Selected Poetry – A bouquet of Poesy
Scott Hastie’s ‘Selected Poetry’ is a collection that harkens to the Romantics of old as well, as the modern enthusiast at times straddling both with deft efficiency. He begins with a pastoral paean to nature:
On a still summer’s afternoon
Finches chatter in the hedgerow
And neat cottage gardens burst forth
With the first fresh blooms of June,
Delicate pastel peonies
And hardy green roses plump in the bud.
Feathered chestnut blossom lingers high
In splendid old trees,
And on the meadow’s gentle slopes
Tired cattle seem lost in a sudden heat
That almost stops your heart.
Nature’s mellow pause
In a changing English season,
Edged by echoes of birdsong
And gentle breezes in barley.
One can almost hear Wordsworth in these lines when he describes the ‘delicate pastel peonies’ and the ‘feathered chestnut blooms’ this is not merely though, a poem that details the varied vegetation in the garden but one which through rhyme brings you into the moment, suddenly you are transported into an English meadow such as the lush greenery of Wordsworth’s lush Northumberland.
From here he proclaims the delights of summer,
Fresh fractured singing surf
Dances at the foot of the sheer cliff edge,
Perpetually humbled and yet splendid in its arrogance.
We stand and watch in the sunshine
As its white spray stings the ragged face of time.
This is the poetry of youth, finding joy in every sunrise, and every sandy-hewn cliff. Yet, for all his melodic fancies, he does not risk thematic redundancy, by sticking us solely in the sanctum of the summer’s joyful agrarian bliss. There are depictions of the cold landscape of
The winter landscape displays more clearly
Its spread of flat, open, naked space.
And
The very features on her virgin face,
Though covered, glow still in the gloom.
This is the work of a young artist, stretching his poetic wings, searching for his voice, trying out one, mastering it, and then another, as one a musician would having learned the acoustic guitar finds him/herself curious about the electric, the classical, and maybe even the bass. If we see this as a starting point from which to launch our poetic ship Hastie’s ‘Selected Poetry’, is a grand place to begin. Each work builds upon the previous one. We see the poet too, transforming from his youthful dalliances into Wordsworthian poesy to his more modernist work. Having read and enjoyed Hastie’s later work, you can hear reading in this his mature voice, peeking through like a friend waiting in the wings to be introduced. This is evident in such lines as
And so here we are, my love and I,
Just doing our best…
Like sunny morning nudes
We sit together scheming happiness.
And the sensuous allusion to the goddess Aphrodite
in the good green grass,
My body seeks the velvet crimson of a tiny crocus,
Sweet Goddess of desire.
And later, when he speaks of the birth of his child, in the ever personal and beautiful
Bathed in rhythmic floods of energy
That stretch and squeeze,
Stretch and squeeze,
Until the magical hour arrives
When breath and pain quickens to a frenzy,
And then suddenly there it is,
Magnificent.
Black and blue and bloody,
Soon writhing in your hands,
Softly screaming.
The voice here is not just that of the father, but an observer of life, of the disparate energies, that ebb and flow within all of us as life is created. And this is the point of poetry is not? To reflect back to the reader, not merely what one see’s but the emotions and undercurrents that are ever-present, but not always noted. It is the poet’s job to do that. To be an echo of life. Hastie’s work is a shining example of that for it amplifies the darker (subliminal) energy and that which lifts up as well. I can think of no finer example of what poetry is, and of the emergence of it, than this collection which subsumes the reader as it harkens the old and heralds the new.
New Poetry – Plaint Symphony
In reading Hastie’s work, New Poetry , after taking in his sublime Selected Poetry , I was not sure what to expect with this latest (though published first in the 90s) offering. Would it be as varied as the previous work? Would it capture my imagination and heart as richly as the first? The answer to both of these questions is an unqualified yes.
New Poetry (as Selected Poetry did ) starts slowly, is the overture of a symphony (think Braham’s 4th) its rhythms like a slow pianissimo, hum sweetly in your ear.
A drowsy stream,
Once stiff and iced in winter,
Trickles freely over a bed of pebbles,
Past grassy lumps at the meadow edge,
Where seedlings struggle through silvered moss
One can almost see and hear this “drowsy stream” and see the “silvered moss”. Hastie not stopping, uses such metaphors intertwining the wonders of nature in such a way as to juxtapose those with his young daughter
Her hair fair with tiny ringlets
She might never notice,
Her joy is so open.
How strong and sturdy she grows,
And yet how she still loves
The simple exquisite things,
Like splashing me with water
Or kissing cool cotton sheets
On a sticky summer’s night.
And then
Look closely in the garden,
At the tired but pollen-laden shrubs,
And you will see how even now
A host of insects
Are busy harvesting gold
In this still and inky darkness.
As for Louise,
She’s calmly asleep with all her dreams.
The rampant sun has ebbed away again,
And at the end of an all but exhausted day,
How prettily the moonlight lingers
Over this, the perfect silence of happiness.
Though he revels in the beauty of nature he is not insensate to the deformities in it, as well as humanity
At its edge young bushes, thick with thorns,
And tall colonies of giant serried nettles
Fail to hide completely the ugliness
Of shattered plastic and rusty metal
And then laying the blame where it must be
the old weathered bricks
And crumbling cement that have tumbled down
In the centre of this muddied woodland clearing,
Where man once lingered thoughtlessly
And nature still struggles to cover the spoiled space,
Where his sad monuments still linger,
Stubborn and hopeless.
The meter is strong and lingers over your mind like a warm bath, weltering and at times stinging your skin over the open wounds that humanity has willfully inflicted. His is employs here a Frostian mode, but Frost with an erudite, and at once accessible to the modern ear, bite.
It is, therefore, not surprising that not long after, we hear the voice of Hastie’s, (which we would as any reader of his would recognize) his mature poetic voice seeping through. It is there on the edges of many pieces, peeking its head out, and then popping back in, like a child at the door, wondering if he dares to venture out into the cold.
This becomes apparent first in the first four paragraphs [page 16]
Ancient feelings sow seeds of delight
Fed by needs and desires,
Both petty and bestial,
That foster none of the peace and contentment
Of those who, with simple hearts,
Find acceptance and chase little more
Than the day’s end, such is their trust.
To know no more than this though
Is perhaps the best of life’s blessings.
For in quest of innocence long departed,
There is no road back to the calm naked
Islands of hope that once we were.
So hold me tight, take all you want of me,
And in this, the sudden, sharp passion
Of our secret world,
I promise you that
The lines here are a narrative, the poet breaking the fourth wall addressing the reader, says, “Of those with, with simple hearts, find acceptance and chase little than the day’s end is their trust…” and in the final paragraph “So hold me tight, take all you want of me, and in this, the sudden sharp passion of our secret world, I promise you that,” The final paragraph returning the reader to the metrical rhythms of the previously engaged.
We will spill and share our souls.
We will be all we should be,
At least until the morning comes
It is as if the poet, still searching for his voice, does not, or has not decided between the two genres, that of free verse, or the more classical (and thematically familiar) Wordsworthian, Frostian, mode. How does he choose? It seems the choice is made slowly, and through poetic play (as all good poets do) and by the events of life (foisted on upon us) causing the artist to submerge himself collectively within the nebulous (and ephemeral) void of consciousness.
Witness the unmetered sonnet
Within the golden riot
Of a flat freezing autumn
Coldness quite suddenly
Has its own specific and final smell,
A smoky meld of musk and damp,
The smell of loss and completion.
Now tomorrow is made anew,
Though every step forward
On the soft first frost of winter
Will seem like an agony of intrusion,
Like walking on sacred relics,
Or broken bone china
That might crack and spit at you
With its own sense of finish, of perfection
The meter is imperfect, it is not iambic, the first two lines being heptameter, the third hexameter, and the fourth iambic, the fifth hexameter, and the sixth hexameter, ending with the three-syllable word, completion. The second stanza continues in this vein of imperfect rhythms, but what completes it, rounding the entire with a continuity that gives the work bulk, is the last word, again three-syllables, perfection. It is as if the artist, is cognizant of the inclusion in the work and as such, in highlighting it through the subtlety of meter announces that it is complete and perfect in its own imperfection. That the “imperfections” are, is what makes it so.
Again, and again, he returns to this vegetive exquisiteness highlighting through the use of personification no more and nowhere profoundly, an aged weariness that exists in nature (as in humanity)
A diseased tree dying alone
In an empty field.
Its trunk and branches roughly broken,
Snapped by a merciless hope.
Its sap, once fresh and sticky,
Set fast and solid now – finished
Like the ugly look of its piebald bark
-Peeling, tatty and torn.
This bust broken giant
Seems to be mourning an elephantine loss.
Robbed of growth.
What is notable, and it comes forth later and to a greater extent, is the emphasis is now two-fold, on beauty and loss. Hastie’s reverence for the tree acknowledges what has been, the “once fresh and sticky” [sap] that has “set fast” and the “ugly look of its piebald bark. “, Even in delineating the wasted youth, there is beauty. Not long after this, he tells us so-
Fat greedy birds sit and beg
From the spiky frozen branches of naked trees,
Whose silhouetted limbs eat into the air
This is a fiercely brave book for its daring to go not just into the mire of nature’s bounty, but to then weave seamlessly into this concoction a brew that will resonate deep within the soul because this is not Hallmark verse that one would use for holiday cards, it is heartfelt, (which is, verse for the common man) retaining poetic structure and nobility, while reaching furtively beneath the layers collective consciousness that all of us use to guard our at once solipsistic, tender humanness.
This ‘humanness’ is nowhere more evident than in the author’s perceptions on the death of a lost love, detailed near the end of the collection. He speaks of visiting her graveside.
I knelt for hours though,
Chasing back our memories together,
Until their sweet resonance
Made it almost impossible to leave,
Anchored by your loss.
The pink roses
I left to drip in cellophane.
After this, the remaining poems have a natural infusion of morbidity; recurrent themes persist as the author ponders death, growing old, the suffering of others, at the hands of those whose sights are set on cupidity and malfeasance. Even later in a piece in which he contrasts his infant son with grown men
Even the most finished
And brawniest of men
Can look so childlike, so vulnerable,
Curled up and alone
Beneath simple white sheets.
my baby boy.
Thick breast-fed bones,
Already solid
Beneath layers of puppy fat
He returns at the end to the previous loss,
Buried, but growing strong beneath
Warm furred sheets,
Once as smooth and as cold as a mortuary slab.
His pain is palpable, as he calls himself “the last man alive” that he “dreams of lush green grass” but later notes that “He is impotent now” and “like a tiny black flower” these are the sentiments of one who is inured in grief, though longing to move on. His awareness that he can “never be quite so innocent again.” Gives one pause to ask, if the death of his love was something, he felt guilt for, and if not, is he torturing himself for some unknown, and unspoken reason? He does not let us in on that but keeps the movement going. [Remember this is a symphony and we have now entered the final part].
In the denouement, he returns us to nature, for it is from her, that he can revive, imbibe sustenance, begin to make sense of things and then not so much move on, but move forward putting into place lessons learned, and from there reconstruct his life using that knowledge to feed himself, spiritually and this the heart of it, and New Poetry , is about. Feeding the soul. The movement is evident in
How existence
Surely gets sadder
And yet more beautiful.
Like the swollen patterned body
Of a pregnant spider,
As it rests tentatively on the silken net
Of a seemingly mortal tragedy,
That truth glows.
Hastie’s words, cognizance of the “sadness” and that in that, there is beauty is a plaint, sung through the vision of spider’s swollen pregnant belly weighing on the silken net, for are we not all like this in our existence, balancing on those tentative threads, hanging precariously over that which we know, and that which is.
Aria Ligi, Writer and Poet, San Francisco, 2021.
Stutter
And sway in spirit,
As we sometimes
Might,
Our souls still touch.
And, year on year,
As the bonds
We’ve fashioned so
Begin to coil
And circle
Ever closer around us,
One cannot help
But notice
That ultimately
It’s the intimacy
That matters.
And when
We are together thus
Once more,
How elastic
Our existence
Becomes.
The indelible presence
Of precious times
Gone by.
Aglow again
In the promise
Of so many fresh blooms
Still to come.
THE VERY BUSINESS OF POETRY ITSELF
One poet’s view from the UK
Hi Scott, do please tell us how you go about writing, how you organise your day?
“I am fortunate to have a smallish study all to myself, up in the loft, which looks out over open fields and a tree-lined skyline. Here I have quiet, cocooned space overlooking the English countryside (almost in the clouds…) and absolutely everything I need. Far, far away from anything else – phones, computers, tablets and door bells, especially…
For me, as a full time writer, a fairly rigorous, almost monastic daily routine is very important and underpins all my efforts. Not just in creating an exterior environment that is conducive to a concentrated and undisturbed focus on my craft – but one that also allows important preparatory time of an almost religious nature – given the spiritual themes that run through my work.
On a normal day, this would involve around two hours of advance preparation: morning exercise (normally running in the countryside and/or rowing) followed by breathing exercises, body stretches and meditation, sometimes some music also – before even beginning to think about any writing…
Having also eaten simply, I then would normally write in silence for between two to four hours – losing any sense of time, till my body tells me it is time to refuel. Immediately after lunch, I would then have a shorter 1-2 hour session (often the most exciting time of the day when earlier writing can begin to coalesce) Evenings are then usually important down-time from what is a quite an intense and tiring process. However I would still normally have a couple of short sessions early, right after my evening meal and also last thing before bed – which are more about reviewing existing work and quick, little polishing sessions – looking afresh and anew at whatever has emerged that day.
For me, it’s very important that every day (whether a writing day or not) begins and ends with me quietly reading through my last half a dozen pieces – in order hopefully to stay ‘in the flow’ and ‘in the voice’, clinging on tightly to that ‘silken thread’ that, once it slips from your grasp, can often be so hard to regain! Unless I’m away travelling or have specific social commitments, then EVERY day is a writing day.
I also have three identical and rather wonderful little digital voice recorders that literally go everywhere with me (one stays by the bed) so that, whatever I’m up to, I have some chance of capturing all those amazing little thoughts and insights that come to you, just out the blue – And as if by magic! These I call my ‘fragments’ and they usually come when you are in the throws of just doing something else, entirely – or just surfacing from sleep, for example. Rather than just sitting down somewhat deliberately: ‘to write some poetry! ’Previously so, so many of these fragments would have just got lost in the ether forever, before I started to adopt this method and built it into my daily resources and routine.
How on earth does a poem begin to emerge on a blank screen or piece of paper?
Yes well then, beyond the general details of my day to day creative practice, I am often asked to describe exactly how I go about creating an individual poem. Firstly I have to say, in my view, you should never ever sit down to compose on a blank piece of paper – that, I think, is a big mistake many make. Furthermore, which really surprises many of my readers, neither do I ever start with a preconceived theme to write about.
Instead, I simply begin with some of these fragments, as described above, stored on a page; importantly with the most recent at the top… (as I calculate these should be the best reflection of your most current sub-conscious interests) and then see what begins to happen. Which stir you? Which begin to link together? (as per William Burroughs celebrated ‘cut out’ technique) and which prompt you to write on, some more?
And then usually, for me at least (given the immediately preceding minutes I have already invested in meditating and ‘getting in the voice’) something soon starts to take shape and I simply go with the flow and follow its lead… And of course, once the guts of a theme is out and has been safely captured on the page – then it is always possible (and often wise!) to have a break – knowing its detail and narrative is safe and can always be polished later. So this is truly how the nuts and bolts of the creative process works for me, anyway.
What drives and inspires you to write?
All my life (and for reasons I can’t quite be sure of) I have always been a seeker in the spiritual sense and always very ambitious to live life to the full. Whenever I am blessed with special moments or insights in my life, then my first instinct is to share the light and energy that comes from this experience with others. I am particularly keen to reach younger readers and students, still at a formative time in their lives and am always especially gratified when this group of readers, in particular, is touched by my work.
I suppose, at the core of my creative effort, is an attempt to try and present and illuminate a runway ahead, if you like… Fed directly by my own being and experience – in the hope that it resonates. My personal mode of doing this is, of course, as an artist and as a poet in particular.
Who are your greatest influences?
Beyond my own personal experience of living my life as fully as possible, I have always also been uplifted and inspired by reading other writers. After all, what greater gift and truer pleasure can there be that the opportunity to read and absorb, to have an internal dialogue yourself with some of the greatest minds and souls that have ever lived? Especially in antiquity, just think how exciting it is to be able to get to know the ancient, elemental voices in Beowulf, the colours of Ovid, the technical wizardry of Flaubert, the vision of Blake, the wisdom and majesty of Gibran or Rilke, for example.
My passion for poetry was ignited, as an impressionable adolescent, by schoolboy studies of the great English Romantic poets in particular – Wordsworth, Keats and, for me, Coleridge in particular. The work of William Blake and some of the truly great French writers like Rimbaud, Verlaine and Baudelaire were also a great influence. Shakespeare was of course the most glowing and effortless example of someone who had truly found their own voice and, in all likelihood, could write as fast as he could speak… As a student, I was both inspired and awestruck by that – to the extent it seemed like my lifetime’s challenge was going to be the long journey to begin to find my very own true voice.
How difficult was it to get started?
I soon began writing my own poetry in earnest at college, where I was studying to be a librarian and where I was also then editor of the student magazine for Brighton Polytechnic and Sussex University. Quite quickly I became one of many quite active, but relatively obscure either young small press or self-published poets. However, my work always seemed to sell well and was, at the time, unusual for always being published profitably. Thereby becoming a useful second income supporting the family life of a chartered librarian – in the auspicious tradition of a Larkin! Though in my case, the career was in public, rather than academic libraries.
What do you think were the key developments in your literary career?
Significant published collections of my poetry didn’t really appear till I had a family of my own and was already in my thirties. This was largely on the back of commercial success in other genres – when I was fortunate to author a series of quite lavish and lucrative illustrated local history books. Around this time, I also wrote Reunion, a fast-paced romantic thriller, which remains my only novel to date.
Nowadays I write full time, focusing as squarely as possible on poetry once more. A newer transitional collection of my work Meditations was first published in 2013, focusing more on the philosophic and spiritual themes, with another similar but more substantial and comprehensive collection: Angel Voices soon following in the Autumn of 2014. Along with these and my novel, two other earlier collections of my poetry remain in print today: Selected Poetry, a hardback edition and New Poetry, a later title published in paperback only. On account of growing interest, both theses titles now only very recently re-issued as e books in early 2021.
As you will by now probably know, further titles and new collections soon followed – threads in 2016 and then Pranic Poetry in 2020, the theme of which was fuelled by what I learnt and managed to absorb from a couple of years highly insightful study of Pranic Healing, under the auspices of the Institute of Pranic Healing here in the UK. By this time, there was much broader interest and appreciation of my work around the world, energised by an exponential growth of visits to my showcase website scotthastie.com – which now generates millions of hits every year from all around the world. Interest in my work continues to grow exponentially, I think significantly encouraged but the pandemic induced lockdown around the world, which encouraged so many more folk to do two vital things – Read more… and also Re-evaluate their potential and what their life was really about… which of course lies at the very heart of what my poetry speaks to. This was the reason which prompted us to bring forward by a year my two 30th career anniversary retrospective ‘Best Of” collections – Timeless: the best of Scott Hastie’s poetry 1990-2020 and it’s companion volume Splinters of Light: quotations from the poetry of Scott Hastie in 2020.
Sounds like the internet has played a big part in your success?
Yes your right. Initially social media was a pretty new departure for me and something I was, to be honest, something I was initially rather reluctant about – but still very much initially encouraged to get involved with by the people at Raygun who designed and launched www.scotthastie.com here in the UK in 2012. In addition, I had also always been so conscious of all the other potential pitfalls there are out there for anyone seeking to write anything significant – be it the lure of fame or fortune, or the seduction of style over substance, for example. And, as always stressed by David Lidgate, my spiritual mentor here in the UK, particularly the importance of not wasting valuable energies on promotion and ‘staying in the bubble’ – if truly serious about maximising the potential you have as a writer.
Having said this, I am glad I did listen to Raygun and we have since developed approaches that make this work for me, without literally taking more than a hour or so of my time every day… Even from my limited experience to date. Like it or not, there can be no doubt that options like Twitter Facebook & Instagram (for general public) and LinkedIn (for peer group connections) are immensely powerful engines of efficient sharing and global communication, helping to steer people from all round the world to my web site. The web site itself scotthastie.com which has a built in blog – for both general comment and also on individual poems – has also exceeded all expectations since it was launched. And all this from a standing start and with no marketing spend to speak of!
There is no doubt that the use of social media and also involvement with writing groups has played its part here. Although my books have long since found their way to most countries around the world, for me, as a writer, the key transformative effect here has been, for the first time, getting my work out much more effectively to a worldwide audience. And, of course, the surprises that come from this. For example, the scale of enthusiastic positive interest, now evident from the US in particular and also from India and some Arab states initially caught us off guard, to be honest. But is obviously very welcome, nevertheless.
So in summary, I am now a definite convert! Just twenty years ago, it simply would have not been possible at all for me to even dream of reaching the audience I do now, without huge investment from a major corporate publishing house. So it does literally transform everything. What I now say to those that ask is that: in this new world, I have two principal endeavours: Firstly – to write as well as I can, then Secondly – to be as serious and cooperative as I can be about getting my work to be read by as many people as possible. Hence, for example, my investment of time in contributing to blogs, as well as online art & literary print journals, both as a way of conveying an understanding of what I am aiming to do AND equally importantly sharing with and encouraging others – which I also find to be very satisfying and rewarding.
Though, much as the Internet does such a brilliant job for us, as writers and creative artists generally (in terms of being able to reach out and find a worldwide audience so cost effectively and without being totally reliant on the big and often greedy corporates) we all still know that the delicious feeling of having that intimate ‘one to one’ dialogue with the mind of another, by holding a beautifully finished printed book in your hand, just cannot be bettered or ever replaced. As validated by the simple fact that today there are more books being written and commercially published than ever before. End of any possible argument about all that there, methinks!
What excites you most about what you have achieved so far and what are you still looking to achieve with your writing?
For me, the most exciting development in my writing (in addition to the more cogent and mature voice I seem to have been blessed with, past two years or so…) is the way my poetry now seems to be truly reaching out and touching people across all social, cultural, political and faith boundaries. Much more than all the money in the world! I honestly just couldn’t want for more than that.
In that sense I’m now Living the Dream… And it therefore has become very important to me that I pay back all the blessings I’ve been given, by writing as well as I possibly can – And that, in truth, is what the rest of my creative life is about, really.
What do you consider to be the central themes and characteristics of your poetry?
On the technical front, I have always been ardent in my belief that, as far as possible, a poem should speak entirely for itself. Perhaps more so than any other art form, surely this has to be truest for poetry? Whose principal aim is to distil an experience or insight down to the absolute essence. To my mind the voice of the piece should therefore always be much stronger and clearer than any artist’s commentary or critic’s voice could ever provide.
I regard the over-arching theme of my work to be a personal investigation into the positive potential of the human spirit. This I think is clearly evident, running through most of my poems. Not that I believe my work can ever be said to be some sweet pastoral panacea, because it never shies away from pain or suffering – and is prepared to also explore the darkness, as well as the light and, crucially, the fundamental significance of their inter reaction. This being, to me, the absolute axis (the truly dynamic and crucial interdependence of the light and dark, of joy and sorrow, of love and loss, in the grand Romantic tradition) and that key notion of duality which I hope still lies solidly at the heart of my work and my approach.
I remain determined always to be challenging enough to try and reach deep into the core of the meaning of the human experience – although I do readily accept that, as my work has developed and I have grown older, my voice has also become more reflective and spiritual in its emphasis.
I have always aimed, at any time in my career, to be as simply expressed and as readily accessible as possible – For me, this is a vital component of all my work to date. And it is here that you can also hopefully see how simple often short line length structures also play their part – though still carefully shaped for emphasis, controlled rhythm and musicality that lifts key passages, enhances meaning and always looks to carefully and lyrically draw the reader towards the concluding climax of any piece. The success of which for me is always a critical consideration and the key litmus test of success of any particular poem.
How do you define what is poetry and what is not?
A very common question… Many people from different cultures often talk to me around notions of: ‘What is poetry?’ And indeed the significance, or otherwise, of traditionally rhyming schemes and syllabic metrical structures. For me, it is very stark and straightforward– ‘a poem’ is ‘a poem’ if it calls itself one – similarly ‘a poet’ is ‘a poet’ if he/she deems to call themselves one. No more complicated than that, I’m afraid. This doesn’t mean, of course, that any self-declared poet is necessarily a viable or good one – Hey! Ho!
Similar to the old days and all the discussion about what was then ‘art’ and not ‘art’ – painters and sculptors (musicians even) I think have been much more successful than poets in throwing off the shackles of the past, in my view. Both, in terms of the general public’s and even (sad to say!) most of the established ‘literary world’ and academia’s on-going perception on this issue.
That is not to say poetry that rhymes, or strictly follows a consistent metrical rule throughout is not of value – Obviously! Just as clearly as say Jackson Pollock or Rothko’s work does not trump Michelangelo’s. Without a doubt, some of the most inspiring and effective poetry ever written falls firmly into this more traditional category.
So there you go! I am a poet, unabashed, pure and simple! And if pressed (often tediously on the subject…) I will concede – Yes, I indeed write mainly what is often described as ‘free’ or ‘blank’ verse. Writing that’s not (being a child of the glorious Sixties and Seventies!) also without some ‘concrete’ influences, as I mention later.
However lyrical flow and emphasis are always essential to my work, as discussed earlier and I am not averse (excuse the pun!) to using rhyme or slipping into conventional structures, whenever they feel right. Sometimes, I even find myself writing haikus, mid-poem, without even being conscious I’m doing it! No surprise there really – as some of the deepest, most ancient of structures are precisely that: felt, rather than abstractly and mathematically constructed… Stretching back to an oral story telling tradition – when such effects were first discovered instinctively for enhancing dramatic effects and aiding memory, given that nothing was then written down – but simply retold, from generation to generation.
That being said, I always have one regular tactic up my sleeve to settle any argument, if necessary, regarding my credentials and credeibility as a ‘poet’. I ask the person concerned to read any poem of mine they wish and then promptly present them with a full prose essay conveying the very same message as the poem – Trust me, that is guaranteed to shut up even the sternest of sceptics, who all of sudden have no option but to concede there is clearly much ‘poetry’ there after all!
And, of course, overriding all this – Of one thing I have always been sure – Poetry is the purest of all art forms. Now, within that, we know all too well how the term ‘blank verse’ can be used in a pejorative way – where as ‘free verse’ self-evidently cannot. So a poet writing ‘free verse’ is what I proudly and ultimately lay claim to be. And writing free verse that will joyfully adopt whatever technique, structure pattern or lyrical tone (in and out, however traditional… however not…) as I see fit. And as I determine the mood, the nuance, the meaning of the piece demands.
And how truly blessed I feel given that, so clearly, poetry is the highest of all art forms and stands up there, entirely on its own level. And furthermore, doubly blessed! For, to be honest, during much of my earlier life, I could so easily can have been seduced away. For example, there have been so many times in my life when, if the devil himself had offered me the chance to be a say a singer, lyricist or wonderfully visually expressive painter, then I would have literally pulled his arm off, there and then!
Because these are of course the more immediately attractive and fashionable art forms that, in our current culture especially, can so much more easily grab the world’s attention and still go on to establish some kind of meaningful and soulful relevance. However, inevitably within them, the message has at least to be in part compromised, diluted by the medium. Whereas, for the poet, the message can come through strong and pure and can be delivered in full – Direct and Undiluted. So, although we often have a harder road to travel for sure, blessed indeed are the poets!
Your passion for what you do is very evident, what has challenged you most?
The first thing to say is that is no easy road to travel, rather a very demanding one, requiring persistent and dedicated effort over a good number of years. Going back to my youth, the first person to truly believe in me and what I had to offer beyond my lifelong friend, the precociously knowledgeable and ultimately ambitious painter, Ian Stirling was an idealistic young teacher called Robert Peel, who was my A level (higher grade) tutor of French Literature at Secondary (High) School. He was the first to open my eyes as to what might be possible and who (pretty uniquely and significantly at that time, when I was at my most rebellious and errant) still encouraged me to be myself and follow my dream. Consequently, I am forever in his debt…
Beyond that, I have worked hard most of my life to deliberately avoid being schooled by academic influences and laboured, mainly alone – albeit with the bright lanterns of what, for me, are key timeless and luminous voices like those of Gibran, Blake and Rilke to guide me on my way.
As we have already touched on briefly above – in terms of how technically I approach the challenging business of structuring of my work – then the Haiku tradition, with emphasis on focusing down and distilling the essence of what you want to say has had an on-going (if often not always directly and technically applied) obvious influence on my work. Personally, I will also always be permanently indebted for the technical breakthroughs achieved the pioneering Scottish Concrete poets, Ian Hamilton Finlay and Edwin Morgan – which really helped me see a clear way forward for myself, in terms of beginning to develop a style I feel is my own.
Is it really possible for any poet to really have his voice properly heard in the 21st century?
Like to think I am living proof that it can be done! That said, whatever anyone’s influences and any environment they find themselves operating in, I freely acknowledge that the most significant challenge faced by any writer is to truly find their own voice. And to be honest with you, I do get very weary of what sometimes seems like the endless procession of often technically, as well as intellectually talented young writers – on both sides of the Pond, simply schooled to echo the styles and mores of whatever is judged to then be fashionable by a self-serving established literary elite. To some extent, this is inevitable, I suppose… And it is perhaps unreasonable for me to imagine otherwise! But then again, as we have discussed earlier, I believe the power of the internet has played a very valuable role here in loosening this stifling stranglehold.
Also, as mentioned earlier, my tendency anyway has always been to be a bit of a lone wolf, by artistic and spiritual necessity. Thereby I believe giving yourself the time and space to conjure up a strong and unique voice that can really punch through.
I have noticed that nearly all your poems don’t have titles, why is that?
Yes, I do have a few such idiosyncrasies as a poet: And one of these is that, unless dedicated to a particular individual or location, I have never believed in giving titles to my poems. In the spirit of the haiku and my earlier answers about technique, what I say to those who question me as to why this is (and my answer often surprises or sometimes annoys many) Namely: ‘if you can truly conjure a meaningful title for a poem, then, my friend, perhaps that should be the poem itself!!’ And, for me, the first few words of a poem and page number will always serve as a sufficient identifier – so who needs titles anyway!
My other significant idiosyncrasy is that, despite the fact that I have the utmost respect for the practice of being a ‘performance poet’ – this is something I NEVER do – despite what it costs me in terms of the loss of promotional opportunities. In common with my practice of not using titles for my work, this also surprises some. But what I say to this is that I myself have always written so deliberately to be ‘read in the head’ rather than declaimed. All I can say here is that, for me as a poet, this is much more important and multi-dimensional opportunity and moreover, a preciously unique and timely dialogue between you and any individual reader, all of whom are different characters, with different histories, preoccupations and issues.
For example, would I trust anyone? (myself included!) to do full justice to one of my poems in oral recital – frankly not! Also would I really want to interfere at all with the very special music any one person could make (in their very own way and with the singular benefit of their unique experiences and resonances) with one of my pieces in their own head – Again, not really! Indeed some of my readers do tell me that they read my poetry aloud to themselves, quite often. And that, of course, is just marvellous! And exactly how it should be…
Given all the success you’ve had to date Scott, what still drives you on to keep writing?
As to my ultimate ambition as a writer, it is certainly not, nor ever has been Fame and Fortune… (which we all know is much more easily garnered in today’s world by being pretty much anything other than a poet!) Rather, it’s always been all about something very different and much more enduring.
Something that I blessedly first became aware of so early in my life, via both my communion with my close friend, the unique, truly exceptional Ian Stirling and also the illuminating effect of a charmed incident that took place on an early journey to Italy, as described in the Foreword/Introduction to both Timeless and Splinters:
“For me, there was only ever one true ambition in life. From that charmed moment in the Pantheon in Rome, watching on as a beautifully elegant young woman walked reverentially across the marble floor of this extraordinary historic building to place a single red rose of the tomb of the painter Raphael. There and then, an insight immediately crystallized around a noble purpose for my life. Ever more certain now that my task was now leave behind something true and beautiful, fashioned from my own life’s experience that might have some chance of touching, moving and inspiring others, many, many years later. Surely, as an eager and idealistic young man, that was all I could ever hope for. And so, the die was cast!”
A wonderful story…
What are you reading at the moment?
Currently, I would recommend the stunning and very contemporary work of NY poet Sharon Olds, one time winner of the T.S. Eliot Poetry Prize and also the poignant work of Irish poet Dennis O’Driscoll. I am also currently re-reading Marcus Aurelius and Rumi – Timeless wisdom that never fails to prompt and inspire. Additionally, I am rather addicted to rather a lot of exotic travelling round the world, spending time with and tasting other cultures – which also never fails to nourish my soul – As does spending truly precious time with my family, close friends and young grandchildren who do so much to rejuvenate my spirits, by showing me the world, as it is – fresh and new again.”
Thank you Scott for your time today and being so generous with your thoughts. A very fascinating interview.
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