It’s the end of October already! The year has slid past and yet at the same time stretches out. My birthday picnic in the park in early June seems a lifetime ago while it’s already two months, almost to the day, since the onset of the shingles encounter. Though some symptoms remain that seems like ancient history too.
Still somewhat in recovery mode though. Hardly have energy to go out. Feeling a bit split; yesterday as excited as a child who has caught a butterfly to discover the essays of Denise Levertov on poetics. Today find myself asking why poetry? Is is my soul yearning or just a box I’ve carved myself into where I’m holding myself prisoner?
I started reading Ben Okri’s The Famished Road recently I can’t believe it’s sat on my bookshelves untouched for so long. I find it’s so rich in imagery I can only manage a few chapters at a time. Sometimes only one. I find I have to put it down and digest it slowly.
Some poetry news follows but first some reflections on my writing process, my identity as a human on this planet and and our role at this time. Why do writers write? Why do I write? Recently I wrote on a neon pink post it, “because it makes my soul sing.” It joins others that read, “may I know the joy of living,” “it’s about the journey,” “it takes as long as it takes” and a counter to debilitating perfectionism, “80% is good enough.”
My writing process, closely aligned to the state of my mental health, has changed as I find myself more stable. I used to only really scribble in a state of manic frenzy then subsequently tried, and more often failed, to craft the scribbles into, into what, into something.
These days have a modicum of discipline. Generally words still tumble out fairly swiftly and I feel merely the witness. This is an example. Though for your sakes I correct the spelling, typos and confusing syntax. There’s always a shadow of a fear this might all just stop. And then what? When I’ve pinned my identity to this? In general I prefer as description; human, or female bodied soul ( after Dom Bury) or child of god (after Marianne Williamson.)
Some days I’m not even sure about human. As a child I felt so other. I remember when everyone was out ransacking the bureau at home. (A piece of furniture the size and shape of an upright piano with a writing desk which opened out.) It was where mum and dad kept stationary and documents. I was looking for my birth certificate. I figured I may have been adopted. When I found nothing I concluded I must therefore be an alien.
A bit of a leap on reflection. It may well have been influenced by my fascination with The Unexplained – a magazine I subscribed to – the 1970’s equivalent of the X Files and an enchantment with Star Trek and The Sky at Night; the latter hosted by the monocled Sir Patrick Moore. That said, the feeling of otherness is rarely far away.
I wonder if this is what makes an artist? Being somewhat outside holding a tension between wanting to fit in and stand out? I always felt at home with Poets Know it and by extension my Brixton family —perhaps as we all in individual ways were or are a bit other. One night many moons ago a group of us round a table in the Prince Albert shared how we were all the last to be (reluctantly) chosen for the team on the school sports fields.
Possibly this otherness feeling is a symptom an inner non-acceptance of self or aspects of the self. In meditation the other day a strong image came to me. In my lap lay my perfect baby self. Meanwhile I extended my arms outward and embraced other parts of myself; present were at least the harsh critic, the driver, the fearful saboteur. And the alien?
So it occurs to me The Way/ the road less traveled/ the spiritual path, whatever you want to call it, is as much a journey to God/ the source/ a higher power, as a journey back to the self.
Nothing less than an acceptance of the muddled, flawed, damaged selves that we all are. How can we not be when we live in and emerge from a traumatised world shaped by wars, inequality, injustice, poverty and untold human suffering, (ironically in this state move into the climate emergency.)
I still have to confess to not feeling unlike Okri’s narrator who feels he is here on earth as a kind of penance or mistake, reluctantly. Though part of me feels – what a time to be alive! We have the very real opportunity in the heat of the climate emergency to forge this world anew. I believe it will not change in a just and permanent way unless we all act together.
I believe even the smallest change to behaviour by any of us is a radical repositioning towards the planet. Logically, in our individual and collective action, as we take action not only does it necessitate and demonstrate a change in consciousness it invites the possibility of transforming our relationship to each other, to non human species and to the earthy and watery aspects of this planet. This is my hope.
So there’s a whole bunch of stuff coming up in the poetry world
Find Poets for the Planet at COP 26 at
Also worth checking out
Human Impact on Nature, Landscape and Climate kicks off via Zoom on Sunday 7th Nov from 12-1pm and of course takes place during #cop26
This event brings together four poets all exploring in their own way our human relationship with nature, landscape and climate, conscious of our footprint, and the impact of our lives on our environment. With Sarah Westcott, Steph Morris, Anna Saunders & Dom Bury
Book your FREE ticket here https://www.poetryinaldeburgh.org/festival-programme
Also the Forward Prize and Booker Prize will be awarded at the Southbank some time in November. Info here https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/festivals-series/london-literature-festival?type=literature-poetry
Special mention Malika’s Poetry Kitchen Friends and Family are at the Southbank Centre for the London Literature Festival in on Saturday 30th October at 1pm Presenting poems and in conversation with Malika Booker and Nick Makoha, Katie Griffiths and Kostya Tsolakis, Yomi Sode and Kareem Parkins-Brown.
Here’s the link for info: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/malikas-poetry-kitchen-friends-and-family
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
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