British Rail Regrets

One of the things I wanted to do with this blog was to show people poems that they can relate to. In my current state of frustration with National Rail, after experiencing a day of delays and cancellations, I am confident that today's poem will have a refrain that is familiar to many.  I'm going to type it out this time as it doesn't seem to be widely available online.

British Rail Regrets, by Steve Turner

British Rail regrets
having to regret.
British Rail regrets
it cannot spell.
British Rail regrets
the chalk ran out.
British Rail regrets
that due to a staff shortage
there will be no-one
to offer regrets.
British Rail regrets, but will not be sending
flowers or tributes.
British Rail regrets
the early arrival
of your train.
This was due to industrious action.
British Rail regrets
that because of a work-to-rule
by our tape machine
this is a real person.
British Rail regrets
the cheese shortage
in your sandwich.
This is due to
a points failure.
The steward got
three out of ten.
British Rail regrets.
Tears flow from beneath
the locked doors of staff rooms.
Red-eyed ticket collectors
offer comfort
to stranded passengers.
Angry drivers threaten
to come out in sympathy
with the public.
British Rail regrets.
That's why its members
are permanently dressed in black.
That's why porters stand around
as if in a state of shock.
That's why Passenger Information
is off the hook.

British Rail regrets
that due to the shortage of regrets
there will be a train.

the bearers of bad news

This poem highlights how British Rail has to apologise for every little thing, and uses a bit of humour in the process. Whether or not Turner did this to emphasise how bad the service is or how demanding the customers are, I'm not sure - but I think there's a certain degree of sympathy in here for the people who work for train companies.  They're described as 'red-eyed', 'angry', and 'in a state of shock'. It can't be easy having to regularly deal with pissed off customers, people who take out their anger on you for things that probably aren't your fault. This poem, while reminding me of how irritating train services can be, also reminds me to try to be nice to the staff.

Unless, of course, I come across someone who is responsible for train signalling. How there can be so many regular signal failures is beyond me, and I hope for their own good that those people are kept in offices far out of the reach of the general public.

[end rant] 

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

I recently stumbled across a blog which really made me stop and think about my mortality in a way that I don't think I had before.  Obviously, I know I won't be around forever, but I take it for granted that I've got at least 50 years ahead of me.  I think to a certain degree, you have to ignore the fact of your own mortality - not so much that you don't look before crossing the road, but just to be able to go ahead and make future plans and goals and to have hope and dreams.  The blog is written by a young woman named Ellie, 28, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer earlier this year and is fighting it remarkably bravely.  I like the blog because I like her - she is angry, sad, realistic, funny and not overly cheesy.  Take a look:  http://writtenoff.net/about/

Ellie believes she can beat her cancer, and I sincerely hope that she does.  This reminds me of a poem - more of a traditional classic than the others I have posted so far (don't let that put anyone off!)

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, by Dylan Thomas.  Read it here:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/do-not-go-gentle-into-that-good-night/

This poem and Ellie's blog have a fighting spirit in common.  If you've ever had anyone close to you be critically ill or even dying, you will know that urge, that desperation, for them to keep going and to resist death - whether or not that's a fair or possible ask.  The repetition of the lines 'do not go gentle into that good night' and 'rage, rage against the dying of the light' are really powerful in embodying that anguish and the need to keep going.  I like the universality of the poem too; despite being addressed to a father, I think it is less about one person and more about being human full stop.  Be you wild or wise, good or grave, everyone will face death.  You could wonder why it's even worth trying, but I suppose it's the love of those around us - like the son's voice in the poem, or Ellie's fiance in her blog - that keeps us going and makes us want to fight and stay alive for as long as we can.

If you're a complete geek like me, you may be interested to know that this poem is an example of a villanelle.

Lullaby

Since the only reader of my blog so far is my ever-supportive mother (as far as I know), this post is dedicated to her.  

Lullaby, by Rosemary Norman.  Read it here:

http://podist.blogspot.com/2009/05/lullaby-rosemary-norman.html

Almost ten years since this poem was introduced to me via my GCSE Poetry Anthology, I feel my English teacher, Mrs Jones, would be proud to see that I am still writing about it.

Children have all sorts of ways to be comforted and to get to sleep...

...and I love the twist in this poem whereby the roles are reversed and the child comforts the mother instead. I am familiar with this scenario, as I know many people my age will be; I often try to reassure my mum and stop her worrying about me, but she reminds me that it is a mother's prerogative to worry about her children, no matter what age they are.  I perhaps haven't always made it easy for her.  I may not have fallen in a pond, taken sweets from strangers or failed all my exams as the narrator of Rosemary Norman's poem reassures her mother she won't do, but I have ended up in hospital after a horrific night of heavy drinking, gone travelling around East Africa with only a very vague itinerary, lived next to the most burgled street in England, and for the past few years regularly spent nights going out and chatting to homeless people - all of which, apparently, were causes for concern for a mother.   

As I get ready to move across the world to Australia next year, I in turn worry about her - we have become closer and closer as friends the older I get, and I know I'll find it very difficult being away and will be concerned about how she's doing.  Our own personal lullaby may well swing back to her comforting me, telling me that she's OK and I shouldn't worry about her while I'm off travelling, but I'm sure I still will.  It's a daughter's prerogative too, I think.

At least she has taught me well: I will plan ahead, not walk around unfamiliar areas late at night by myself, and not accept sweets from strangers (unless they're Haribo, or marshmallows, or  dolly mixtures, or chocolate....)

Street Song

The Guardian is partnering with Mixmag to carry out what is hoped to be the biggest and most thorough survey on drug use.  It's completely anonymous, and you can find it here: http://www.globaldrugsurvey.com/mixmag2012/      While some drugs are legal and easy to get hold of....   ... others, including some that are much more harmful than alcohol and tobacco, are illegal (for more information on the relative harmfulness of different drugs, check out the writings of Professor David Nutt, someone I very much admire, and the findings of the Independent Scientific Committee on Drugs).  Currently, we find ourselves in the position of spending a ridiculous amount of money on an unrealistic and unwinnable war on drugs, in my opinion.  People will continue to use drugs, even if they can be harmful.  This is a fact.  Why? Street Song, by Thom Gunn.  Read it here: http://allpoetry.com/poem/8506797-Street_Song-by-Thom_Gunn  (NB: a 'key' is a kilogram, and a 'lid' is an ounce of weed) Until a radical move towards legalisation and regulation is introduced, we produce characters such as the drug dealer in this poem.  What I like about this poem is that it shows a few of the attractions of using particular drugs.  He offers 'five days of power'!  I'd like five days of power.  Screw that, I'd be happy with just one.  And how about something that can make me feel sharper while at the same time soothing me, as hash is described?  Great.  Alcohol sometimes soothes, but generally makes me fuzzy, not sharper.  'Join me and see the world I sell' - taking drugs can bring you into a different world.  For some, that's hugely tempting. So is the ability to be 'whichever self you choose'.   People don't tend to do the same thing again and again if they don't see a benefit from it in some way.  'Just say no' hasn't worked and there is still a huge demand for illegal drugs; if we want to be realistic about drugs policy, Midday Mick from this poem gives us some insight into why he and his fellow dealers have profitable businesses and a steady stream of customers. Reply Forward

Flophouse

I mentioned yesterday that I work in homelessness. Last night, I went out to do some outreach (ie walking around at night to find homeless people, link them to appropriate services, check on their welfare etc). As anyone who knows me will confirm, I can talk forever about homelessness, and while that is not the focus of this blog at all, in light of last night's activity I thought I'd pick a poem today that has some relation.

Additionally, a friend of mine who shares my love of learning new words, asked me if my blog would contain awesome words. I don't know if the title of this poem qualifies as 'awesome', but it's not a commonly used word (not that I know of, anyway) so this post may provide his new word of the day. Neerav, I hope you're reading this!

Flophouse, by Charles Bukowski. Read it here: http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Charles-Bukowski/147

(NB: a 'flophouse' isn't actually a shelter for homeless people - it's a form of very low-rent accommodation often for transient working-class men. The term is from the US; in England, the equivalent is a 'dosshouse'. Thank you, Wikipedia). The descriptions in this poem resonated with me from my experiences visiting a couple of homeless shelters in the US though (it has to be said that hostels in London provide good quality accommodation!) There's more that can be familiar to the reader, though. Even if you've never been homeless or visited a shelter, I'm sure most people have experienced the feeling described at the end in one way or another: how did I end up here?

 

More than that, what I love about this poem is its commanding beginning: you haven't lived / until you've been in a / flophouse.

There's a point to be made here about the worst experiences of your life really being what makes you, I think - you haven't lived until you've reached rock bottom (and hopefully pulled yourself back up again!)

I initially read it differently though, seeing it as being about learning about people, and the world. Maybe you haven't lived until you've learnt about and understood the flophouse, until you've recognised the importance of stepping outside your comfort zone. I know that if I stayed in the same types of places and met the same types of people all my life, and never saw or tried anything that disturbed me or made me uncomfortable, I wouldn't really feel as if I had lived a full life. Yes, a flophouse might be smelly and dirty and a bus in Nairobi might be cramped and uncomfortable, and a posh black tie dinner might be intimidating - but understanding how other people live (even if it's simply through reading poems like 'Flophouse') offers the chance to reflect on your own life and your place in the world. Maybe you haven't really lived until you've learnt to do that.

The Low Road

2011 has been a year of protests. All over the world, people have realised that they do not have to tolerate injustices in society and have taken action to stand up for themselves and others. The coming together of hundreds or thousands of people, united by the belief that things can be better, is - to my mind - really special and powerful. And of course, even more special when positive change actually follows. Sadly, in some cases, that's yet to be seen.


I went past the Bank of Ideas today, the UBS-owned building that the Occupy London movement claimed last week.  I think what they're doing there is really interesting.  If you want more info, take a look at their website: http://www.bankofideas.org.uk/welcome/

On this topic, the poem I have chosen today is The Low Road, by Marge Piercy. Read it here: http://www.margepiercy.com/sampling/The_Low_Road.htm

I've worked in the non-profit sector, specifically in homelessness, for 4 and a half years, but have volunteered in charities for longer. The work is amazing and I love it, but it often feels like there are battles to be faced: against government policies, against negative stereotypes, against people being treated unfairly. This poem reminds me of the power of people coming together and what can be achieved by working together - something very important for my work. It's stuck with me since I came across it 6 years ago and I've shared it with a few colleagues since then. Whatever your job and whatever your views on Western capitalism or the state of modern democracy, hopefully you will like this poem. I think it can be easy to doubt the difference an individual can make, but in this poem you see that everyone's voice and participation is important. There's a great beauty in solidarity.

Wild Dreams of a New Beginning

When I was 17, I went through a period of wanting to create a website where I could regularly post poems and try to encourage people my age to enjoy them.  I used to spend free periods at school browsing poetry on the internet; I loved the challenge of trying to figure out what a poem meant and how it spoke to me.  Of course, not all poems had any significant meaning to me, but it was always great to read something and a) learn from it, b) identify with it, or c) feel that I had stumbled across a thing of beauty.  I looked into how to make a website, I considered how creating and maintaining such a website could benefit my UCAS application (I was applying to study English)....but at some point, in the midst of thinking about A-levels, my boyfriend, and what I was going to do at the weekend, the idea left my mind. 

I am now 25 and for a while have been thinking about the same idea, although my slightly improved understanding of technology has made me realise a blog is more suitable for my purposes than a website.  I have finally taken the plunge - I think 8 years is far too long to have had an idea and not done anything about it!  The purpose is much the same as when I was 17: if you ignore the fact that I told you I used to spend free periods at school reading poetry, I am in many other ways a fairly average (admittedly slightly geeky) person, and I believe that you don't need to know a lot about poetry to be able to take something from it.  What I would like to do is be able to draw attention to particular poems and relate them to what's going on in the world, or familiar situations that I or other people may have experienced, in order to highlight the importance and pleasure of reading poetry.  I apologise in advance for any blatant catharsis that may become apparent as I go along!

I also want to add that, despite eventually getting the degree - UCAS deemed me acceptable to study English and I didn't even have to make the website - I have no intention of trying to do any formal literary analysis at all.  I remember shockingly little from my degree (thank you, £1 double vodka and redbulls).  I imagine I will often post poems and writers that I don't know anything about.  To a certain extent, I don't really care what the writer intended when it was written, and I probably won't always look it up.  The point of me writing this blog is to relate to poems in my own way and hopefully encourage others to do the same.  Comments and emails disagreeing with me or showing me new ways of looking at the poems are entirely welcome!

Final note before I begin: I confess that I haven't really checked out copyright issues, so will just post links to places where you can find the poems online, until I find a better way to run this blog without getting myself in trouble.

Wild Dreams of a New Beginning, by Lawrence Ferlinghetti.  It's available to read here:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wild-dreams-of-a-new-beginning/

This was chosen initially for its relevance to starting a new blog, but the imagery in this poem of an enormous tidal wave of destruction fits with something I was discussing with a colleague earlier today.  He had picked up a leaflet in a restaurant in the US and brought it back to show people, as he found it rather ridiculous - without getting too political, it was about how the natural disasters of recent years are God's punishment for the disrespect shown to Israel, and the sins of the world - specifically those of Muslims and Britain.  A tenuous link to this poem, granted, but a small connection nonetheless!

I love how the poem produces so many images of different aspects of daily lives, including a yogi talking about the unity of the universe - and all that diversity is then brought together and collectively destroyed by the tidal wave, leaving nature to its original inhabitants.  I think there's something here about the potential destructive nature of the modern world, but I don't want to start this blog on a negative note, so instead I will take from this the beauty of Ferlinghetti's writing.  I really feel the 'breathless hush', the 'deathless hush', and the speed of the devastation leaves you with the empty silence at the end before you know it, almost peaceful.