Scribbler's first gathering of 2019

 

Scribbler’s poetry and writing meeting last Sunday was so funny that I had to leave it a day or too to calm down before I wrote a report on our latest get together. The subject that I had suggested for us to put up for discussion was swearing in poetry. I had brought in because I knew that our newest little scribbler, who had read her very first poem at the previous meeting, had told me that she had written another poem but she was not sure if it would be in order for her to read it because it contained some swearing.

Now people handle bereavement in different ways and I know that because I was a volunteer at Cruse for a while in Worthing.  My friend Tina had lost her man cruelly and suddenly, at six months notice, last year. Her partner John was a man who worked with us, using his small truck within our antiques business sometimes.  It seemed to my husband Steve and I that dear Tina had gone into a classic case of denial for a while, seemingly coping well, when l in fact she was not. Then later on, became very angry and the anger, was directed at poor old John for leaving her when she needed him most.  He was such I nice guy and real gentleman, polite and very hard working.

So when Tina told me of the poem with a bit of swearing in it that she was not sure was acceptable of not, I thought that it might help to talk about it with friends. Yes, typical bereavement counselor I know. So in the group email, in which I announced the next meeting; I put forward as something to talk about; when and if the odd ‘fuck’ and other expletives were allowable. I chose to present a poet that I follow on Instagram where I encounter poets from around the globe and what a variety of styles there are.

This fellow though, seemed to have layers and levels of shading in his work that was pleasantly surprising. So I read five of his posts from Instagram that I had enjoyed or admired to our  friendly circle . Then I had planned later to blow whatever conclusions my group formed about this poets sometimes light, sometimes deep thoughtful work, right out of the water by then playing on my phone, this very nice looking man, doing his day job (or more likely a night job) as a Rap Artist containing the full blast of swearing that is often heard in this kind of poetry with a beat and a message.

However, just before our meeting started, I got an email from another poet in our group Rik, that I know in my other world of swimming and sport. When Rik cannot attend he sometimes sends an ‘Excuse Me’ poem to me.  What a laugh that was when another member read Rik’s poem out cold, having not seen it before and that opened the flood gates to dam busting levels.

Another swimming running friend of mine who is a respected GP found the forum opening gave her freedom to clear a little confusion for her. She is a talented linguist and holds some most individual ideas, she is as green as can be, ridiculously well read, and can recite the Rime of the Ancient Mariner! She does that while she runs around the countryside, sometimes barefoot picking up litter. She is also German and has lived in west Sussex most of her working life. So what she used the subject was to clarify the use the words in question. One question was “Which is it worse to call a  man; a Prick or a ‘C. U. Next Tuesday”! As Steve’s Mum used to say when she was alive!

The day’s finale came when Tina said she would read the poem that she had questioned, and made to get up to read. Now, I suspect what happened next was partially due to an attack of nerves, maybe I am wrong. Poor Tina was struck by a powerful attack of cramp and crumpled down on to all fours in the centre of the floor between us, clutching the offending Hamstring and Calf muscle. Luckily we have a GP and a physio therapist in our number and soon three people were crawling on the floor. One suffering pain and two trying to help.

After a while the poor woman managed to turn to a sitting position on the floor, took a deep breath and read her poem that was very well received and I hope maybe a little therapeutic.

To close the proceedings, I did play the handsome Rap guy in full bewarey-sweary mode, but by that time we had heard and seen and said much worse, though the video was passed around the room and nobody was shocked. We are all over twenty one and as I often relate, I have spent forty years off and on sitting in the truck drivers lounge of the cross channel ferry, so with me its not so much that bad language is new to me but more that I prefer beauty rather than words that suggest that the singer or the sung-to have some weird relationship (that I am not happy about) with their mothers. I could not say those words at all.  My respiratory system would shut down rather that supply the air to form those words. I blame my parents and the regular slap around the head I caught as a child if I fouled the air with as much as an exclamation of ‘Bum’.