I am rather in awe of people who undertake the "write a poem a
month and stick it online" project for NaPoWriMo (National Poetry
Writing Month). I'm not that quick. Which also means I never seem to
have poems to spare. I am a quick reader though – even if poetry isn't
exactly ideal for being blitz-read – but the pile of shame next to my
bed isn't getting any smaller, so I figured I might try out a NaPoReMo
instead, and see if I can stay on top of reading one book of poems every
day and writing something about it.
I can
tell you in advance, from having done the first chunk of seven days,
that I'll definitely be favouring the "slim volume", and will also throw
in a few pamphlets too by way of variety / cheating. It's also making
me think lots about the way I read poetry. Or the way I read differently
for different types of poetry.
These aren't
reviews or anything like that. Just a random collection of books I
wanted to read and a few thoughts I noted down after reading them. Okay.
A
collection of prose poems which each begins "Dear Editor" (which I just freudianly mistyped as "Dead Editor"), each poem being a pretend letter
to an editor, discussing an enclosed batch of poems that we never
actually get to read. Instead the letters are the poems, and
Newman reflects in circling but ever-changing ways about chess, growing
up with grandparents, metaphors, poetry workshops, saints, sin,
desire... while overall also giving an interesting muse on the nature of
poets' relationships with editors, with publication, with themselves.
Persistent, wry, engaging.
Sarah Hesketh, The Hard Word Box (Penned in the Margins, 2014)
A
collection written following a residency at a residential care home for
people with dementia. A mix of poetic styles, includes some transcribed
unaltered interviews that almost take on the semblance of prose poetry
due to the way the language is used. A look at language breaking down
and a reminder of what is lost at the end of life, of these lives.
Painful, funny.
Sam Riviere, True Colours (After Hours, 2016)
A
pamphlet of poems written sort of in statements, sometimes feeling like
each poem is a curated collection of individual statements, sometimes
feeling like they are more interconnected. A sort of ennui regarding
modern life. Startling juxtapositions. Contemporary +1. I like Sam's
work a lot. Dry, funny, genuine (whatever I mean by that).
Charlotte Newman, Trammel (Penned in the Margins, 2016)
This
is a frequently confusing collection, but it's so wilful and determined
and musical, you can lean into it without flinching. It feels like its
complexity is a neccessary reaction to its subject matter - the
interweaving of feminism, history, politics, books, bands and all sorts,
but perhaps the political element is what feels like the guiding hand
throughout. Reads at times like Mary Beard got drunk with the Oxford
English Dictionary while listening to Le Tigre. (This collection is also
the epitome of a book that should not be read and processed in a single
day, and makes me wonder if I haven't made a horrible mistake in taking
this daily reading schedule on. Hmm.)
Joe Brainard, I Remember (Penguin, 1995; originally 1970)
Oh
wow. I've read this before, but in fits and chunks and definitely not
all in one go. As ludicrous as the "one poetry book a day" thing may be,
it worked especially well for this. If you don't know it, the poem
itself is such a simple idea. A long prose poem with each idea (whether
one line or a whole paragraph) separated by linebreaks, and each one
starts "I remember...". I've heard people say this is a poetry cliche,
probably because of other poems ripping this off, but it's so
beautifully done here. A mix of funny childhood observations, mixed with
memories of sexual awakening, gay awakening, confusions, tastes and
experiences. So relatable and so open. Also very distracting, as each
line constantly sparks off a sequence of other recollections of your own
as you read.
Ed Doegar, For Now (Clinic, 2017)
I'm
very good friends with Ed, so should say that up front. This is his
first pamphlet and I'm predisposed to think it's wonderful. I do think
it's wonderful. I don't think I'm wrong to thing it's wonderful. Very
short lines often, very succinct. Lines have a gentle persuasiveness,
within a larger quiet anxiety about the circumstances in which we
find ourselves existing. Political, personal, devotional. As if we are
all tourists in our own world.
Kristina Ehin The Scent of Your Shadow Arc 2010
I
remember seeing this Estonian poet at Southbank's Poetry Parnassus
festival about five years ago. She wandered around with a sort of
ethereal air, someone who understood something magical. I came across
her book in the Poetry Library this week and realised I hadn't actually
read it back when the festival was on. She writes very personal poems,
about a clearly contemporary experience, but with an enormous connection
to folk traditions and to the natural world, to old forests and the
sky. There is something very spiritual and organic happening here,
something which does not shy away from passion and emotion.
So
that's the first seven, already. How quick and casual it seems to cover
books in this way, when so often poetry is about lingering and
returning and sinking into. This is the opposite of poetry.
I'm
struck most though, reading these publications all in such close
succession, by how quickly poets can create such vastly different worlds
for us to be drawn into, and how much work linebreaks do in terms of
giving our imagination the space to really internalise every word and
image as we go. (I mean – duh, "linebreaks do a lot of the hard work in
poetry" is hardly a profound thought, but still feels worth saying.)
I'm
also realising that one of the main challenges here isn't to read a
book of poems a day, but to be able to process what I've read and
actually write something useful about a book a day. I suspect it may
prove almost as valuable as the reading itself.
More next week...
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