A New Poem: Why everything is not connected

Try telling the man
decapitated in the arena
by Maximus Decimus Meridius
in the film Gladiator
that the whole world is connected,
every blade of grass
and small pink flower
and emperor's thumb
is at one with every canyon,
bloody sea creature, swan and snail.
Try explaining as his vision slides around
that one day he'll be in fields
with his family
for serving the now-long-extinct empire
that found him and put him here.
As he perspires,
all nerves and sinews,
try piecing together the story of life for him
as you see it, with its long running time
and beautiful streams
and hallowed and fateful actors.
You'll try to make it sound convincing
like they did when they told you.
It will be all right, there's nothing to worry about, you will say,
and wish him on his way.
***
All the while his body stands over there,
very much detached.

Mini book reviews: Snowdrops and Seeing Stars

Snowdrops (Atlantic Books), a novel by A D Miller, is an intriguing tale about the modern Moscow, with all the wonder of young love and high-class establishments and the snow and the sense of making it through - plus the corruption and the excess and the smut and property crime. I quite liked it as a tale of a naive man becoming corrupted, and in an odd way seeing that he does not care what a fool he's been, which is at least honest. Basically he meets and spends time in Moscow with a beautiful woman called Masha and a businessman in a cowboy hat, and he just goes with it. Not the best crime/love story I've read, but the descriptions of the snow are pretty fantastic, and give the whole thing a sense of mysterious symbolism. What can be lost or buried in the snow - is it, somehow, your own self?

Seeing Stars (Faber) is a fun trip: a collection of story-like poems from Simon Armitage covering the uncertainties or fanciful hopes of life. It's had me chuckling at the sperm whale who wants to stand up for its rights to an opinion in politics or the man who thinks he can pilot a plane because of the sheer romantic magic of the thing while the pilot is on strike. It's had me pausing to think about the life-forms that matter to a pharmacist who is knocked out by some customers. It's had me thinking about the way we live as contradictions to our own desires and how what we imagine or what we dream of lies under the surface. Definitely recommended to you to enjoy, read and re-read, and ponder on!

The Sunflower

A poem I wrote a few months ago:

The Sunflower

We hold up and gaze at

The head as big as our own,

It scours the earth below,

Magnificent;

We cradle it in child’s arms.

Let’s prise out seeds

Over the earth to watch

And listen to their flat sides bed down

In secret;

A molten dew-shower.

Here lies our treasure,

X marks the spot,

Let the place not be forgot.

Dreamily it asks why

We cut off its head –

“we were young”

We stammer,

“You seemed dead”;

We saw the plunder,

The wealth we hoped for;

We went for broke.

© Richard Townrow

Excellent poems from Simon Armitage

If you like poetry, here's treat - Simon Armitage at his most awfully sad and moving and then following this - in a more inventive and funny mode, touching on huge subjects of 20th/21st century life (I prefer the latter one).

Ode to a stranger

The story behind the following poem is that it is based on a wierd picture that I don't know the back-story to. Up until my recent move I'd been going to a writer's group in Gosport, and group organisers Jo and Marie brought some pictures to inspire us in the month ahead. The one I picked is below, photographed on my phone. I just don't know what to make of it. The poem came out of this idea of perception without understanding.

Here lie I

Dead as a dormouse.

There is the angle of the wall,

The bench,

The way the ground falls away,

And a ragged line of people.

There is a lunchbox,

Limp arms,

A lime green handbag hanging

With its half-sunken mobile phone.

While I lie

The wooden slats form a rim

Of each story’s edge,

Tall tower blocks framing me

From the eagle’s eye

And in my eyes

Life does not eke out

Or brim up or linger.

It is too late to be sorry.

Tilt your wings;

Fly on.

© Richard Townrow

Poem: The aftermath

It's a while since I have posted a poem, but I hope you enjoy it - please let me know how you found it.

I

As I look at the frightened creature sweltering in my hand
I realise some would call it an insect.

There are words to describe that kind of folly.
As alive as I am, as on edge, as apprehensive, as difficult:
As anxious for the other, we peer across a divide
filled with nothing.

II

As every desire peaks, each word sticks
in the back of my overburdened skull.
We agree to write the vocals in our gaze.

There’s a look that comes from within,
isn’t there? –I say, and screw up my eyes, small.

But it sighs.

III

The being will stare on and on
as if reading my quandary in the wind.
Certain as a heartbeat in its own mind.

IV

What will follow?
One of us will be stung, or crushed,
will fling the other away, will exult.

Maybe, after all,
neither of us is being genuine.
Maybe it is more than an insect
and scorns my blundering eyes
Maybe it'll never tell what it knows.

But I thought there was something
There in the gaze.


© Richard Townrow

Poem: On denying self & paralysing guilt

Bad poetry:

Here am I
The monster in my own life
Grace and art gone to the wind
Because I am languishing
The monster

Good poetry,
Showing signs of improvement:

Where am I
What rod can I branch off
Making the angle required
To support this tree, standing,
And these people?

Ties made or re-made,
With terms of possibility:
Weakness to weakness
To strength that is vital.

For music-lovers, here are 3 playlists of great tunes I have found on Spotify, which I really love. Just click on the links below to bring up the playlist. Finding a band called Band of Horses has been great, also I am enjoying hearing some great Creed songs, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Fleetwood Mac, Vampire Weekend, some top, little-heard Athlete tracks, Owl City, John Mayer, The Pigeon Detectives, Marina & the Diamonds, Katrina and the Waves or even tunes from Seether, Jimmy Eat World, Mighty Mouse or The Cat Empire.

Brand New Day
Spring leftovers
Spring picks 2

To check out my analysis/reviews of a few excellent tracks and albums, start by clicking here or click the "music-related" tag on my blog.

Poem: "How to handle it"

I've been reading a book called How to Write Poetry from Bloodaxe Books. I'm not clear how helpful it's been, but at least after a few weeks of having to get on with life stuff, I've had a chance to get writing again. Here's a poem I wrote last night called "How to handle it", though I'm not that happy with the title...

Still in the bedroom
Standing taut,
Blinkers put paid to
Anything much.

Ought to sit down,
Organise it.
Push off to town,
Carry out this

Open-ended exchange.
Meet the people,
Book the car,
See what's gathered

There on each shelf,
Where I see them
Ready for my study,
Grasping topics

One by one now,
Actual limbs moving
In a mind's eye
On a spot,

Feeling about
For the handles,
Carrying out
What I forgot.

"The children have gone": a lamentation

In the day
pomp holds forth
against my wind pipe.

Shining walls,
Tables set for twenty,
Laughter, loud voices.

Given into the hands
of the gleaming walkers,
assessing each gain.

Exulting madly
In the quiet moments,
Floods and dreams.

I bear no scars on my cheek.
I carry no dead weight.
I speak with friends alone.
I keep up my own strength.

This portrait (which is perhaps barely a poem!) describes the present-day tragedy that I can see in people's lives and is called "the children have gone" after a line in Lamentations 1.

Poem: Obsession

Here's an angry, sketchy poem I recently read out at a monthly writers' group I started going to. I think it was liked. Another poem will be posted tomorrow, so check back for more!

Why shouldn't we
Place our places well,
Lay out sheets of space
Amid expensive, precious rubble?
   - oh go on, stand it up,
   keep that lamp to,
   pass those small crystal dolphins,
   the paper fan can hang by it.

Outside, why should we
Solve our own riddles
With bulldozers
Knocking out
Bases and roots -
   stand that tree down,
   wipe out its lip,
   let rip all
   but stay off the pavement!

Poem: The fight (on my hands)

Go ahead
Deny my need
And trumpet about

I can’t believe
That you would say
That to me

Keep it up
I don’t think
You even care

As if I would
Ever spurn you
Or leave you helpless

Why should I
Move at all
Change for you

If that’s the way
You want to see it;
You won’t enjoy it.

New Poem: Knowing

Here's a new poem - exploring the contradictory desires of the self, and also perhaps looking at things which are temporary and pass from our lives. Seems to be a theme I often come back to. Let me know what you think.

I
Quisling one paddles towards graceful swan
Just as my thoughts break waves, pressing on,
Slapping them back, travelling directly through.

As the echoes of a dream quake around
Conscious thoughts know where they are going,
You, only you.

II

Every step he makes is a fight,

But there’s no restraint, he’s not right,

Moments of knowing will leave.

Temper admiration for his stealth,

His victories, his health,

Work hard not to be fully like him.

As gusty winds suppress a shout,

Turning him outside, and about,

We search for wisdom stars forgot to tell.

III

Our attitudes to our thoughts

Become other thoughts and platitudes,

And soon it is all forgotten.

A poem about knowing God and other thoughts

With all that's going on with everyone looking for work, finding the best deals, hearing the latest blame game on the news and keeping up with the latest entertainment releases, it can be easy to totally miss the bigger questions in life that are actually the important ones. What kind of politics do we want? What would make things better? Or, bigger than that, what am I living for?

This is one reason I like poetry which, in a few phrases, can provoke and suggest big things for us to ponder on. Here's a poem I wrote today:

A watch in my pocket-
A tension or two-
Elaborate curving traffic queue

A stifle and a shout-
Lions running free-
Huge encouragement to turn about

Too far to travel-
High ends and aims-
Categorizing nameless days

Protests escape-
What's in it for me-
Affection seizes up all my duty

Washing hangs up-
Curtains tear apart-
The feeling of being plunged in light.

This is a poem basically about getting things wrong in the Christian life, and is at least partly inspired by some ideas I've been hearing about about what it really means to be united to Jesus. But I didn't want it to sound too religion-y either. It reflects more on our frustrations and sense of ambition in religion, which really show we are (most likely) failing to start at the most central part of Christianity - seeing Jesus in his glorious goodness, his power and his saving grace, and having our hearts changed in love towards Him.

Incredibly, believers and followers of Jesus are given a totally new status in Jesus, one we don't earn, or try to conjure up from our own effort. We are forgiven, made right with God, as a gift of God's loving kindness. We only must receive this gift, to be able to stand secure and right before Him, in Him, with Him. How great is this! As one speaker puts it - "Getting this gives massive happy boldness to the believer. And it removes the terror and the religiosity of a false gospel".

As Martin Luther put it: 

"When the devil throws our sins up at us and says we deserve death and hell, we ought to speak thus: I admit that I deserve death and hell – what of it? Does that mean I shall be sentenced to eternal damnation? By no means! For I know one who has suffered and made satisfaction in my behalf – his name is Jesus Christ the Son of God. Where he is I shall be also."

Both quotes came from the first of these helpful talks from the always-passionate UCCF worker Mike Reeves.

Awe

Here's that poem I've been working on - please let me know what you think!


At this rockswell,
Crowned with jagged brambles,
The earth secretly breathes.

You can hear sighs from stacked rock
While creaking ferns point back
To worn beaten track.

The earth is thin here.
Creature-calls and rustles mark time
For the bandits peering at us from the sky;

A mosaic in green,
Where birds stand, hiding,
Hoping to swoop at any new invasion.

Up there, a world of leaning leaf,
Treetops blown outward by buckets of air,
Pressurized by staring stones below.

Dry grass sat there on rocks
Shaking slightly, in the confrontation
Between the air and myself.

Introspection

How thick is the wall
I am up against,
And what will it mean to me?
Will it provide
A spine-straightening brace?
A fatal blow to the side?
An embrace of rooted, underbelly rest?
What angle does it claim
Of its subject: me.

Just discovered this short thought I wrote and saved in July 2007 on my laptop and forgot about. Doesn't it capture the challenges of engaging well with a problem, and having the right perspective on it? And it warns us how thoughts like this can easily make everything about little old "me" rather than the big picture which should inform my thinking and what I put my energy into...

Poem: On the parable of the sower

Fresh blood, fresh ground.
Fresh ears and different hearts
Where words, buried, move without a sound.
Elsewhere they lie flat, dying,
On the shut-off surface,
Or beaten over, replaced by a lifelike thing
Or a gasping pursuit,
Watched over with sadness.

Call: “Down, deep,
Push out your thirsty feet
Find soil that’s not dust
Spread an inch, take a hold.
Take no prisoners, use all as fuel
As you climb into the glorious air
To the glorious sun.”

Take passenger mineral and jetty the rest
Where does it move? Your shape fills out - how?
And where will it grow next season?
Up, push up, and stretch an arm out
- captivated by the open way above.
Grow pleasing in service, seeing fruit bud and scatter out,
Walking in sower-like love.

I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with this poem, yet (eg. last stanza) but try reading it out loud to get a feel for the sense of excitement I wanted to create about the growth of the "word" from the Matthew 13/Mark 4 parable.

Unbelief

Hurried on without fire
Beneath a tantalising thought
Working all the God-damn day

Far too afraid to mention
Distant dreams with misgiving
Constant wishing, only grieving.

Where must we reach for worthy cause
Or aping jeers of total loss;
Borrowed backs of firebrands past

Holy, unforgetting, we
Gaze into metal jars.
Never mind infinity.

We are cherry-picking;
We are realised;
We are terrible;
We are guarded.

Yes, more poetry, and this one isn't so subtle

Express pain
For the whole body is shouting
And can not hear you.

Jump for joy
For each muscle is tensed
Lacking only reason.

Be at peace
For my torso and legs
Argue over direction.

Face facts
For the mind is absent
And the heart is full.

Teach me
For an ear strains
All while an eye beholds.

(Impossible news
Of immeasurable worth
Speaks of “knowing yourself”).


While I remember, the poem at http://bibleandcoffee.blogspot.com/2009/02/election.html is a wonderful reflection on how God has rescued sinners who have merely trusted Him. Check it out!

Getting perspective on what the church is here for - part two

Here are some more areas where I was pushed in my thinking at New Word Alive this year...

• Evangelism. Apologetics is about being a person who has hope, and showing that you have hope: 1 Peter 3:15. This does not just have to be argued for in rational arguments (although any believer ought to know the firm basis we have for hope, using their minds to dwell on the historical records about Jesus and the way God has worked in the world, as this can only strengthen faith). The point is this: We can make a case for Jesus by showing what a great hope we have in Him for the future, and how this affects us; what joy and happiness it brings us.
• Worship. Every part of my life is worship. I am designed for worshiping God yet (and this is what I saw more clearly) I often give myself to other things in worship. For instance, the right responses I have to things or people or groups of people around me are easily twisted to become idol-worship, while on the other hand, the devil wants me to discount parts of my life entirely, forgetting that I ought to glorify God in every activity and motivation of the heart. Therefore, our job, as speaker Dan Strange on the "Engagement with Culture" track taught, is to “smash idols” in our lives, and return to true worship, as God is Lord of all - the one whose name means salvation and eternal hope for many, many sinners: such a powerful and generous-hearted God deserves our all.
• Fellowship. Talking and praising with Christians can be a life-line – it really can work on my attitudes and encourage me towards love of God. I am more convinced than before that meeting up in 2s or 3s or 4s with those of similar age-groups to spur each other on has an important place within churches.

There were other more creative things that came out of having some time away from work too, such as the poem below I began to write one day when looking at the amazing blue sky over breakfast in the caravan. More to follow soon, including a review of the brilliantly experimental arts-fused "Pause" evening I went to one night.

Bare sky-hearts

Blue skies
Wide open
Looking at me
In a benign way.

Affording to be above and arching over;
A friendship offering, or blessing
Rebounding out to others.

Cold morning surfaces, and seagulls,
Next to unbroken stretches of grassy curb –
Irregular. Like restless light.

Un-dependable;
Now gracious, now despising the impact she makes
Re-painting over and over

But light presents itself
Bright, full of colour, through her!
And people stop and admire.

The future

“Tortured feet break away from threadbare shoes”
- that’s all.
Yellow-parched skin, now brushing against the wind.

Hard-lined mouths which put lives into cruel focus -
Frustrated by answers, and unexpected new managers.

Watery eyes, wistful through the entirety of generation Y -
Find hope to relate again, drawing out vitality through sockets of gold,
Creative minds and legs which bend and reach and go.

Babies stand their personalities up-right, and shine.
Mother’s wisdom cares for them, without strain.
Shout it out: “A family is well again!”

Aching remembered, we cry “Worth it, all worth it!”
Music climbing, broad sounds filling out our clothes,
Activity unhindered, progress never unmade
- people purposed, concentrating, thinking, relaxing;
Growing.

Rushing of air, as solid trees walk towards one another
- as if, at first.
Hopes that return, from the crown laden down.