Stuart Eglin Online

Stuart Eglin Online

Posts Tagged Poetry

Fragment: digital

Jun 12

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

…. in case you need just a little more tempting to follow the link, here is a short poem from ‘Scrapes against the Soul’:

Pictures on the wall were all taken with this new camera
Living in a world where every second can be captured as a
Perfect digital image. Still or moving images
Everything caught as a series of digital code
So that every trace of every life can be saved for future viewing
If only we had the time to review everything
At least then we might learn something from the mistakes of history.

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Scrapes against the Soul – now available

Jun 10

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

If you follow the link to the ‘free stuff‘ page, you will be now be able to download a free PDF booklet of ‘Scrapes against the Soul’, a booklet of poems which I produced last year.

Coming soon – ‘November Suite’ - a booklet produced (not surprisingly) last November.

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November Suite

Nov 12

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I’m in the middle of an exercise to write a poem a day for November – the resulting collection, once edited, will be called ‘November Suite’. I am using various exercises to generate material. For example, I take the last line of the previous poem and google that phrase. Then I follow the links and harvest phrases and words from the pages that I find, using the material which this produces to steer the sense of the poem. 

The following poem was created using a phrase which I stumbled across – this became the title of the poem and was then put through google. This is an early draft, but I like the direction it follows:

The Voice of Wittgenstein

 “After several attempts to weld my results together
The best I could write would never be more
Than philosophical remarks

My thoughts would soon be crippled
If I tried to force them on
Against their inclination”

An anti-systematic attitude
Like John Cage’s music or Stockhausen
A permanent condition

Numbered aphorisms, as though
The world of existence could be reduced
To a set of interwoven statements

 Everything succumbing to the power of language
Different voices in dialogue
The first of the post-modernists

 Voice 1, then Voice of Tradition
Voice of Perplexity
And the Voice of Clarity

 These voices are inside my head
All at once, they seize language
Mess with it, precise but dissective

Taking objects and making of them
A contradiction, a complexity
Confusion that removes sense of self

Uttering a word, a phrase – I love you
Lost in translation, in perplexity
A permanent condition.

[20:30]

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Scrapes against the soul – why so long?

Oct 21

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

I said in mid-September that I had nearly completed the latest poetry manuscript, ‘Scrapes against the Soul’. Well, I have been stuck on the last poem for a few weeks now. It is a long piece which captures my experiences of Liverpool in the late 70s and early 80s.

I’m hoping to have it finished before the end of this month. As soon as it is finished I will be posting a pdf for free download – and it will be possible to buy a hard copy of the book too, very soon.

I have also begun work on Collected Poems: Volume One which covers 1985 to 1996. More news on this very soon.

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Carol Ann Duffy at Wirral Book Fest

Oct 13

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carol_ann_duffyDo you ever buy tickets for something, think it’s a good idea at the time, then have serious second thoughts as the date looms? I saw this event recently – the Poet Laureate for the UK appearing at a reading in the Wirral. It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.  But on the night, I was wondering whether there would be a tiny audience. Poetry readings can be tedious to say the least!

I was surprised – 300 people turned up. They weren’t disappointed. The evening began with 3 young poets from the Wirral Young Poet Laureate scheme who each read a group of poems.

Carol Ann Duffy presented for just under an hour. Her readings were magnificent. Just the right amount of explanation, description and context setting for each poem. I loved her poems based on myths, with a feminist twist or a different take. Excellent. She ended the reading with a poem she had been working on that afternoon – a poem about war, with many place names read out like the tolling of a bell. The presence of local place names gave a particular resonance to this. Powerful stuff.

The evening was organised by the local library service – it’s good to see something which draws in readers and writers to the enjoyment of literature. And it was also great to have some of my preconceptions dispelled so effectively. A good night out.

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Scrapes against the soul – nearly there

Sep 11

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

trying to find something which doesnt exist

trying to find something which doesn't exist

The latest collection of poetry is nearly completed. I am in the middle of the final poem which is an extended piece called ‘seventy nine to eighty two’. 

Here’s a verse from it:

Watching bands at Eric’s – seeing Simple Minds
Keyboard player with his head between the beams
Music bouncing off walls, everyone saying look at me
- Looking and seeing ideas for the next night out

I have found an old painting of mine which I am going to use for the cover of the book. You can see it in this post. It’s a watercolour in the form of a mandala. I’m not really much of a painter, but I liked this image, particularly when I scanned it into the laptop.

I have posted several of the poems from this collection over recent months. The middle section of the book comprised a series of poems each beginning with a line from one poem by Robert Bly – this was an interesting process which took my writing away to topics which I wouldn’t have otherwise discovered.

Once I have completed the book, I will post a pdf  of it for free download. Watch this space, as they say!

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son of kingfisher

Aug 14

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

kingfisher

young bird
picks his way through reeds in the shallows of the river

parent birds no longer haunt this stretch of water
except in dreams and spirit movements

finding his way through this special setting now
with no thoughts for his parents

in a glorious moment he catches
a silvered stickleback in his beak

before letting go of spring
he will ruffle feathers just one more time

and as you capture sight in the lens for just one second
he is gone, flashes of feathers as he disappears

like the time slip escape of a happen-stance
incredible in a state of disbelief

 

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The conversations the night sea has with the dawn

Aug 7

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

… from the latest poetry sequence (still unfinished) called ‘Scrapes against the Soul’

The conversations the night sea has with the dawn
Leave an empty hissing through the sea weed, as if
Everything had left the world in solitude… 

And my heartbeat can be heard beneath the lap of waves
Quickened by the memory of lost loves and lost lives
Out beyond the edges of my full recall

Enough now to have spoken with the elements
Everyone wonders where I stand, beyond reach
Remembering a glimpse of someone from 30 years ago 

They not the same, me not the same
As the sea changes in each fragment of a second
And the sun filling the sky before it appears 

And when the memories seem tired, the voices heard before
I remind myself that each sound is unique, nothing repeats
Where I see patterns, they are only my creation

Every conversation the dawn has, with the sea and the mountains
Is new, it will do, it will make, it will be clear
Some space outside solitude that is not made of loneliness. 

 …I wrote this poem some months ago, and before I started to make contact with friends from school who I had lost contact with some 30 years ago. The content and sentiment now seem prescient at the least.

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Now you know why I spent my twenties crying

Jul 31

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Writing, Θ Poetry | No Comments

… from my latest collection of poetry, called ‘Scrapes against the Soul’:

Sonnet

Now you know why I spent my twenties crying,
Aching for some meaning beyond empty
Atheist life of wonder, wandering,
A lost corn-circle waking, open third eye

When I close my eyes I can still see through
Where I see the spiritual opening.
In my twenties I would sit hoping that
The meditation practise brings results 

Like life, trying too hard leads to nothing.
In the night’s silence I was too busy
Listening to the wrong sounds, not waves of am. 

Colours that flow when I watch, wait, empty.
Then landscape becomes chaos of colours
Springs forwards as soul within catches fire.

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If we can’t find Heaven, there are always blue jays

Nov 16

Posted by Stuart in Θ Poetry | No Comments

“If we can’t find Heaven, there are always blue jays”
He said, as he opened the car door and walked off into the night.

I looked at his shadow shortening to the street corner
And wondered how I had been so gullible, to listen to this.

I was sitting there now, nothing left. No hope.
Just the memories of something I would not do again.

And like a blue jay, scavenging for food, an acorn or seeds
I looked for traces of hope, anything to put back

The stars that lit my skies, the sunshine and heaven
Before he pushed his way into life, and drained it dry.

The clouds that click, the inner vision, then the ancient burials
Redemption days which I thought I had lived, swept away with reason

And my mouth opens as I speak to the heavens, “Give me back the vision
Remember the open flight of a bird that wanted to escape.”

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Spiritual Start-up

Aug 10

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[from a new poetry sequence which I am developing]

I watched the little specs of dust as they floated
In shafts of light through the church
A voice was working its way through a sermon
But my mind was engaged in this little world
Where the dust bits fall then spin and whirl
Some micro universe where I can imagine
A whole world flowing out and away

I imagine being a deity myself
A young Buddha watching worlds collide
Wanting to ease suffering, push aside
Left beneath the senses
Once it was all flickered into my inner world
Where the imagination can withstand anything outside
Crash of life-form to the real meaning of all things.

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Exercises for creating new poems

Jul 26

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | 1 Comment

I thought it would be useful to set out some of the ideas and techniques I use to produce new poems. When the creative muse is off on holiday, I sometimes draw inspiration from old poems. I am also really interested in techniques from popular music, particularly approaches like remixing, remastering and cut-ups. These ideas can be adapted to the printed word.

So, I am currently using the following techniques:

  • Take a selection of old poems and re-work each one into a new version, using different lay-outs or verse forms.
  • Take old poems and redraft or create new poems as reactions, prequels, sequels and observations on the material in the original poems.
  • Take a number of poems and dismantle them to create new works from the pieces by putting them back together in new ways.
  • Take one poem and use each line from it as the first line or title of a new poem, creating a whole sequence of poems which builds on the original.
  • Take one poem and reconstruct it into a series of remixes – like musical remixes, draw out key lines and phrases for repetition and distortion.

I’m going to experiment with some of these techniques over coming weeks. If you use any of them, feel free to post feedback in the comments.

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One or Two

Jul 16

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Books and Book Reviews, Θ Poetry | No Comments

A quote from e e cummings:

“One’s not half of two, it’s two that are halves of one”

Wow. I found that in a book I have just begun to read called ‘Man’s journey to Simple Abundance’ edited by Sarah Ban Breathnach.

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When the muse strikes, rather than being on strike

Jun 26

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After a long poetic silence, words are beginning to appear in my head again.

Some new poetry fragments – towards a 2007 sequence…

(1)

The sound of the helicopter blades reminded me that
The first time I had stood on this rocky outcrop I had
Wondered what I was doing next
Then the pieces of the jigsaw all fitted

Because the steam-like mist rose from the valleys below
As if it was time to be going
Growing like an adolescent in the kitchen raiding the fridge
Watching everything like it’s the first time.

(2)

Pictures on the wall were all taken with this new camera
Living in a world where every second can be captured as a
Perfect digital image. Still or moving images

Everything caught as a series of digital code
So that every trace of every life can be saved for future viewing
If only we had the time to review everything

At least then we might learn something from the mistakes of history.

(3)

Be here, be now
Somehow holding on
To everything that we thought was
Precious and spoken


(4)

Tangled spindrift
Winged fragments of encapsulation
Such as bones and carcasses
Pieces becoming new things, new essences
As though the earth were starting all over again
Washed and bleached inside the sea-bed
Where once waited creatures now extinct
Flapped and furrowed, waxed and winnowed
Embraced in water, pictured on the stones
Each one scraped against the soul.

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because the light faded when it should have stayed bright

Jan 22

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | No Comments

When at school, nowhere else but the space that was given
And those tighter moments, when the neurosis of the time
Made no more sense than the 70s were supposed to…

Three lines, two times, and once we had become
The glide of a hawk, the times when we captured
All the dreams that had been spinning around outside

And put them in a small leather bag, pressed in tight
So that we could save them for later
Hang on until it all felt right

Dreams are alive in my head now
Good and bad, sad and mad
Wanting to be regrets, urgent needs to do things now

And so I jump out of the plane, ask rather than waiting
Sing rather than whisper, let go rather than clutch
And think that it is all too much, too particular…

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imagining possibilities

Sep 5

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | No Comments

you see, when I was young and writing for all I could find
I read somewhere that it was wrong to use too many words
that end in –ing, so avoided it, wanting to get it right

how stupid though, how the rules that we get are really all
there to be ignored, to be recreated. When word writing
is like sound making, a kingdom where you can become your own king

and king can sing like the ings that are all waiting to be worshipped
or the swings that I sat on and went as high as I could
kicking my feet to the clouds, and feeling the rush of my stomach

whatever direction you take – no, wait – it’s me I’m writing about
take the you away, drift into the inner world of my mind
imaginations that are special, filled with quiet secrets

surely the inner signals that we fill the landscape with, are no
more than the rich resonance of colours and sounds, the
one meaning that fits with a spectacle of memories

now – the kingfisher, the colour blue, the word ‘just’
little ticks that litter these constructions, and the breath
the inward and outward signs of life, of purpose.

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Whenever she says she does

Aug 15

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | No Comments

Here is one of the poems which I wrote back in March. I’m about to start writing again. This one stirred me to the page again, and it brought to mind the golden eagles I wrote about in the last post to the blog. The birds in this poem were flying in a massive flock around a railway station as I stood on the platform waiting for a train to arrive:

Whenever she says she does she does
But the light never shines above her head
The way it should – like a veil

I watch the birds, 1028 of them, fly overhead
Like one organism, flexing and changing shape
Creating a mass of darkness in a blue sky surround

The sense of menace is as real as
The sense of plenty that sometimes comes through
Just when I worry about things too much

When the light shines above my own head
I can sometimes pull it down and through
Then the warmth of it all is palpable

Here comes the birds organism again, fifth time around
With each circle of the town, I can feel a little more sense
Understand the way 2056 wings can make a unified sound

Like fingers beating on a microphone as a test –
Pulling patterns together that would be meaningless
Sense, connections, lines between – where the ends meet the means.

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Poetry silence – when to start again

Jul 24

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | No Comments

I have written hardly any poetry in such a long time now – March was the last time I put anything together which might be called a poem.

I’m inspired by the daily posts on Greg Perry’s blog at the moment. He is writing a canto series. Each day sees at least one new poem, and they are well worth a read. Well done Greg – now for some words of my own…..

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Foundlings Five: Scribbles Underfoot

Jun 22

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | No Comments


The cowboys have gone out of business or
Pretend to be self-made commercial heroes,
The fantasy of TV is a bore,
His town and home barely exist in prose.

Scribbles underfoot were rare, too discrete
They left him to his own devices.
He looked for lovers, quiet town, no-one to meet.
Only sources of pleasure were vices.

Salt water on his skin, so the sun burns
Like breaths of healthy old he diverges,
Takes a girl out and watches as she turns
From beauty of which splendour emerges.

His town and home barely exist in prose,
In poetry oft’ times anything goes.

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…another March fragment…

Mar 6

Posted by Stuart in Blog posts, Θ Poetry | No Comments

Three are the ways that I have seen you
Gliding across the sky like Jove awakening
Wondering why there are honeyed spaces between
Every field of your vision, every space kept unseen

Remember the secrets you told me, kept separate
Not available for decipher
Un-placed now, re-arranged as though you want
Some bespoke arrangement that only I will understand

Never have I left such distance between as the moments of now
And the time is moving fast and slow all at once
How strange! Take a madman and put him on show
Make him a leader and watch the world glow

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