The Iranian Nuclear Question - ‘War’
July 31, 2008
Entry for this week’s poetry prompt.
Time: 03.00
Setting: Bedroom
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some irrelevant moth in the dark corner of my bedroom:
Hey you!
Sleeping down there
Wake up bulky shrew!
Do you scare?
Beaman:
Why would I be fearful of you my dear?
What fool would quake because of you clung near?
Where is the sweat running down terror’d brow?
Who are you? I say sleep or depart now!
Moth:
Cease sough!
Question I hold.
Rest I not allow.
I’m Kobold*!
Beaman:
The moon is shining but my mind is glowing
You are but indigestion!
A dream, so pray do ask your question.
Moth:
Persia,
Her nukes soon true.
Western inertia
What to do?
Beaman:
Whilst doubtless from a mental apparition
This matter, though grave, needs recognition;
A tough predicament we now do face,
If we’re to avoid nuclear ambsace.
Their leader, Ahmadinejad be his name
Finds use in rhetoric and lies to inflame;
Plans blossoming, an evil insensate,
A land poison-filled soon to deflagrate.
An ancient foe aroused in wailing mist
While Europe honours the brave pacifist;
The left’s hand seeks out peace and fellowship,
But with Israel their harmony slips.
What will we say to our children tomorrow
When London, Rome or Berlin cry sorrow?
Amidst the radioactive ruins sad.
That we disregarded nuclear jihad?
Let us soon see our brave air warriors deploy,
To fix claws on power plants and destroy!
With steel in their wings and hearts fiercely hardy
They’ll crush the holocaust-causing Mahdi.
Moth:
Sound words.
Leave take meanwhile.
Return undeterred.
So I will!
Beaman:
Why old moth? Why?
Silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* A spirit of German folklore. The name comes from the word kobalt or kobold meaning “evil spirit”.
Charles Simic returns to writing poetry
July 28, 2008
Charles Simic, the 15th Poet Laureate of the United States, chose to step down this Summer and not seek an extension to his term for a second year. This led to Kay Ryan being named his successor. The reasons he gave for retiring from the spotlight included the tiring monotony of travelling constantly from one event or performance and the lack of time in which to write poetry. The understandable frustration of not having composed a poem for over a year was the final straw.
“One year is enough,” said Simic. “Washington is too far, and the travel these days is no fun.”
Simic lives with his wife on the shores of Bow Lake in Strafford, New Hampshire, where he is professor emeritus of American literature and creative writing at the University of New Hampshire. Within the space of a few months, he had travelled back and forth between Washington a total of nine times and made numerous trips to give readings as far afield as the Mid West and California.
The Serbian-American poet who was born in Belgrade in 1938, moved to the States at the age of 16 with his family and settled in Chicago. He was later to earn a B.A. from New York University. His war-torn beginnings have influenced much of his poetry and indeed his political views.
“I got invitations to the White House, but I didn’t go,”
The poet laureate has an office with a parlour overlooking the Capitol and from there he formed numerous opinions of the national political culture. “Washington is the capital of a corrupt empire fighting two hopeless wars and yearning to have more,” he said. “Every powerful figure in Washington is surrounded by a flock of beautiful, well-educated, highly competent women who run after them all day carrying documents, reminding them of appointments and flattering them how good they look. No wonder these men think they are geniuses.”
The transition from ‘travelling salesman’ back to full-time poet was not a hard one. However whilst relieved he is also aware of the great importance of the position of poet laureate to be vital. “It reminds Americans that there’s such a thing as poetry and that poets are people like them,” he said. “They may believe poets have their heads in the clouds, and then they meet or hear one and are delighted that it isn’t so.”
One thing that has shocked Simic, especially over the last couple of years, is the amount of poetry being written and read in America. He said: “People who do not think so ought to go on the internet and type in ‘poetry’ and be prepared to fall off their chairs. This is a country of loners, and poetry, it seems, is the only place one can speak about that solitude and read the work of others who are in the same boat.”
As well as being a world renowned poet, Charles Simic is also a philosopher, essayist, translator and commentator on various subjects including Jazz and Art. He is currently the poetry editor, along with Meghan O’Rourke, for The Paris Review and was one of the judges for the 2007 Canadian Griffin Poetry Prize. His latest book of poems, That Little Something, was published in early 2008.
Poetry Prompt 3 - ‘War’
July 25, 2008
On the 21st of July, former Bosnian Serb leader Radovan Karadzic was arrested in Belgrade on charges of war crimes and genocide. He is set to stand trial at The Hague. I’ve been following this story closely over the last week and as a result it occurred to me that the 3rd Poetry Prompt could be themed on the rather unpalatable subject of ‘War’.
You can take the word in anyway you wish, be it the warfare seen on the world’s battlefields today; the conflicts faced yesteryear, whether Vietnam or the Battle of Hastings; or alternatively it can be based on the daily struggles you face with someone obnoxious at work or with a chronic illness. Whatever route you take, be creative with the words you use and perhaps think of the structure of your poem and how it relates to the imagery of what you describe.
When you have completed the poem, post the direct link in the ‘auto-links’ box below and also make a comment in the comment’s section. Before or following this, take time over the coming week to visit other entries from fellow poets and add a friendly comment or two regarding what you felt about their poem. This last part is vital if we are all to gain value from this exercise.
Next Thursday evening I will create a round-up of my personal favourite pieces but remember, this is not a competition. If you need any help or advice, then either contact me or pose a question in the comments section and I’m sure someone will be available to give you a hand.
Have Fun!
Badges for ‘Poetry Prompt’ can be found here.
Poetry Prompt Round-Up 2
July 24, 2008
It’s Thursday evening here in England and therefore it’s time to make a round-up of last week’s Poetry Prompt 2, which was based on the theme of birth. I am delighted with the number of writers who partook in only the second prompt of this website’s short history. This figure certainly bodes extremely well for the future.
As John Henry Newman, the 19th Century English preacher and poet once said: “Fear not that thy life shall come to an end, but rather fear that it shall never have a beginning”. This succinct fragment of advice has been on my mind a lot recently because it relates to our writing and poetry. If we don’t make the effort to communicate and transmit what we feel in our psyche onto paper or the computer screen, then what hope do we have of ever creating the beautiful verses, literary structures and heartfelt romance or tragedy that burdens our subconscious.
As with the creation of life and everything, the birth of a poem needs a starting point, a catalyst which ignites the imagination, and that is what I hope I am providing for you with these weekly poetry prompts. Below is a short compendium of the entries for Week 2.
The first entry was from Melissa at Poetic Ponderings. She wrote an Acrostic poem based on the 5 letters in the word ‘birth’ which wonderfully encapsulated most precious gifts a mother can give her baby. Those of love, protection and devotion.
Sascha Cooper’s poem was based on her experiences of moving to a new place in Brighton, England and the perils that were faced. A humorous and interesting tale with a snappy ending.
Nunyaa from Australia wrote a very poignant piece called ‘Live in the Dream’. It has a hauntingly wispy structure which lends itself well to the dream narrative.
The fourth entry was from Tiel Aisha Ansari and was inspired by both an image and the subject matter of this week’s prompt. ‘Inside Fibonacci’ is an almost mathematical creation with metrical and chant-like qualities that leave the reader wonderfully confused as to whether a poem was read or if instead music had been played. The auditory flirtations between such words as ‘Fibonacci’ and ‘logarithmic’ that are ennobled with the soft and mollified words including ‘chiral’ and ‘gyration’ are enchanting.
Holly’s poem is an intriguingly dry humoured piece which is complex in its contextual meaning but leaves the door ajar for a rich variety of interpretations. Well worth a read and a few minutes of contemplation.
Rio of Thru Chocolate Eyes was the sixth entry and entered in an extremely thought provoking poem about the hour of birth and its context in the wider world. The use of repeating third lines adds an aura of quasi-parental safety and comfort that drags the mind back from its potentially dangerous and disturbing wanderings.
‘Witness’ by Jorc is a beautiful account of the birth of two angels. The descriptions desperately made me want to see the figures with my own eyes.
Keith has created a painfully emotional poem about the death of a baby. The questioning and the frustration at the unknown, increments the tragedy.
The sole Haiku entered into this week’s prompt was from Brad Frederiksen, a current Philosophy undergraduate student in Australia. The birth of memories is contemplated in this tiny Japanese-style verse. Another piece to spend time admiring.
Then came my offering. ‘My Difficult Birth’ is a poem inspired by the stories my mother told me about my birth, almost 28 years ago.
Lirone composed her piece, ‘Now’, using a poetic form that I’m embarrassed to say I was not familiar with. The Fib Chain, as Lirone herself describes it, is a construction where the syllable count in each stanza is 1,1,2,3,5,8. The architecture of the poem matches perfectly with the content where streams of thought link quickly from one to another.
The final poem, at the time of writing this, was from Lissa. Titled ‘Birth Days‘ it touches on memories and how time progresses. This is a poem that certainly leaves a valuable footprint in the memory of the reader.
I would like to thank all poets who submitted their work to this week’s poetry prompt. The comments section will remain open and you can add further links at any stage. Next week’s prompt will begin tomorrow at 6pm London time. If you enjoyed your stay here and will continue to take part each week, then please spread the word about this weekly interactive poetry event. It will benefit not only myself but all of us.
Passers-By
July 24, 2008
A sunshine faded pebble
On the ocean bed. Once it lay
Above, upon a beach. Just like
Memories they did share.
Footsteps reclusive. Eyes languid
Gazing at the pavement, a love
Long mislaid now walking near, fate
Ascending, surface bright.
Dreams forage amongst tumbling ruins
In dark hours. Pathways distinct
With repeated use, fair dancing feet
Searching for hearts adrift,
Now slow swinging arms are so near
their wrinkled hands clenching sticks,
An embrace and flowing tears nigh,
Alas the sun is too bright.
The lights of past dance-halls, twirls,
Blinding lovers that once were.
When washed in colour and sparkling specks,
Enclosed, antiquated.
A brief relapse of music
Strokes ageing ears. A scent of old
And a whisper, glow in deep waters,
Fading, as they walk past.
Wearied legs. Aching backs
A chair for each when at home
Alone with fragile memories,
Destiny satisfied.
© Edward Beaman-Hodgkiss
My Difficult Birth
July 23, 2008
It happened very slowly for my mother,
one whole day I’m told; curled misery!
The problems were escalated
by the large size of my head
which got shipwrecked in the narrow channel
and though malleable to some degree
the ramparts did not budge enough.
More doctors were called, and from their film
‘The Dam Busters’ they quickly calmly flew,
then proceeded to split
the stretched and bloated protective casing,
that was her belly round; freedom from the squeeze!
You see my birth was hard indeed.
© Edward Beaman-Hodgkiss
My entry for this website’s weekly poetry prompt.
Joanna Lumley criticises modern poetry
July 22, 2008
Joanna Lumley, the star of the British comedy ‘Absolutely Fabulous’ has created waves recently with her condemnation of modern poetry. She started the most recent furore when writing the introduction to Liz Cowley’s forthcoming book, A Red Dress and Other Poems by stating: ‘It is a rare modern poem that achieves the balance between being challenging and accessible.’
Most of contemporary poetry she goes on to say is frustratingly incomprehensible and vague and at worst, self-indulgent. Many of Britain’s best known writers have been deeply offended as a result.
Wendy Cope, a former short-listed poet for the 2001 Whitbread Poetry award said: ‘Joanna Lumley might be widely read, but sometimes people who make comments like this don’t know very much about poetry. People make very good poetry out of the humdrum and commonplace. There are lots of poets writing good poetry that is obscure, and the answer is to educate the public to help them understand that.’
The BBC Radio 3 presenter Ian McMillan, who is widely tipped to be the next Poet Laureate also launched an attack on Lumley’s choice of words. ‘It’s sad and frustrating that people can still come up with generalisations like this. You shouldn’t be able to get poems on the first reading. Part of the delight is the time you take with them to understand them,’ he said. ‘But what’s wrong with humdrum and commonplace, anyway? Frank O’Hara called his poems “lunch poems” because he wrote them in his lunch hour. By the act of writing down his humdrum, it became delightful.’
Other critics of Lumley’s remarks included Dannie Abse, the winner of the Wales Book of the Year award and poetry critic Al Alvarez both of whom directed, perhaps rather unjustly, their attacks at the 62-year-old’s age.
‘This is such an old-fashioned remark. It is not well-informed. In the old days people said modern poetry was obscure, but now people everywhere read it. It is true that most poetry is very bad, but this is true of all poetry in all times.’ said Abse.
However there are many people who share Joanna Lumley’s views including the actor, novelist and comedian Stephen Fry who termed the work produced by many modern poets as ‘arse-dribble’.
Liz Cowley, whose introduction Lumley was writing, also demonstrated her support and said: ‘The problem is that Britain no longer has a cultural voice: it’s all so messy and muddled because people aren’t educated to write word constructions any more. With rare exceptions, I stopped enjoying poetry written any time after the 18th century.’
The debate is set to continue after the former professor of poetry at Oxford University James Fenton added: ‘Poetry has a large audience in the UK and that’s because it hasn’t been obscure for quite a long time. She’s thinking back, perhaps, to the obscurity of modernism, but there’s been a lot of ink spilled since TS Eliot and Ezra Pound.’
In 1985, Joanna Lumley was on the panel of judges for the Booker Prize.
Eusemere Daffodils house up for sale
July 21, 2008
Set in a very attractive private estate on the north eastern shores of Ullswater, the location is where William Wordsworth was said to have penned his renowned poem ‘Daffodils’, in the year 1804.
“William Wordsworth used to sleep in a particular bedroom there and I still have a piece of the original wallpaper framed as a picture.” - Lady Kagan was noted as saying in a local Yorkshire newspaper in 2008.
The Kagans, once friends of former Labour Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, had first come across the house in the early 1970s when flying their little Auster one-engined plane across the region.
“We all fell in love with Eusemere immediately, it has such a wonderful atmosphere and character but I’m afraid it needs a poet’s imagination to do justice to it. It is light and airy and somehow uplifting, I don’t know why” Lady Kagan, mother of three, now aged 84 also remarked.
The 16-acre site was originally built as a countryside retreat for the slavery abolitionist Thomas Clarkson in the latter part of the 18th century. His tireless work, with fellow abolitionist William Wilberforce, often led to the need for breaks in the rural wilds of the English countryside amongst the beautiful and tranquil surroundings of the Eusemere Estate.
Below is Wordworth’s famous poem.
Daffodils
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
by William Wordsworth
One Word: ‘Allah’
July 20, 2008
In poverty stands he firm with eyes
On heaven’s door; his gaze implies
A comfort held; his smile bright sceptre
The creation of his protector.
On a makeshift counter there lie
Wares arrayed; like the old Sinai
He bares the rush of feet and stares;
A life he keeps, death to forswear.
Near, voices perceived, but only
To Marzuq dances that, which lone
He catches from the grass and walls
That surround his mind enthralled:
Says the pavement, and the packet,
Sing the fibres in a jacket,
Chant the cells in every vein
That do mimic drops of rain.
Chirps the blackbird in the tree
And the tiny skittish flea,
From the Cirrus in the sky,
To the moon that watches high
As the voice of every object
Cries His name with deep respect.
“Allah”
© Edward Beaman-Hodgkiss
New US Poet Laureate Kay Ryan
July 19, 2008
The American Library of Congress announced on Thursday that the award-winning Californian poet Kay Ryan will become the 16th poet laureate, this approaching autumn. The self-described “modern hermit” who writes Emily Dickinson-style metaphysical poetry will receive a $40,000 salary for her one year stint as the acme of the US poetry world.
Ryan was born in 1945 in California and grew up in the small towns of the San Joaquin Valley and the Mojave Desert. She would go on to receive a bachelor’s and master’s degree from UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles).
She was said to have been ‘delighted and surprised’ when the Library of Congress had contacted her and thought at first she had forgotten to return some overdue books.
Her favourite poets include the modernist poet William Carlos Williams, the English novelist Philip Larkin and John Donne the Jacobean who is catagorised as being part of the 17th century metaphysical poetic movement.
Kay Ryan’s poetry style is of a reflectively short but profound and seriocomical nature which focuses on both the confines of our lives and the illimitable vastness of the universe and existence. She has published a number of works including The Niagara River (Grove Press, 2005); Say Uncle (2000); Elephant Rocks (1996); Flamingo Watching (1994), which incidentally was a finalist for both the Lamont Poetry Selection and the Lenore Marshall Prize; Strangely Marked Metal (1985); and Dragon Acts to Dragon Ends (1983).
Her poems have also been printed in The New Yorker, The Atlantic, Poetry, The Yale Review, Paris Review, The American Scholar, The Threepenny Review and Parnassus, to name but a few.
Today she lives with her partner Carol Adair in Fairfax, California.
For an example of her work visit Poetry Magazine.
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