Tuesday, 21 May 2013
There are lots of reasons not to write. There’s always washing up, unwashed clothes, sunny weather, screaming children, illness, demanding friends, demanding partners, demanding assignments and the list goes on. As time goes on the list grows. The romantic image of the poet sitting under an oak tree with a bound book and quill is long gone. It doesn’t really happen; not unless you want to get rained on, crapped on by a bird, distracted by dog walkers, a numb cold arse and potentially bitten by an irate territorial squirrel. Don’t have the time or patience to find a nice oak tree and sit under it. A beautiful big oak tree has probably never met Blackpool either. Anyway…
Despite these reasons I’ve found that once I have this idea in my head, an idea that niggles and grows and pisses me off until I submit and put pen to paper I can’t stop. I’ve finished my first year of my degree; have three long summer months and suddenly the reasons dissolve. There won’t be washing up piling because I snack when I write, there won’t be unwashed clothes because I slob in my pyjama’s in front of the laptop, there will be no demanding friends because they’ll forget I exist in my absence, no partners as I won’t be out for that to be possible, the demanding assignments are gone and if I fall ill then the bad mood will be channelled into an ugly death scene somewhere.
Time is nice to have; it’s rather essential for a writer. And when’s it’s given generously we use it. Not under an oak tree though; tends to be in a warm home in a little cave of duvets and empty used mugs. When time lends itself properly the reasons disappear. If 10 minutes only are to spare then I’ll do the washing up and go look at the world but if given a few hours then I give myself over to fantasy completely. What I’m saying is time tends to dictate whether I give the reasons any power over me.
Monday, 20 May 2013
Reasons not to write...
I am dead,
Bereft of life,
Gone to meet my maker,
Out of my misery,
Pushing up the daisies,
Resting in peace,
I have ceased to be,
I have been push off this mortal coil,
My goose is cooked,
I dream no more,
Under no illusions about my sudden return to life,
Kicked the bucket,
Gone next door,
Been taken by foxes,
Finding out the truth about God,
Bought the farm,
No more the fool,
Feeling better now,
I am an ex-parrot...
And even then I would probably be a ghost writer.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Everybody's talking 'bout pop music.
As Eurovision swept the UK last night, I found myself infront of the telly- a distinct lack of good foreign beers around me and instead, a notepad. I sacrificed my drunken night in, hoping something would come of it that was blog worthy. Well, I have six sides of notes- thoughts on each act with my own personal scorecard rating for each. I have conclude that I am fairly European. I enjoyed the lesbian kissing from Finland's version of Barbie. Punk spirit came along with Greece's 'Alcohol is free' and I appreciated the effort in growing Boris the Blade's hair out especially for the performance. The man in a box from Azerbaijan was maybe not so much my thing but hey, I'm open minded.
When it comes to music, people have all kinds of opinions. Bonnie Tyler for instance. She was tragically bad at the start last night and I was wondering for a moment if anyone would even turn around. If they had they'd have spotted she was out of sync, although this woefulness was not met with complete contempt and our ex-pat communities dished us points out from across Europe. We haven't had a major bailout as recently as Ireland have- so we weren't ever going to be last.
The dig at the voting aside though, there were a hefty few interesting lyrics in play last night. Hungary's lovestruck 'Bye Alex' sang about a girl that"makes waves in seven seas/and she dances in the clouds", "makes a carriage from rosemary/ pulled by crickets". Many nations chose to be more political (worldly perhaps) in their choice of song- "What if we chose to bury our guns" asked Russia. It seems the world is ready to play the peace card and they're dishing it out through music. Choose not to listen to it if you like, there is always Rhianna for when you want something a little more rough in the bedroom.
As the Tories are arguing amongst themselves over whether or not they do like EU, whether their partnerships are allowed to be called marriage and properly equal and whether or not they are backed by swivel eyed loons, it fills me with optimism that the world of popular music has never strayed too
far from the important issues of life. There will always be bands writing punchy lyrics about things that matter- whether that is the state of the nation, their hometown or just a lyrical rant- delivered properly it isn't pop music, it is poetry.
Thanks for reading, S
(below, an un-related poem, for Michael Gove)
The School of No Faith
It's probably fair to say Gove meant
No harm in chasing government
Positions way above his station
Never mind our failing nation
Call in Ofsted, call in Cameron
Call someone to pay him handsome
Get the bloody menace out
He hasn't got the mental clout.
For Gove, we know you meant no wrong
The thing is, this was your swansong
Since last time out you ballsed it up
You've built your bunker and locked it shut
Headteachers, teachers, staff and kids
All long to hear the news we're rid
Of your ideas you bloody fool
What next, now that you've broken school?