My twitter friend G_puriji introduced me to David McKirdy. I’ve not met either of them, G_puriji I meet regularly on my twitter TL. David is a poet and a bike/car enthusiast, and he has taken the trouble to critique some of my writing. This is my response to it.
First, David:
Dear Rita,
G forwarded your blog address to me and for whatever the opinion of a car mechanic is worth I have read and enjoyed the work. The first one 'The Golden Cage' reminds me somewhat of Maya Angelou's poem 'I know why The Caged Bird Sings', although yours has more repetitive, chiming lines that I suspect would work well in performance. Another difference is that Maya Angelou doesn't say 'Fuck' in any of her poems but perhaps she should consider it! I use profanity from time to time but I think writers are best advised to limit it to one or two repetitions at most, otherwise it loses the power to jolt the reader or listener into a different mindset and is in danger of being perceived purely for shock value and as a cliche. The two nature poems 'Moments of Silence' and 'Silver Sea' were particularly strong I thought - I do like brevity in poetry and these two fit the bill, although I also enjoyed the prose piece 'Mangoes of My Childhood'. I think you both describe and evoke well the feelings and emotions of 'Nature' and I would like to read more along these lines. The '3 a.m. Poem' will be recognised by any writer who has been ambushed by something inspirational at some ungodly hour, I know I certainly have.
Are you a member of a poetry group and do you ever read your work in public? I have found that reading my poems out loud really helps to give me a sense of whether they work or not and I would generally not commit something to its final draft until I have read it a couple of times, I sometimes read to myself out loud just to get a sense of the rhythm and the fluidity or lack thereof of a particular piece.
I am currently working on a new collection which I hope to have ready for print in a couple of months, most of the subject matter is about cultural dislocation, relocation and the relationship between the colonisers and the colonised, I hope to do a few festivals during 2012 to promote the new book as well as my recently re-published first collection, hopefully they might have me at The Jaipur Festival and I also want to do a return trip to Singapore where my work was well received during the recent Singapore Writer's Festival.
Warmest Regards
David
Now, my reply:
Dear David,
First of all, I must be honest with you, I do get prickly when confronted with criticism. It’s a strange dichotomy; I know I need good, knowledgeable, detached feedback on what I write in order for me to grow, but when it does offer itself, I rebel against it – the Tom Petty song comes to mind ‘You don’t know what it feels, to be me.’ My Hindu philosophy teaches me to develop detachment, because attachment leads to sorrow. But detachment, especially of my writing, for whatever its worth, is hard. As for sorrow, I wallow in it; it’s my muse, most of the time. Anyway, so I read your critique, got prickles, decided to let it be for a while, ruminate, and take what I could from it. So, my response now is with a prickle free head. Well, almost :- )
About the use of profanity. Language, words, are simply expressions of what I’m feeling. A profane word is just that - a word. If ‘fuck’ does the job for me, I will use it. I don’t use words merely for shock value, or in order to jolt the reader. I never write with any reader in mind - though, I’m writing this with you in mind, but this is in response to what you said. I write to express - it’s a need - more for myself than for anybody else - even this, by the way, although I’m using you as the sounding board to express myself. Which is a happy thing, and happens quite often when I find anybody making interesting comments about my writing, or somebody else’s. This is as much a peek into my own mind for me, as an attempt to explain myself to you.
I will not use the word ‘catharsis’ to describe my need to write, not because it’s a cliché, but because that’s not quite what it is. I revel in my joys, but also in my pain, for pain, more often than not, brings out the muse in me. And I enjoy the muse in me. And then I put it out there, for that too is a need. But primarily, it’s my need to express, and not a catering to a reader’s need to read, that is the driving force. Repetition of words, sentences, happens naturally to me, in other words, it’s not a deliberate device that I use. Actually, profanity does not come naturally to me – it’s not a part of my everyday language, usually. I’ve never used it in any of my other writing. But in this poem, it spilled out, almost without my volition. My poems are mostly about my emotions, I have not explored writing on other subject matter yet, such as detached political thought.
While writing ‘The Golden Cage’ I visualized a trapped animal/bird/creature. I’m sure you’ve seen one or two. It struggles, it fights, with all its might, to get free. Flapping, flailing, struggling, until it loses all its life’s strength and then quietens down, accepting death, or its fate almost, in stoic silence. And then, I put myself in that bird’s place (or maybe the bird has always been me – caught in life’s trap – a trap I didn’t ask for but has been thrust on me willynilly - What’s that song that goes something like ‘stop the world turning, ‘coz I want to get off’), and all I could do was say ‘fuck’ ‘fuck’ ‘fuck’ for being so stupid to have got myself in that trap in the first place (though I hardly had a choice – since I was put in life’s trap by something beyond my control). No other word could have expressed it, and it had to be repeated like the relentless flapping struggle of the bird – a prisoner thrashing against the cage of its circumstance.
I’ve not read Maya Angelou’s poem - I will, now.
Now, about ‘nature’ poems. Again, I have trouble with any categorization of my writing, because I feel imprisoned by it. Nature is what I’ve grown up with – my childhood/youth, the happiest parts, were spent bang in practically a jungle world – hence, nature is what I can describe most, and use to express my feelings most, because that’s what I am familiar with. If I’d grown up, lived, in a concrete room, without a glimpse of nature outside, that is what I would’ve used, if in a gutter, then the gutter would have been my voice. My point being, nature is just a device, it’s my feelings, that are primarily what I want to express.
The post-modern poets of Bengal reject what they term as the highfalutin romanticism of Tagore’s poetry. They want to talk about life’s struggles, the hunger, the pain, the need, the want, the poverty of the everyday life that surrounds them. But, I’ve never understood why they need to reject Tagore for that? Tagore’s circumstance was that of a well-to-do higher middle-class, surrounded by literature, music, arts, philosophy, and the political situation of the country at that time. His mind had the freedom to dwell on those aspects. Nature, the vagaries of the seasons, features predominantly in his writing. His stories/plays usually portray the middle class he has been familiar with. If Tagore had been born in want and need, I’m sure he would have written about those. If the footpath of Calcutta had been his home, and not the genteel home he lived in, then the footpath would’ve been his poetry. Yes, there was much poverty even then, but perhaps Tagore was shielded from it due to his circumstance. (I miss my father now, he would’ve had a better explanation about Tagore.)
In ‘Mangoes of my Childhood’ I enjoyed becoming the child I used to be (or one facet of the child I used to be). It’s also about a time caught in my memory, but which is gone. My father, whom I mention in the piece, is gone; the thread of his life came to an end. But he’s still with me. And, yet, time passes inexorably towards an end of my own existence. And he will die with me when I’m gone. I try to recapture that time in the past, not merely for nostalgia, but because childhood remains an enigmatic part of me. Who was I? Was I the same me that I am today? Why was I? Why am I? What is this end I am going towards?
As for brevity, or a lengthy write, again, these are devices, usually not within my control. If something needs to be brief, it will be. If more words are needed, that’s how it must be. I enjoy both – in writing and reading. Look at this response to you – it’s long and meandering – I’m loving it. (Gulp! Hope you do too, of course - :- ) – apologies if I’m boring you! )
I’m not a member of any poetry group. Reclusive by nature, I shy away from group displays of my writing, which I consider amateurish, anyway. My writing is just my mind doodling with my keyboard, which has largely replaced my pen. However, I have attended some poetry reading by others, and have found that a very enjoyable experience. I will take your advice, however, about reading aloud what I’ve written, though I’ll do it in the safety of my own self as the listener :- )
I must thank you, and G, for taking the trouble, to read and to critique. In our jam-packed life, I know how precious each moment is. I know from G that you’re a nifty car/bike enthusiast, who also writes great poetry. I’ve read your poetry and find them very interesting, especially given your background. I am looking forward to your new book, especially given the subject matter.
I hope you don’t mind if I put your critique and my response up on my blog. I want to do it, because I think I’ve touched on interesting aspects about myself and my writing.
Hoping to hear more from you,
With very warm regards,
Rita
To which David replied:
Dear Rita,
Please don't misread my comments about profanity as disapproval, there is no finer word than 'fuck' for the right occasion, my comment was simply to try to suggest that you think about multiple repetitions of the word and whether or not this dilutes the effect you are trying for in the piece. A good example where repetition works is the opening scene in the movie 'Four Weddings and a Funeral' in this example it is entirely appropriate and highly amusing. 'Philip Larkin also wrote a poem where the first line is; 'They fuck you up your Mum and Dad' it is one of the British readers favourites, so I'm all for swearing, in fact in the Cantonese vernacular every 2nd word is profane. I therefore tend to swear a lot in my daily interaction with others, but only sparingly in my poetry.
I find it is hard to get any kind of constructive comments from readers or listeners and in fact there is a very good friend of mine who doesn't like my poetry at all, but really like my prose. I don't much like care for her poetry either but she is one of my most valuable critics, because if ever I write poem that she likes I will probably scrap it immediately. I think as a poet if I write something that speaks to one person then I have done my job, I don't expect or even want my work to be everything to everyone, it would then become like the music in an elevator and I'd prefer to provoke displeasure rather than lull my listener into a coma.
If you get a chance why not attend a poetry reading in your area simply as a member of the audience, you may find out a thing or two about your own approach from observing what others are doing.
Warmest regards
David
And the conversation will continue when I reply back.
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