MY PHILOSOPHY OF POETRY
LITTERATURE STREET
DONT STOP ME IF YOU HEARD THIS ONE BEFORE!
In the words of Nietzsche turning muck to gold
Poetry for me is a way of life, it touched my very being
for my degreeI wrote how Patrick
Kavanagh and Raymond Carver showed me
the way to the philosophy of poetry.
When
I was a young boy I lived in Hacksballscross
just a mile from Kavanagh's b irthplace Inniskeen
the
townland of Mucker, meaning friend in Irish.
Carver
and Kavanagh were miles apart and time-
lines
apart. I was the catalyst doing my degree
at
the poet's house in Donegal, I sent them three
poems
and was asked to go on a 2 week
poetry
retreat.
I mucked in so well in Portmuck, all the muck-
mucker under the tabletop of Muckish mountain.
All the pagan place names point to me as a poet
who wrote a poem called:
Pagan Poet
One sylabble
Appears
On the page
The word
Sun.
The clarity
Of the new
Day forms
The seed
Of a poem.
The soft sway
Of language
Breezes across
The fertile earth.
The poetry of Kavanagh was everywhere in Hack-
ballscross his poetry seeped into my blood,
when my teacher read his poetry I was hypnotised
into a trace.
In the words of Nietzsche turning muck to gold
The
teacher went out to see my parents
to
persuade them for me to stay on but
I
hated school and wanted to stand on
my
own two feet get away from my
fathers ogre like home rule regime.
I
went to work in Dublin and London started
reading
up on poetry critique, creative writing.
I
was reading all the classics like Yeats, Pound,
Eliot
etc, I was going going right over my head.
I
signed up for a creative writing further education
class
at the local tech. I took with me a list
A list of contemporary writer like the beat
poets,
Plath,
Sexton and Lowell’s life studies.
The
tutor said I had to read Dante, Virgil, Shakespeare etc,
I
walked out the door went to library Set up a desk
with
the door of the box room for typewriter and books.
He
told his wife he would work no more as he wanted
to
be a writer said it might take two years to be published,
it
took six.
A friend called him being the only person who spoke of
literature
he lent him ‘Fires’ by Raymond Carver, he said I would
get so much
from this writer, the blurb on the back said trailer park
literature.
Sparked my attention an alco poet without the beer
soaked pages
of hungover blues.
For ten years he wrote and rewrote and rewrote, read
and reread
Carvers poetry Salmon Rushdie who said read every
thing carver wrote
he was a great writer so I do.ne what I was told. He had
his first
poem a bastard life in an athology, he went to the
library, told them
about his publication. And set up a creative writing
class that began
with Carvers magic words, his oness as the Buddists
say.
When his friend left he flicked through the book
stopped at.
A poem for Karl Walenda aerial supreme he felt he was
on
The sky walk tight rope holdig Carvers hand, was as if
the poems
Were written for him,his language He was being published
in small
press poetry mags. Then a chap book an intro with four
other
writers. He went to work for the poets house, everything
seemed
so right, Jimmy Janice simmons offered him a
scholarship.
He levitated all the way from Donegal-
to Craigavon.
Out bullets and bombs while I blattered out peace
pomes.
I worked for an arts center setting up workshops for
adults
and children in schools and youth centres. I was so
centred
on these workshops that it took over my life, without
being
clocked In or out part fulltime. I think there for I am.
My first collection ‘Splint’ was published on the blurb
on the back said. Imbued by the poetry
Of Raymond Carver, to be mentioned on in the same
sentence with Raymond Carver. This is A paragraph of
wonder
that holds bombs and bullets, imbued in peace of
wonder. I went all
Around the world Hungary, Germany, Dublin, Amsterdam Belfast
even produced a C.D. with a folk singer friend of mine
Rodney Cordner
we set up a series of workshops based on the C.D.
Violets.
An anagram of lost lives. We toured all over Europe
and Ireland with Ann Gallaghers seeds of hope
with talks on the peace process on my return home
I took a massive stroke and spent
A year in foster green, a rehab hospital losing
/all my long term memory
paralyzed down my right. Wheelchair bound I hope that
this is true?HERE SAY
Schopehauer, Neitzsche, Camus Cioran and alan watts poets
of philosophy, a pessimistic veiew
Of
wonder. Religion censored their view even Greek mythology and the stoics telling
us about
Keats
and Shakespeare negative capability. The internet has blown away the bullshit
of religion
And
negative capability is the true sense of humanity. Darkness within darkness has
given me
A
sense of belonging a realisation of hope within loss all those crusades and
barbarism in the name
Of
religion were futile. At long last have we come to the truth of humanity all we
need now is for
All
you traditional numskulls realise that we can only get peace by giving peace,
stop this macho
revenge
avenge in you a sense of humanity. We are not out of the dark woods yet, these
so called
Men
of the cloth are evildoers its up to us to show them that there is another way
through dialogue.
I
have been on seminars with people like desmond tutu Michael stone through anne
Gallaghers
seeds
of hope, created a C.D. with my friend Rodney Cordner called violets anagram of
lost lives
A
tribute to that great book that pays homage to the people who paid the price
for the peace we
Have
today catholics, potestants, police,army all in one book together. I have been privileged
to
Be
around people like the sands family and friends, I really have the honour to be
around that
Aroma
of peace, we cant let this peace slid away like molten lava and evolve aother
black hill
Of
hatred. At the start of this peace on peace I was askig myslf what right have I
a street kid
With
a basic education but then I realised that peace gives me every right to write
this.
Please
please please don’t let it slip away. In 2005 I took a stroke that almost
killed me, iknow
I
don’t have the mind capacity to teach creative writing as I have lost my long term
memory but
You
can remind me in a short term. Through this blog that acts as a minds eye as I
suffer from
Aphantasia,
the stroke has left me paralyzed down one side of my body ill never walk I know
All
forty five years of memory are locked within my only way to live is to live in
me,my only way
To
find substance is in mei just hope that all this is true, I know it happened
but I don’t have any
Hologram
projection, I have no way of knowing. My life is hear say. I know I keep
repeating this
Over
and over for years but this is all I have im stuck to the momet of peace, I
want to move but
I
cant its like a brick wall you cant get over uder or around, I hope one day to
sledge my way through
Until
then I will mumble my way. For years I have writ the same theme in a different
format. Death
Is
the only answer when will you righteous people ever understand that life goes
on in death,
memory
is reincarnation we cat move on until euthanasia is a common practise please
let me die
with
dignity and not to wake again crying in a an e ward please stop this. We have
known through
aincient
Indian hindiu sculptor the scientific way but religion has blocked our human intelligence
its
as if we have been labotomised even the south American Indians knew of the old
ways long
before
religion uncivilised them. Plant life has beenknown as remedies long before
science was
scorned
upon but it was the way, religion has a lot to answer for, the philosopher poets
knew
open
the migration routes the global world belongs to every one, trust.
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