Desert Islands.

Good morning readers and welcome to what I feel could be an excellent week on the DGPS blog. With the BBC's Desert Island Discs celebrating 70 years on the airwaves this week, what better theme to start us off on our musings than Desert Islands themselves.

The thought of an island excites me. It scares me. It brings with it all sorts of adventures, perils and, as a vegan, I suppose some difficult choices. That said, it could also be quite relaxed should I drop amongst a coconut plantation- which is a little like I felt on Thursday night.

I want to add my name to the list of people singing praises. I thought the whole event was great (well done again to all at WordSoup- always guaranteed a good night) and actually getting to be on a poster excited some demonic part of me, I must say. I was worried though- I was on the island, waking Lost-style from the crash. First up from us had me a bit jittery but there, just past the light was a table full of coconuts. There has been some good stuff coming out of the group lately and to be amongst the tenders of such a fruitful plantation was a comfort at the least.

This moves me on to what I actually thought I should write about this week. The Island idea appeals to me as a boy scout (and after an afternoon thinking, I suspect The Scouting Book for Boys may be of more use to me than a poetry anthology) and one thing I found during my years there was how to be amongst friends- look out for one another and that is something that I like to think has stayed with me.#

I've been the unwitting receiver of various strange and unexpected news recently. There has been all kinds of madness and I wonder, as a writer, what is appropriate to take forward into new work. There is a clear line in my head but in the same way so many useful things are passed on and stay with you forever (how to hold a spade etc), surely they will stick around- perhaps surface somewhere in a muddled metaphor or character. This must be an issue for many writers and it is certainly something that I find needs to be considered with regards to more personal poetry. A line can find itself in the wrong mouth, stuttering with rage and completely out of context. A bit like the suggestions somebody might be pregnant following a poem I performed recently- and that was bloody me reading it!

Going back to the birthday mention, a quick search tells me I would automatically get a copy of the Bible (or alternative) so some soul searching could probably go on. I might pick a different book, learn a new culture completely on my own... I'd probably do what many of us would do- think about home, the past, the things in life we have and do hold dear. I wouldn't need 8 records. I would take them. A collection of festival/occasional/thoughtful songs that could be any 8 from a hundred. I would spend a lot of time listening to the things inside my head though- the voices I have carried with me. Advice, friends laughing, brothers, mothers, teachers, fathers, grandfathers... the voices in my head that are pushing for a poem and are better left to Caliban in Shakespeare's The Tempest (III 2.133-134)
"The isle is full of noises,
sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not."

Thanks for reading,
S.

Read More

What I Remember About Friendship...

I thought I’d use this post as an opportunity to just write everything that came to mind when I thought about ‘Friendship’; a kind of word association game that starts in childhood and stretches back into the present. I like writing little pieces of writing like this. I like the unexpected that you find within your own mind. I like the possibilities that can sometimes be found; even a potential poem can be lurking within one of your forgotten memories. So I guess that today’s post is more exercise than writing (but hopefully there is a poem just waiting to be written into existence in the near future).

I remember the paddling pool in your garden. An August afternoon of giggles and freedom. The perfect blonde curls that I wished were mine. I remember cutting my foot, and your mum mending it with a plaster. The strawberry patch, buzzing with sweetness.

I remember the peanut fight that broke out on my 8^th birthday between two friends. Crying when the cake was cut. Crying when I had to share it.

I remember leaving my friends behind.

I remember having to make new ones – in a new school, in a new town.

I remember friendship bracelets. Falling out, taking sides. I remember sleepovers. Back garden camping. Cow pat cakes. I remember locking you in the shed. Barking like a wild dog. Apologising. Laughing. I remember starting upper school. Being scared together.

I remember climbing trees. Making dens. I remember trying to fit in. Copying. Matching. Growing up.

I remember liking the same boy, creating code names. Secrets. Cross my heart ‘til I die. I remember promises, daisy chains and cans of Lilt. Penny sweets. Bliss magazine. Problem pages. I remember dreaming. Believing. Taking different paths.  

I remember saying goodbye. Hurting. Writing. Departure boards. Visiting hours. I remember the fold-in-half feeling of guilt and your look of shock.

I remember being lonely. Trusting you. Lying. Forgiving. I remember Saturdays, Sainsbury’s and Girl, Interrupted. Onion rings. Pasta. Pesto. Tears. I remember Christmas ’04 and my 18^th birthday card. I remember smoking. Being sick. Being dizzy. Roller coasters. The face on the Pringle’s can. Ouija boards. Earthquakes and cockroaches. I remember art galleries, love and long conversations. Paulo Coelho, Cindy Sherman and Camden Town  

I remember ducks drowning. Broken wings. Police. Your purse. An abandoned hamster. Newspapers. I remember giving up, curling up, wishing. The brightest star. Escaping, walking, The Peak District. Bats and torches. I remember my trainers being left outside the tent. Writing. Waiting Learning.

I remember English, ghosts, mountains and fear. Welsh dragons and Starbucks. Musicals, asylums and perfection. I remember looking in a mirror. Jumping forward 15 years. Poetry. Barista. I remember picnics, vegan cheesecake, tartlets and running water. I remember falling in love.

Thank you for reading,

Lar   

Read More

Friendship needed for behind enemy lines...

Evening all.

I trust that here, amongst internet friends, I don't have to apologise too much for again posting up late. I know, it is becoming a joke but I'm a busy guy...

Anyway, the theme this week is friendship which, at first, seems an easy one. We all have friends, we all know what that means and we all know pretty much what an actual friend is. Pushing it further than that though (no, not friends with benefits) and it starts to go either a little soppy or a little bit 'do you remember the time...'.
I think I'm probably of the soppy variety lately- and am more than feeling guilty about still not visiting my BEST friend's near six month old baby as yet. Life being life though, a bit of space and that has become nearly a boundary now so this week I'll be sorting something with him. Here comes the soppy bit- I actually welled up in the car a couple of weeks ago as I was near his house. I got to thinking just as Elbow came onto the radio- cue Guy Garvey's lyric.

"gentle shoulder charge,
 love you man"

I don't know if it was how northern it came across, how simple it was or how we maybe just don't say it enough but it darn near got me. I played the track on repeat, just to try and set the frame of mind and forgot completely what it was I had initially wanted to say.

I've been trying to write something on this for a while now. Thursday night sees the bloggers shipping out to Preston for WordSoup (with Jo Bell) and behind enemy lines (which is anywhere with a PR postcode for me) I want something decent written. Is it being 'too close' to the poem? Is it trying 'too hard' for the poem? Is it just not having enough direction figured out for the poem? Preston calls and I don't like doing repeats, not at all so I'm going to try and write on a different subject for a day, see if it triggers something whilst I'm not concentrating.

Once again, apologies for the short, late post- work and the old block... I'll at least have a poem for you guys next week, promise. If it is just happens to be on this week's theme- well, friendship is a great theme for writing, isn't it. ;)

Thanks for reading, S.

Read More