193 Is That a Poem?

In August 2020, I wrote about the Queen’s English Society (QES). Click to See  

I make occasional contributions to its quarterly magazine, Quest.  Most articles published in Quest are serious forays into aspects of the English language such as the use of punctuation or the seeming demise of the apostrophe.  

My offerings are always of a much lighter tone than the others such as how much I hate Scrabble or how I abhor the use of phrases like “twenty-four/seven” and “any time soon.”  I’ve had 22 pieces published so far and the feedback that appears after any of them shows that the Quest readers have spotted that I am not a serious, intellectual man of letters.

About two years ago, the QES introduced a quarterly poetry competition.  I have found this event to be somewhat problematic.  The first difficulty I encountered was working out, what is a poem?

I’ve always thought that a poem is a piece of writing in which the words are arranged in a way that conveys information, emotion, and above all, has rhythm or pattern.

I don’t believe that rhyme is essential in a poem although I do feel that rhyme or assonance can add to the beauty of poetry.  I very much enjoy reading “Poem in October” by Dylan Thomas and I have found that its rhythm is improved by reading it to myself in an imagined Welsh accent.

After reading the QES winning poems in the early competitions, I realised that my idea of what a poem is differs from that of the judge.

Theft  

By the time I return, he’s in love  

with someone else. They live  

in a garden with clothes lines  

flapping, the sound of children.  

He sits there, sketching,  

delicious slivers of drawing.  

She leans on her elbows,  

watching. They can’t see me.  

I creep round the edges.  

One of their children  

has lost a blue shoe, I find it  

under a rose bush, I pick it up,  

it’s mine now. Mine.  

This is a winning “poem” according to the QES judge but I find it pretentious and poorly punctuated prose with random line-length.  It is not a poem – in my opinion.

No one lives in a garden and clothes lines can’t flap. The comma after ‘flapping’ should be a full stop but then, ‘The sound of children.’ isn’t a sentence.  

Why the comma after ‘sketching’ and what on earth is ‘a sliver of drawing.’?  There should be full stops after ‘shoe’ and ‘bush’.

Why do poems with rhyme seem to be so out of fashion nowadays?  £5,000 was awarded to the winning poem in the latest Poetry Society national competition.  The whole thing is 26 lines long.  Here are the first six:

The Time I was Mugged in New York City

I told people that the travel sickness pills
made me stupid. I entered JFK with a red
suitcase and no one to greet me. A man
came up to me, dressed in black. I found
myself in a car park by an expensive van
and he was holding my luggage. Get in, he said. 

How on earth can that piece of prose be described as a poem?  It has neither rhythm nor pattern and certainly no rhyme.  Remove the random line length and it no longer even pretends to be a poem:

The Time I was mugged in New York City

I told people that the travel sickness pills made me stupid. I entered JFK with a red suitcase and no one to greet me. A man came up to me, dressed in black. I found myself in a car park by an expensive van and he was holding my luggage. Get in, he said. 

£5,000?  WTF!

I have never been tempted to write a poem on the QES competition’s set theme.  I don’t think much of set themes.  

No one ever said to Keats anything like, “John, I would really like you to write a poem about the song of the Nightingale.  Can you get something to me by end of the month please?”  

No, Keats was inspired by hearing its song while sitting in a garden in Hampstead.  I think it’s interesting that the word “Nightingale” doesn’t appear anywhere in the 80 lines of the poem.  I wonder if it would have had the lasting world-wide acclaim and admiration if Keats had titled it “Ode to a Pigeon” rather than “Ode to a Nightingale”.

During Covid, I was moved to write a poem.  It is actually a parody of “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death” by W B Yeats.

Yeats imagined the thoughts of an Irish airman who had volunteered to fight for the United Kingdom during the first world war.  

Ireland gained independence in 1921 and in 1918, when that poem was written, no Irishman would sign up to fight out of loyalty or patriotism to the UK.  The airman just wanted to fly.

This is Yeats’ first verse:

I know that I shall meet my fate 

Somewhere among the clouds above; 

Those that I fight I do not hate, 

Those that I guard I do not love; 

My version was written as a result of a trip to Tesco when I (and everyone else within 40 miles) heard that they had toilet rolls in stock.

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere in Tesco’s push and shove.

Those that I barge, I do not hate

Those that I don’t, I do not love.

My shopping is just essential

And will only fill two small bags.

Their urge to buy seems exponential

Topped up with toilet rolls and fags.

No rise in price could bring them grief

Nor driving rain keep them away.

It was all done through gritted teeth 

I ventured forth that dreadful day.

I balanced all, brought all to mind.

Was it all really so worthwhile

To find the worst in humankind

By standing in a Tesco aisle?

Most songs, especially those written more than 50 years ago, are melodic poetry and many have haunting memorable tunes. 

Here are the first two verses of ‘You Belong to Me”.  It was written in 1952 and despite the final line of every verse being perhaps a little threatening, it is basic poetry.

See the pyramids along the Nile 
Watch the sun rise on a tropic isle
Just remember, darling, all the while
You belong to me.

See the marketplace in old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs
Just remember when a dream appears
You belong to me.

Virtually all the lyrics of the Beatles’ songs have a fundamental poetic element to them.  This is the first verse of “I’m Happy Just to Dance With You”, one of their earliest songs from 1964.

I don’t want to kiss or hold your hand

If it’s funny try and understand

There is really nothing else I’d rather do

‘Cos I’m happy just to dance with you.

Modern songs just aren’t the same.  Here is the opening passage of “Shape of You”, Ed Sheehan’s best-selling song, ever.  It spent 14 weeks at Number 1, and its total combined sales at the moment stand at 5.09 million:

The club isn't the best place to find a lover
So the bar is where I go
Me and my friends at the table doing shots
Drinking fast and then we talk slow
Come over and start up a conversation with just me
And trust me I'll give it a chance now
Take my hand, stop, put Van the Man on the jukebox
And then we start to dance, and now I'm singin' like

See what I mean?  

You probably can't remember the tune either.

54. Will you still be sending me a Valentine .... ?

I finished last Saturday’s post by writing that unless something interesting happened at Sandown Park later that day, I would be putting up the final posting today.  Nothing interesting happened at the race meeting (not to us anyway) because we didn’t go.  Caroline woke up that morning unable to speak and with yellow blisters on her tonsils.

This isn’t the final posting, however, as I think that I’d better tell you about my birthday that happened last Tuesday.  I became 64.  Wednesday, October 6^th 2010 was also my birthday.

Like the Queen, who has her official and her natural birthday, I also have two birthdays – one on February 8^th, the day I was born and the other on October 6^th.   It was on October 6^th 2008 that I received my new liver.

I was lying in bed on Tuesday night after an enjoyable but exhausting day when Caroline asked,

           

“How old were you when, “When I’m 64”, came out?“

(By the way, that title is the stupidest one the Beatles ever came up with.  I bet Paul McCartney who is 68, regrets it now.  64 isn’t old!  It’s a song about a young man who has fallen in love and wonders what the future has in store.  Apparently McCartney wrote it when he was 16 and at that age 64 must have seemed a long way off then but even so, why didn’t he write, “When I’m ninety-four?”  Even in 1967 when it first came out I was irritated because my grandmother was 64 at the time and like me now, totally alert and independent.  Yes I am!)

“Nineteen or twenty, I think,” I answered.

“When you were twenty,” Caroline went on, “did you think then that when you became sixty-four you would be laying in bed with a beautiful, sexy woman?”

“Well,” I said, “I probably hoped I would be but even at nineteen I realised that you don’t always get what you hope for in life.”

Caroline is a lot better now but I’ve got a big, painful bruise on my upper arm and it really hurts. 

********

I got a bit of a fright on Tuesday morning. I was in the kitchen when I suddenly realised that my right leg was shorter than the left one.  I walked up and down a couple of times to check it and realised that I was not imagining it.

“I’ve got a problem,” I said to Caroline and explained why.  “I think my replacement hip joint has slipped or snapped in some way.”

Before my hip replacement operation my right leg had been about two inches shorter than the other and it now seemed as though something had gone wrong.

“No it hasn’t.  You’re all right,” she said.  “Look at your feet.” 

I looked down to see that on my left foot was a thick-soled slip-on shoe while I was wearing a slipper on the other.  What a relief!

********

Before you leave my site for what is possibly the penultimate time, why not check my links if you haven’t already done so?  You can find them on the right of the page under the heading “My Blog List”. 

The first is Ian Quill : My World.  Ian is like me, a liver recipient.  He has been going through a bit of a bad time recently but things are looking brighter now.  He writes about his experience and the problems of living with Hepatitis C that he contracted as a result of a blood transfusion many years ago.  It was undiagnosed for a long time while the damage to his liver got worse.

Below that link is Alison Macleod Studio Jeweller.  Alison is Dugald and Joyce’s daughter.  You met those two in Hesperody.  I met Alison a couple of times in Cayman.  She designs and makes fine jewelry that is simple, beautiful and relatively inexpensive. 

She has outlets in Massachusetts, Sydney, Tokyo and Seoul and all over the UK in: Bakewell, Bristol, Chichester; Exeter; Holt, Leicester; London, Brick Lane E1; London, Clerkenwell EC1; London, Muswell Hill N10; London, Notting Hill W11; London, Pimlico SW1; Manchester; Taunton, Somerset; Penrith, Wellbeck, Dundee, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Kirkwall and Perth.

Below Alison’s link are four links to transplant organisations.  If you haven’t already done so, I urge you to sign up to allow your organs to be used after you no longer have any need for them.  One person can make a massive difference to at least seven people and their families.  In the UK you need to go to the NHS donor register: http://www.organdonation.nhs.uk

The link to Monken Hadley Common will be of interest to you if you live in or near to North London.  Even if you live elsewhere it may be of some interest, as it shows how a group of interested and concerned residents look after their local environment.  The Common is an area of managed open space of some 175 acres.  The link is here because Roger, whom you may have read about a few times in my ramblings, manages it.  Looking after it keeps him out of the pub and he spends a lot of time keeping it clear and environmentally healthy.  It has a long history and is a lovely tranquil area of open space and woodland and it is well worth visiting.

This is a photo taken on the evening of October 6^th last year in a restaurant where we went with friends to celebrate my other birthday.  Sandy brought the balloons.   I have no idea what the other diners made of it seeing a middle-aged man with a balloon saying, “Happy 2^nd Birthday”.