Archives for posts with tag: writer

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Writer and Parisian stage star Sidonie Gabrielle Colette worked out in her home gym. Photograph by Leopold Reutlinger (1863-1937) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The girl much complimented
for her great ass
would rather win a Man Booker.
Too bad there is no categ’ry
for her taut, perfected writer’s seat.


Today’s light-hearted five-liner conveys unashamed auto-biography.

The lack of craft and productivity in my writing annoys me. My attempt at the professional/ aspirational middle class life has been a total non-starter for the last half decade. While I churn these frustrations, I do a lot of exercise. I practise yoga when I wake. I walk in the nearby woods, which I follow with some exercise on the grass when the weather is accommodating. I attend dance and other lessons and in the evening, when I have the energy, it’s time for press-ups on my bedroom carpet. The press-ups started with one in April this year. The aim is to reach 100 by February 2015. Currently the mark is 76/78.

I am neither naturally athletic nor trim. When I was younger, I hated playing sport. At High School, playing a team sport was compulsory. I couldn’t face it, so I requested exemptions based on my health issues and cultural involvements. I was the kid who was picked last for teams in Phys Ed. I certainly failed Physical Education in Std. 3 because I couldn’t do a bunny hop. Yet I can now do a yoga crow and I can still cartwheel. Life is a funny business.

In my mid-20s, when I did a lot of Ashtanga yoga, I was leaner but not as strong – or as adept with a wooden sword. I don’t know how long this fitness spell will last (I keep thinking I’m going to get sick again, as I did in 2012, and it will all implode and have been for naught). For now, while other people may be earning reasonable pay-checks, building careers or producing more literary writing, I walk around with an apparently “great ass.” It has been called “the most perfect bum.”

Well, here’s to life’s small achievements, because this writer’s seat was hard won.

(Here’s an entertaining piece about writers and their physiques.)

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
In the Ocean: a year of poetry
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness: Selected Poems, 1999 – 2012

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Illustration courtesy of the Old Design Shop.

Illustration courtesy of the Old Design Shop.

Leo’s Entries” is one of two poems written last year in the format of journal entries by respected (male) authors. The other was “Philip’s Log“.

Both poems were part of a year long project which culminated in a book, In the Ocean: a year of poetry.

scrumpled dashes dots and lines
between the tracks
        09:33
2 mins until the train arrives
    for Kennington via Charing +

On the tracks
     far from my reach
the scrumpled ball of paper speaks:
    I am a poem between the tracks.


I am quite conscientious about dating my scribbles and working notes. It is a habit ingrained from my junior school days where we were always under strict instruction to date our work. This meant a neatly turned out rendering of the date in cursive. It was always positioned on the far right of the second line of the A4 page. We were not to write in on the line below. This was to be left as ‘a space’. On the next printed line, a neat pen length in blue was to be ruled across. It was all in all a comforting, focussing ritual that made us take note and prepare. It also squared work in a referenced point of time.

When I was older and the formatting was no longer dictated, I simply scribbled day and month in the far left of the page. During high school and university, many a page of notes commenced with day/month suspended in that far left-corner square created by the margin cutting the first line. In that spot where the staple holds pages, a date held mine.

Now I inscribe day/month/year: 14/11/13. Usually these temporal locators  precede a writing session. They reassure me that I am ‘punching in’ for my regular writing routine. These time-markers still find their way into left-hand corners, but also veer to the right. Sometimes they’re added at the end of a jotting, as in the instance of the lines above, which are dated 13/9/12. 

On occasion I shall note the place in which I am writing, but this detail is more often indulged in during personal correspondence. I reveal my location to those closest to me so that they may imagine me there during the then.

Please have a look at my first volume of poems, Shining in Brightness.

I tweet about my life which this last week included 7 hours of training, accidentally burning rice and writing about the gap year I took in my twenties. Please do follow me as @BeadedQuill.

Warning!

Deep Water

Green weed coats the pond.

Catkins tiptoe past the curtain leaves

here in the conservation area near the tennis courts.

“Should you see

anything particularly exciting

please tell us about it.,“

requests the London Borough of Camden, Nature Conservation Section.

“Well, I didn’t notice much

except,”

he turns,

“You,

delightful  thing.”

(he bent down to kiss her)

Ah! Water deep

(she kissed him back)

2011

Many readers really enjoy this poem, primarily because they believe it provides some insight about the poet (i.e. me). I suppose they make this leap because – at 1,47m  – I am quite small, like a little human huckleberry. As readers, we also like to overlay the narrator’s voice with that of the creator. I shall leave the fact to fiction ratio up to your imagination. At the end of the day, it is my hope that the poem works in capturing a moment in poetic form.

You can own this poem – and 19 others – when you purchase a copy of my first volume of selected work: SHINING IN BRIGHTNESS. Two explanatory essays accompany the poems. The beautifully formatted book is available through blurb.co.uk.

I am on Twitter as @BeadedQuill. I tweet about poetry, my ambles in London’s green spaces and at the moment, my online dating experiences. (I also tweet quite a bit about martial arts.)