Tides - Hugo Williams

The evening advances, then withdraws again

Leaving our cups and books like islands on the floor.

We are drifting you and I,

As far from one another as the young heroes

Of these two novels we have just laid down.

For that is happiness: to wander alone

Surrounded by the same moon, whose tides remind us of

ourselves.

Our distances, and what we leave behind.

The lamp left on, the curtains letting in the light.

These things were promises. No doubt we will come back to them. 

Patience

I know you're busy, so I'll try to keep this short.

A Buddhist monk once said: "The spiritual journey requires a cup of wisdom, a barrel of love, and an ocean of patience." This is also true about reading poetry. If you have patience the rest will follow. Guaranteed.

Make no mistake. You cannot read poetry like you read a newspaper. You can't read it like you read a novel. You can't even read it the way you would study technical information. 

William Carlos Williams once called poetry "a machine made out of words." Well, what's a machine for? A machine does something, right? Otherwise it's not a  machine. And a machine is only good if it works.

Some machines need electricity to work. These machines will not do anything unless they're plugged in or their batteries are charged. Other machines need a human operator to turn a crank or to pedal or push.

Poetry needs patience in order to work. Patience is to poetry as electricity is to the vacuum cleaner. But what does poetry do when it works? We know what a vacuum cleaner does. But if poetry is a machine, then what kind of machine is it?

Poetry is an imagination machine. Good poetry, given patience, lights up your imagination in some way. It surprises you, tickles you, gives you a nudge, or even awes you. It might reveal a new perspective, dazzle your mind's eye, or broaden your inner vision. 

Sometimes It Happens - Brian Patten

And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then

You are not friends,

And friendship has passed.

And whole days are lost and among them

A fountain empties itself.

And sometimes it happens that you are loved an d then

You are not loved,

And love is passed.

And whole days are lost and among them

A fountain empties itself into the grass.

And sometimes you want to speak to her and then

You do not want to speak.

Then the opportunity has passed.

Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.

And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then

There is somewhere to go,

Then you have bypassed. 

And the years flare up and are gone,

Quicker than a minute.

So you have nothing.

You wonder if these things matter and then

As soon as you begin to wonder if these things matter

They cease to matter,

And caring is past.

And a fountain empties itself into the grass.

(NB - Brian Patten said of writing, 'Sometimes it doesn't happen for  a long time, then suddenly a line comes. It's like an underground stream which you tap into with a stick until it runs dry.')

Incandescent April Meeting 2010

1. Sometimes it happens - Brian Patten. Juliette.

2. The Euphamisms - Peter Reading. Mike. 

(taken from Beyond Bedlam, an anthology of poems written in co-ordination with a mental health charity)

3. Little Owl Who Lives In The Orchard - Mary Oliver. Gina.

4. A Scattering - Christopher Reid. Steve.

5. Tides - Hugo Williams. Hannah.

6. Patience - Anon. Juliette. 

(taken from a book on how to read poetry)