I love writing, and in some form or other I write down few lyrics or lines of poetry every day. I think of them on the bus, in my car, as I walk about and then I text them into my mobile and save these weird little nuggets of brain pattern to read another time.
But it's been a long long time since I consciously sat down and wrote a few poems. I have four full A4 journals, a leather writing case and two small notepads full of words, spanning from when I first started at 15 up until last summer when I stopped. I used to write every night before bed and it was theraputic to see my brain before me, it was like a list of stuff that I could write down and put away so things wouldn't keep spinning around in my head endlessly. I think I even slept better
Now don't get me wrong, I'm no hidden genius. Most of it was crap, some of it funny and a couple of bits I could probably offer to other people to read, eventually. Which is what I thought I would do last May when I let my best friend read some. I don't know what I was trying to achieve- some suggestion of following Sylvia Plath (maybe not in all of her directions), to enter a competition, a slap on the back, a hug...? Lord knows. Either way, I recieved "Hmm. I don't know what you want me to say. It's....good, it's um, creative."
Doh.
Well, I know what I wanted him to say. And he knew what I wanted too if we're on the subject. But, he didn't. So what, big deal, what does he (or any of us for that matter) really KNOW about poetry? I've spent three years at University studying poetry and all I came out with was a strong burning desire for actual real outdoors life and living, without days cooped up examining my mind, and to never be seen as pretentious. I write and it doesn't make sense- life moves on.
But this pretentiousness thing, it's become somewhat of a phobia. I ashamedly find myself disliking people for clothes they wear, ways they walk and talk, cut you up, belittle you with so called intelligence (or facts they repeat from books you've already read) and who are so proud of who they are that they can't stop telling you about it. Normally, I'd let my little irritances slide, but I've found at work lately that in a fear of sounding like an arty twat I have been consciously dumbing myself down. As I'm new I don't want to look too eager or ahead of my station, so outside of my job description I am pretending to know little else, or have new ideas. WHICH IS INSANE!! This job is the best thing to have happened to me in a long time but I'm scared of pissing them off by presuming that I know more than they do. arrghh.
So, ramble ramble, I'm trying to figure out what it is that bothers me so much. I've got it down to this:
1. Confidence
2. Intelligence
3. Jealousy.
I am lacking 1 and replacing it with 3. 2 could improve but I have a good grounding. But then as pretentiousness is really about having too much self worth, maybe I'm just not sure what my 'worth' to the world is (number 1) and am as a result, floundering.
Hmm. Answers on a postcard anyone?
p.s. here's another conundrum- if none of you know me, have met me or are likely to run into me, why do I still have an issue about posting my poetry up here? you could be in texas, read it and go 'what a load of shit'. WHY WOULD THAT BOTHER ME??
arrghghgh i'm so stoopid i'm laughing.
But it's been a long long time since I consciously sat down and wrote a few poems. I have four full A4 journals, a leather writing case and two small notepads full of words, spanning from when I first started at 15 up until last summer when I stopped. I used to write every night before bed and it was theraputic to see my brain before me, it was like a list of stuff that I could write down and put away so things wouldn't keep spinning around in my head endlessly. I think I even slept better
Now don't get me wrong, I'm no hidden genius. Most of it was crap, some of it funny and a couple of bits I could probably offer to other people to read, eventually. Which is what I thought I would do last May when I let my best friend read some. I don't know what I was trying to achieve- some suggestion of following Sylvia Plath (maybe not in all of her directions), to enter a competition, a slap on the back, a hug...? Lord knows. Either way, I recieved "Hmm. I don't know what you want me to say. It's....good, it's um, creative."
Doh.
Well, I know what I wanted him to say. And he knew what I wanted too if we're on the subject. But, he didn't. So what, big deal, what does he (or any of us for that matter) really KNOW about poetry? I've spent three years at University studying poetry and all I came out with was a strong burning desire for actual real outdoors life and living, without days cooped up examining my mind, and to never be seen as pretentious. I write and it doesn't make sense- life moves on.
But this pretentiousness thing, it's become somewhat of a phobia. I ashamedly find myself disliking people for clothes they wear, ways they walk and talk, cut you up, belittle you with so called intelligence (or facts they repeat from books you've already read) and who are so proud of who they are that they can't stop telling you about it. Normally, I'd let my little irritances slide, but I've found at work lately that in a fear of sounding like an arty twat I have been consciously dumbing myself down. As I'm new I don't want to look too eager or ahead of my station, so outside of my job description I am pretending to know little else, or have new ideas. WHICH IS INSANE!! This job is the best thing to have happened to me in a long time but I'm scared of pissing them off by presuming that I know more than they do. arrghh.
So, ramble ramble, I'm trying to figure out what it is that bothers me so much. I've got it down to this:
1. Confidence
2. Intelligence
3. Jealousy.
I am lacking 1 and replacing it with 3. 2 could improve but I have a good grounding. But then as pretentiousness is really about having too much self worth, maybe I'm just not sure what my 'worth' to the world is (number 1) and am as a result, floundering.
Hmm. Answers on a postcard anyone?
p.s. here's another conundrum- if none of you know me, have met me or are likely to run into me, why do I still have an issue about posting my poetry up here? you could be in texas, read it and go 'what a load of shit'. WHY WOULD THAT BOTHER ME??
arrghghgh i'm so stoopid i'm laughing.