National Poetry Month #2

Pass the matches and the cork screw. What a lovely still night here on The Edge. That old moon is sneaking around behind the eucalypts again. She's lemon yellow at the moment. Perhaps it's all the burn-back smoke, or maybe she's just working up to a big show later on tonight.

I'm glad you've turned up. Plant yourself on that log; the campfire's just warming up.

One of the great things about poetry is that the more you read some poems, combined with where you read them, who you're with, what mood you're in (OK - and how much wine you've had), etc, the more you see into them and the more you get out of them. In other words, good poems require a bit of work from the reader.

As with any art, the audience, the creator and the creation all work together, and without one, the whole thing falls down.

I described yesterday's poem, "In the Boot of Someone's Car", as lovely nonsense. On one level it is. It's fun to read. Of course, if you want, you can think more deeply about it and see that Josephine Rowe could be referring to anything from writer's block to her personal relationships. Last night, I just wanted the fun element. Tonight, I see it as more significant. 

It's sort of magic!

Tonight's Campfire offering is a double feature. Two "simple" little poems that are the first two poems I ever read in a book then wrote down to keep, just for myself. I didn't have to analyse them, or write an essay on them, or present a lesson on them. I was probably about 17 when I discovered them and I could relate to them. As I've aged, I've come to see them as even more significant to me. 

And that's the thing about poetry. No matter what experience you're enduring, what emotion is tearing your heart to bits, what dark tunnel you're trying to push through, someone will have experienced the same, understood the suffering - and written a poem about it! While this rarely fixes your problem, it can offer consolation and companionship on your ragged track. (Of course, that goes for good times too, but "you all know me".)

..........................................

Home Visit by Henry Graham

in the garden
we walked side
by side the
old man

& in our
similar suits;

he was no
longer certain
that I should have

my hair cut
& I was no longer
certain that I

shouldn't
nonetheless
we talked carefully

about his 
dying roses.

..........................................

See what I mean about the reader needing to do some work? The lack of punctuation and capital letters draws the reader in, makes them have to be involved in the poem in order to allow meaning to form. When you read that one aloud, where did you pause? Why there? And do you talk "carefully" with people you love?

..........................................

Jazz/Poet by Geoff Page

he scrawled

a sudden

sentence in

the air

violent yet

articulate

I snatched

a phrase

& took

it home

to work on

but 

by dawn

it was

dead.

..........................................

Well, who hasn't been there, done that? Since finding that poem, I've seen the idea repeated many times by other writers and poets. Shit, eh?