Greetings m’friend , if you have stumbled across this simple, yet possibly challenging idea , certainly for myself and potentially for a while, my grandchildren.
My plan is to gather my poetic efforts together in one place and leave available for my grandchildren, who at the time of writing are very young. This idea will have a chance to grow, mature and streamline perhaps before they ‘get it’. Over some years, as they grow mature and streamline.
I’ll promise myself to contribute to the ‘bank’ regularly, and also write my poetry blog – that’s scary – as often if not more so.
The poems are not children’s poems in the main aimed at and for children, though I have the idea to have a breenj at those soon. These are those that I attempt to use to offer a wee look at life around myself and others. Frankly, who knows how it will go. They will be my motivation when I think I’m out of my depth.
Whatever, the pieces will be the ‘property’ of my grandkids, no matter what develops over however long, I’ll always be their grandad, they are always my grandweans!
Wherever we bide!
I’m no expert on any things poetry, far from it, I’m a knee jerk writer who enjoys finding a wee message in observed human behaviours. It’s a bit of an ego thing, writing poetry, thinking thats it’s worth putting on paper and that anyone would be interested in reading it. I’ve read that work can be described as ‘free poetry’, others suggesting the this is just a way of giving it a flimsy respectability on the continuum of poetry rigour and models. Too many ‘Aye Righters’ putting others down, too few ‘Aye Writers’ blossoming and bullying.
(Isn’t ‘Aye Write’ simply the best name for a writers festival – Glasgow – in fact the best title of any public event?)
I consider this to be a form of whispering bullying, with all respect to the academic and high end writers who maintain their styles rigorously. Craik on folks indeed but let my own contributions rest albeit in a puddle of poetic glaur. It’s my puddle At least.
In saying that comment is welcome from well intentioned but there is an envy in and from other poets unless said writers are now seen to be above criticism, not critique.
I met one of Scotland top poets at the StAnza festival in St Andrews and whilst not knowing who he was at the time but subsequently found that I had read his works, I asked him what he thought the minimum number of ‘flying hours’ might be before one could call oneself a poet. Around a chat about flying hours he said to me, ‘Do you write poetry?’. I said yes I think so. ‘Then you are a poet!’.
That kept me going for a while, I read more of his work becoming more challenged as I attempted to ‘get most off it’.
So that’s where I am. A starter for ten.
Meanwhile we will continue through significant moments as we crash through our days alongside grand folks who inspire with their ability to persevere, survive with courage and still support others. Look around and we will see the ordinary grow into the extraordinary.
People, Place, Possibilities.