Once Upon A Time

For as long as I can remember, I’ve kept a sketchbook/notebook by my bed, not far from my side to consider ‘things’ anywhere but in my head. The head is fallible and never enough, if the idea comes surrounded by the speed of life….especially when ageing comes into the equation! And thoughts come as often as dreams and I write them down as much as I can as well.

Years ago, my art tutors emphasised the importance of sketchbooks. I was supposed to have them available for assessors to scrutinise at my degree show, but I confess my practice had grown lax during that time.

Roll on the years and I am always using sketchbooks, but not how I used to. Once upon a time, they were for anything other and beyond my artistic practice; more recently they have become diectly to do with current paintings in particular. I’ve found a way of channelling myself through sketchbook practice into finished paintings. It’s exhilarating and refreshing. The ‘other’ has joined in with self expression and meaning.

I wish those examiners could see my sketchbooks now!

Here is a brief flick through my current sketchbook so far…

“And then I saw there was no need for shame or dread”

As I write this blog, enough time has passed to reflect on an invitation I received recently to speak at a local school in front of a large audience about my poetry and the inspiration I draw upon to write it. I’m not going to pretend that there weren’t any nerves or a slight feeling of trepidation in the run up to the talk . These feelings were ironic because this subject is what I want to talk about, I looked a bit deeper to overcome them and drew upon reserves I just needed to name.

I’ve quoted my father from one of his poems to title this blog partly because his words remind me of Nikos Kazantzakis and his well known quote that emblazons thousands of Cretan souvenir T shirts “I have no fear, I have no hope, I am a free man”. Both my father and Mr Kazantzakis featured in the “philosophical” part of my talk , if both could master their existential doubts then I could master mine was the mantra I used whilst fulfilling the invitation. The punchline is obviously that the talk went without a hitch!

The pupils I talked to were about to start a poetry module as part of their curriculum. I was introduced as “a real life poet” and pretty much given carte-blanche (within time restrictions) to talk about that ephemeral thing that some would say is 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration or vice-versa e.g to write a poem!

As part of this I introduced my belief that we are all poets and proceeded to demonstrate how. The pupils had previously been invited to post contributions into 3 labelled and sealed boxes with 3 subjects , likes, dislikes and inspiration. It had been explained that after my talk about my own inspiration and philosophy we would be opening these boxes and exploring any of their own themes for use in an inclusive poem I would subsequently construct about the day. The message was a simple statement that all of us had made this ‘poem of the day’. This poem could then be shared at a later date.

My hope was that all would leave the talk feeling part of a poetic process that was valid and relevant for us all. I wasn’t disappointed. The content provided by the pupils displayed common human needs and wants but also resonated with much that I had been saying about our universal desire to communicate our hopes without fear of rejection. Going back to my father and Kazantzakis, I set out to model our poem into a medium that demonstrated our freedom to be authentic.

I’ve attached the poem here and am delighted to tell you that it will be discussed by the Year 9 pupils in their English class. Despite writing it, it’s the pupils themselves who fuelled it and I thank them and Culford School for enabling this event.

Having Naught, I Never Feel Alone

I wanted to share some thoughts on inspiration chanced upon by reading “Trespass” by John Clare 1793-1864. The poem is charged with great emotion and bristles with curiosity whilst exploring vividly thoughts on ownership and freedom. The culmination focuses on the line “Having naught, I never feel alone” and turns the poem on it’s head in just a few words. John Clare, it appears, didn’t feel liberated by ownership, rather he was alienated by the judgement of those who were owners to the extent where he instead chose self sufficiency in his own poetic world. I think I understand this in so far that several times a day I walk in the open as empty as I can, inviting something inspirational to come to me. I assume no ownership of the woodland which is the source of my inspiration, beyond nominally owning it legally. In truth, though I am nothing more or less than the guardian of this source of my inspiration, it is temporarily mine certainly not permanently mine and from a position of receiving free flowing inspiration it’s better that I inhabit it with nothing in my mind at all, e.g “having naught” and therefore never “feeling alone”, because if I’m lucky, I’ll be in the company of inspiration.

John Clare wrote, among other things, about the things around him and being immersed in them. I can’t speak highly enough when contemplating creativity to start with nothing before opening the door, you’ll soon be in good company with whatever is around you.

“Trespass” is available to read via a simple Google search, but Google certainly doesn’t own John Clare.

A Light Mazed

One of this year’s stories has been the publication of my slim volume of Poetry titled ‘A Light Mazed’. In total 24 poems with my illustrations are available for the very first time as a collated whole and will initially be available from this site for the price of £10.99 + P&P .

The inspiration is multifaceted, but in essence is about time and place in my small corner of Suffolk over the last 5 years or so. With my poetry, observation is key and I’ve been graced the chance to observe how a plot of woodland which I maintain, transcends time and the people, flora and fauna that have occupied it. The woodland in question has been crossed by people for thousands of years from Neolithic to Bronze age, Iceni to Roman, from mercenary armies to landed gentry and from monastic pilgrim to itinerant farm labourer. Ironically my 5 years and counting is the quietest period of time on this land for many decades. Part of my observations are about it reverting away from us into something wilder and what this feels like and looks like. The quiet that transcends the woodland today muffles what has gone before, my job as a poet is to tap into the wavelength of the place and describe it to you. That’s what I hope and expect this slim volume to do.

Previously my poetry has sometimes been published in anthologies with other poets, a process I’ve enjoyed immensely as I’ve met so many interesting people along the way. I have however branched out with this poetry collection, another way of putting it is that I’ve ‘anthologised’ myself, as there was just too much to say to break up the poems and illustrations into smaller chunks.

I really hope anyone who purchases a copy and reads it enjoys the glimpse it offers into a rare environment that is making its own history.

The Poetry Blog

At the grand old age of 50 ( and a bit) I am now understanding what Poetry means to me. For many years it was the domain of my father who wrote his own poetry all of his long life. He would occasionally invite me to read what he had been writing but not always, it was a close up glimpse of him and he didn’t always want to be looked at so closely….consequently his poetry was sometimes private. I didn’t always like my father’s poetry, but now realise that was a father/son thing. I definitely liked the fact that he wrote poetry and now years after his passing the poetry he has left is tangibly him and I’m blessed to have it so close.

And then there is my own poetry which over the last few years has been more and more an avenue of expression. As a young man I occasionally wrote prose in between painting or influenced by what I was reading, sometimes it could be turned to as a way to shape an idea… I remember writing a poem to illustrate one such idea whilst studying to be a psychiatric nurse for instance, but then something shifted and I realised it was becoming a preferred way of consideration. This happened in tandem with a change in my circumstances a few years back, poetry had become a direct voice and after this I’ve written more and more, certainly into double figures for the last 6 or 7 years.

I don’t always seek publication but at time of writing have just had my tenth poem published and have several others either in the pipeline or up for consideration, it is a fascinating process to identify where each poem should go dependent on theme or style and they have become much more than something I did in between other things; they are actually a preferred way of looking.

I’ve called this the “poetry blog” because I wanted to graphically say how pivotal poetry is to everyday life and can be for everyone because forming those words that perhaps resonate with others is just about looking closely and stopping for a moment. It took me a while to understand this but now I do it makes so much sense.

And briefly returning to my father, I realise he was doing much the same which pleases me now because I’m able to look at him a bit clearer now, despite so much time elapsing and I’ve grown to like his poetry now that the intergenerational parent/child rite of passage has faded. Poetry has become the thing that bonds us and I never expected that to happen at the age of fifty (something)!