Friday, April 08, 2005
Perils Of Poetry
A blistering cold wind is blowing over Edinburgh direct from Siberia. Talk about wind chill factors! Not only did the wind almost blow me off my feet (which takes some doing) but I couldn't feel my cheeks - all four of them! Baltic doesn't describe it and I wish I'd brought my bunnet with me to work.
Other than the weather, it was a great start to the day. I had Madness playing on my mobile mp3 player, it was sunny and bright and it was my 10th cappuccino from Club Sandwich, therefore free.
Things got even better as the day progressed. I met Dave and Tom for a pint or two in Clark's over lunch. With my overnight shift due to start at 3am I played it wary. The last thing I would need was to sleep in and miss it.
As fate would have it though, the computer programmers employed by The Company struck again. They fouled up magnificently; meaning two critical systems fell over and when I returned from lunch, I discovered tonight's implementation was cancelled.
So I went back to Clark's later on and had another couple of pints. Dave left early; his wife, Isla, is expecting their second child within the next week and should he need to drive, he doesn't want to be caught out.
It was never going to be a late one for me either since Gail had already booked to go out tonight. It suited me though because I wanted to get some writing done. At least the pressure is off about working from 3am till God knows when. It also means I can get up in the morning, take Laura to dancing then go and take photographs for my poetry chapbook.
I got home about 6'ish just as Gail was about to go out and made Laura her dinner. We watched some television together and had some ice cream before her time to sleep came.
I watched some highlights of the funeral of Pope John Paul II. One thing that has struck me since his death is the depth of feeling from young and old. I'm not sure I was quite expecting to see so many normal people travel from so far to pay their respects while he lay in State. It doesn't help my analysis of late as to whether or not there is a God. Perhaps that is too large a problem and I should just concentrate on a less confusing question; is God for me?
I'll get back to you on that.
The other day I was asked to join a poetry-only forum. Over the last couple of days I have been taking a look about and I liked what I saw; plenty of healthy discussion and critiquing from poets of every ilk. I signed up and when I couldn't find a board to introduce myself, I dove straight in and posted In The New Town Mist - one of my better poems I felt.
I logged on tonight and someone had posted a criticism. Now - I know I'm not an advanced poet by any stretch of the imagination, and I know poetry is probably not my strongest talent but I don't think my poetry is without meaning, purpose or lacking in point. My poem was torn to shreds line by line and it left me feeling quite despondent.
I am hardened to criticism from my work. It is part and parcel of being a writer and the process is an important part of the learning curve as well as the insight you can gain from another's interpretation of a piece of work. This criticism though, lacked constructiveness and this left a slightly bad taste in the mouth.
The person who asked me to join this group is a wonderful poet who has been published many times. In her e-mail to me, she said she had noticed my poetry becoming more deliberate and honed, which was the reason she asked me in. So, although this criticism (from another person I should say) was stinging, I am tempted to put most of it down to them just not getting the point. Yet part of my is nagging me and saying, "Maybe it is a pile of shite after all."
On another forum, I had told someone of the subjectivity of poetry, which is to say its beauty is often in the eye of the writer. I also read a lot of online poetry, some of which I would consider to be naïve or perhaps reading more like dialogue. Yet much of it is from published poets with several legitimate book publishing deals under their belts.
So who is right and who is wrong? Probably no one. But I joined to gain constructive criticism, not a morale beating, which is what I felt I got. I will persevere however, because I think my poetry is improving and I also think some of it is actually quite good. At the end of the day, if my poetry is crap, it looks like I'm about to find out.
Other than the weather, it was a great start to the day. I had Madness playing on my mobile mp3 player, it was sunny and bright and it was my 10th cappuccino from Club Sandwich, therefore free.
Things got even better as the day progressed. I met Dave and Tom for a pint or two in Clark's over lunch. With my overnight shift due to start at 3am I played it wary. The last thing I would need was to sleep in and miss it.
As fate would have it though, the computer programmers employed by The Company struck again. They fouled up magnificently; meaning two critical systems fell over and when I returned from lunch, I discovered tonight's implementation was cancelled.
So I went back to Clark's later on and had another couple of pints. Dave left early; his wife, Isla, is expecting their second child within the next week and should he need to drive, he doesn't want to be caught out.
It was never going to be a late one for me either since Gail had already booked to go out tonight. It suited me though because I wanted to get some writing done. At least the pressure is off about working from 3am till God knows when. It also means I can get up in the morning, take Laura to dancing then go and take photographs for my poetry chapbook.
I got home about 6'ish just as Gail was about to go out and made Laura her dinner. We watched some television together and had some ice cream before her time to sleep came.
I watched some highlights of the funeral of Pope John Paul II. One thing that has struck me since his death is the depth of feeling from young and old. I'm not sure I was quite expecting to see so many normal people travel from so far to pay their respects while he lay in State. It doesn't help my analysis of late as to whether or not there is a God. Perhaps that is too large a problem and I should just concentrate on a less confusing question; is God for me?
I'll get back to you on that.
The other day I was asked to join a poetry-only forum. Over the last couple of days I have been taking a look about and I liked what I saw; plenty of healthy discussion and critiquing from poets of every ilk. I signed up and when I couldn't find a board to introduce myself, I dove straight in and posted In The New Town Mist - one of my better poems I felt.
I logged on tonight and someone had posted a criticism. Now - I know I'm not an advanced poet by any stretch of the imagination, and I know poetry is probably not my strongest talent but I don't think my poetry is without meaning, purpose or lacking in point. My poem was torn to shreds line by line and it left me feeling quite despondent.
I am hardened to criticism from my work. It is part and parcel of being a writer and the process is an important part of the learning curve as well as the insight you can gain from another's interpretation of a piece of work. This criticism though, lacked constructiveness and this left a slightly bad taste in the mouth.
The person who asked me to join this group is a wonderful poet who has been published many times. In her e-mail to me, she said she had noticed my poetry becoming more deliberate and honed, which was the reason she asked me in. So, although this criticism (from another person I should say) was stinging, I am tempted to put most of it down to them just not getting the point. Yet part of my is nagging me and saying, "Maybe it is a pile of shite after all."
On another forum, I had told someone of the subjectivity of poetry, which is to say its beauty is often in the eye of the writer. I also read a lot of online poetry, some of which I would consider to be naïve or perhaps reading more like dialogue. Yet much of it is from published poets with several legitimate book publishing deals under their belts.
So who is right and who is wrong? Probably no one. But I joined to gain constructive criticism, not a morale beating, which is what I felt I got. I will persevere however, because I think my poetry is improving and I also think some of it is actually quite good. At the end of the day, if my poetry is crap, it looks like I'm about to find out.
Colin 1:44 pm
1 Comments:
Don't let the buggers get you down!
