific types of texts. If teachers just consult this document, it could be all too easy for poetry (or other text types) to become neglected.“  Initial Teacher Education – English Website.

 

“Poetry is either sidelined or subjected to pointless questioning on the supposed ‘facts’ of a poem and children spend their time counting metaphors and proving that this or that makes a poem effective.  Effective for who? The children aren’t asked.” Michael Rosen Children’s Laureate in 2007.

I’d love to be reassured. Teacher friends – please restore my faith.  Who’s playing with poetry in our schools?

Poetry Un-School

I’m starting my own curriculum. A journey into poetry.  Beginning with a little help from Stephen May, Carol Ann Duffy and the Poetry Book Society.  I wonder where it will take me?

Firmly establish your intention to live your life for the healing of the world. Be conscious of it, honour it, nurture it every day.

Be fully present in our time. Find the courage to breathe in the suffering of the world. Allow peace and healing to breathe out through you in return.

Do not meet power on its own terms. See through to its real nature – mind and heart made. Lead your response from that level.

Simplify. Clear away the dead wood in your life. Look for the heartwood and give it the first call on your time, the best of your energy.

Put down the leaden burden of saving the world alone. Join with others of like mind. Align yourself with the forces of resolution.

Hold in a single vision, in the same thought, the transformation of yourself and the transformation of the world. Live your life around that edge, always keeping it in sight.

As a bird flies on two wings, balance outer activity with inner sustenance.

Following your heart, realise your gifts. Cultivate them with diligence to offer knowledge and skill to the world.

Train in non-violence of body, speech and mind. With great patience to yourself, learn to make beautiful each action, word and thought.

In the crucible of meditation, bring forth day by day into your own heart the treasury of compassion, wisdom and courage for which the world longs.

Sit with hatred until you feel the fear beneath it. Sit with fear until you feel the compassion beneath that.
Do not set your heart on particular results. Enjoy positive action for its own sake and rest confident that it will bear fruit.

When you see violence, greed and narrow-mindedness in the fullness of its power, walk straight into the heart of it, remaining open to the sky and in touch with the earth.

Staying open, staying grounded, remember that you are the inheritor of the strengths of thousands of generations of life.

Staying open, staying grounded, recall that the thankful prayers of future generations are silently with you.

Staying open, staying grounded, be confident in the magic and power that arise when people come together in a great cause.

Staying open, staying grounded, know that the deep forces of Nature will emerge to the aid of those who defend the Earth.

Staying open, staying grounded, have faith that the higher forces of wisdom and compassion will manifest through our actions for the healing of the world.

When you see weapons of hate, disarm them with love.
When you see armies of greed, meet them in the spirit of sharing.
When you see fortresses of narrow-mindedness, breach them with truth.
When you find yourself enshrouded in dark clouds of dread, dispel them with fearlessness.
When forces of power seek to isolate us from each other, reach out with joy.

In it all and through it all, holding to your intention, let go into the music of life. Dance!

I first heard this in June 2011 on retreat at the Ecodharma Centre in Spain. I thank Guhyapati for reading it to us.

December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

About the author: Jeffrey Davis

Simply. I walked.  A lot.  In the hills. And the wind was blowing.

More wonder than you can shake a stick at.

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

About the author: Ali Edwards.

This year has been full of great moments but the one that stands out for me is a bit of wild swimming in the Gorges de Galamus. 

It was a hot day.  One of those days when you can smell the tarmac melting on the roads. Solid blue skies.  Crazy cloud formations. Cicadas signing their hearts out.

We head out of the Fosse valley and down through the nearest town of Saint Paul de Fenouillet. Faded buildings and roaming, free-spirited dogs in the streets.  The cafe in the square is full of local boys with sun beaten faces drinking coffee the colour of mud.  Too early to grab a cheeky Pastis before they start work on the vines? Unlikely.  I notice that their cigarette-rough Catalan drawl is getting easier to understand.

We stop to grab picnic provisions. Fresh, warm and pointy baguettes, salty dried ham from over the border and a melon that smells like sunshine.

After driving through the gorge, we park up and start walking back to a place I know where you can get off the road and into the water.  I fight the acrophobia all the way.  It’s a long way down.  Pesky vertigo makes me want to throw myself over the edge and  I wobble a bit.  We scramble over a wall and slide down the shingle and shale heading for the river and the deep, bright pools below us.  If you look carefully you can see the fish circling.

We find a spot under a leafy tree and discard shorts and hats and sunblock.  I smoke. Pete smokes. Then the water beckons.

It’s deep and cold and like an electric shock.  It’s incredible.

We jump and dive and splash. We muck about.  It feels like being six again.  Everyone is smiling; great big fat smiles.  Then someone decides to climb up the rocks. I think it’s Pete.  Anne follows. Clare takes photographs.  I climb.  Then I stand.

And then I’m a scaredy cat. I can’t move. I can’t jump and I can’t get down again. There are rocks in the water below.  In another land where health and safety runs riot it would be signposted Slippery when Wet.

And then I do it. And it feels good.

I’m a bit of a foodie (aka Fattie) and please don’t get me wrong – I love French cusine but when you try to go out for Mexican food and get goats cheese served in a tortilla something’s not quite right with the world.

So while I’m in the UK I have set myself a food challenge.

My list of “Food to Stuff While You Can”  is below. Let’s take a look…

1. Indian Sag Paneer  – Check
2. Fish and Chips and Mushy Peas – Check
3. Roast Chicken and Yorkshire Puddings made by my mum – Check
4. Pie (Any Sort) – Check
5. Wagamamas and Asahi Beer – Check
6. Copious amounts of Dim Sum at Yauatcha – Check
7. Pasta at Carluccios – Not Check, probably Thursday lunchtime with Libby
8. Thai Som Tum Salad ส้มตำ and fishcakes – Not Check, maybe Thai Connection with Amy.

I’ll be the size of a house by the time I get home.

December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

About the author: Leo Babauta

I keep busy.  Or should I say, I pretend to keep busy.  I find stuff to do.  The stuff rarely takes the form of sitting down to write.  I’m an excuse monkey. And a commitment-phobe.

I should remember that I enjoy writing. Writing is good for me.  I wish I remembered to feel about writing like I feel about a cup of tea.  I feel I need one of those to start my day.

Thought for 2011: Writing is like a nice cup of tea.

A little late but better than never I found a reflective challenge for the end of 2010 called Reverb 10 via The Pig Pog Blog. Here’s the story behind Reverb 10.

So I’ve got some catching up to do.

December 1 One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

About the author: Gwen Bell

My One Word to encapsulate 2010 is Brave.  I think I was brave this year.  I guess I’ve done stuff I’ve been scared of and that feels good.  I chose to live in another place.  Somewhere different, where they speak another language and do stuff differently.  I’ve climbed high things and not fallen off and I’ve spent a lot of time on my own. I’m not so scared anymore.

My One Word for 2011 is Create.  I need a little or a lot of make-and-do in my life.  It’s been lacking for a few years now.  And when I say create I mean the objects and experiences I can count on my fingers and toes at the end of 2011.  Stuff I Made or Stuff I Made Happen.

If you want to sign up, head over to Sign up at Reverb 10.  Follow the tweets using #reverb10.