I am frequently paralysed by
the choices of the modern world:
from how to spend $50
to how to spend my own life
which streaming service to keep?
which show to binge next?
Leaves me flailing
on my back,
like a slater
Perhaps this has always been a problem
on some level,
no doubt exacerbated,
by optical fibre
but, how do you choose what you do
with these ticking hours?
Mary Oliver phrased it beautifully;
‘What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’
But sometimes I want to say back to Mary
‘What is it you plan to do with this one wild
selection of Netflix originals?’
Saint that she was,
probably wouldn’t have made the first choice
to even entertain the notion
of the Netflix scroll
She was just choosing which flower
to write her next poem about
and would probably
gently encourage me
towards the hum out the window
of life pulsing electric
through stardust and soil
Ghost Mary reminds me
the choice was never just
whether to rewatch the Matrix trilogy
or try something new
The choice was (and is)
to show up and write
some words on this page
or to distract myself,
catching up to
Of course you can watch movies
and show up
to your creative life
(arguably, it’s essential)
but I know when my own scales
here I am
beneath a thumping fan in the kitchen
I want to write the poems,
Well, it's officially a few days into 2018.
I'm not big on New Year's resolutions - given their tendency to lean towards super unrealistic, guilt-laden goals rather than the steady forming of small habits that can lead to lasting change,
BUT having said that,
I do love beginnings. (I'm a 7 on the enneagram* - basically meaning I get PUMPED about starting things...even if I struggle a little more at the finishing end).
It can be daunting thinking about how you 'begin a year', but it's a lot easier to think about how you begin the simple gift that is the day before you.
So, here are my personal 'secret ingredients' for starting the day well. I don't always get to do each of these, but I definitely notice the difference on the days I do.
Last month I did something I don't often do.
As in, I don't ever do.
I read a poem I had written off my phone. In front of a crowd. And it was how I set the tone for the monthly spoken word night I host.
I have so many mental reasons why I tell myself I don't do this. 'You're a professional! Real performance poets memorise everything! People expect a certain standard from you!'
And I'm not chucking the baby out with the bathwater. There are good reasons I memorise my poems. I want to wear them like skin for the audiences I share with. I want to know I can look into people's eyes while I share what I have carved out with care. I want to be able to breathe the full life I intended into the phrases I crafted.
But, in all of those reasons, what am I saying about others?
What am I role modelling to the student I urged to share,
even if it was just one shakey line from a phone,
even if it was just saying their name,
even if was just sharing their breath on a stage?
I am saying I am past that. That I am bigger than that. Above that. Beyond that.
But, here and now, I am calling myself out.
I am the student, who sometimes needs to urge myself to share,
even if it's just one shakey line from a phone,
even if it's just saying my name,
even if it's just sharing my breath on a stage.
I'm a learner. I'm small. I'm a work in progress.
So, I did this. I took my own advice. I became vulnerable.
I made a confession.
So, it’s been one whole year now, doing this Dad thing.
I guess you could say, in ‘Dad years’, I’m still a baby. But I’m starting to crawl pretty quick and learning lots of new sounds.
The brain of my one-year-old boy is so flexible, malleable, open. He is learning from every surface, every texture, every sound, every moment. And I’m trying to do the same as a parent. To learn from every cry, every babble, every mess, every bath, every twinkle and tear in little eye, every movement of little hand, every ripple of little laughter. I’m trying to be flexible, malleable, open.
This isn’t always easy or natural.
It’s Monday morning. Wind sweeps through the leaves out the window, and the Spring sunshine I basked in yesterday is now a dreary grey.
In my world, Monday is day off. It is rest. This means phone is switched off, emails are off limits, textbooks are closed and my activity throughout the day is slow and thoughtful. I think at a different pace and spend more time reflecting and trying to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. Senses feel heightened on this day, as I notice what my food tastes like, marvel in the glory of a carefully chosen craft beer and let background music come to the foreground, hearing all the detail in a song I would often miss.
In my reflective state, I think back over the weekend that has just passed. Like many of my weekends, the one just gone was filled with contrasting contexts that seem almost comical when they’re placed next to each other.
So, I haven't written a blog entry for a couple weeks.
But a little over a year ago I recorded some of my poetry in a little EP called 'Things I Don't Understand'. I've still got a few copies, and I'll post you one if you'd like (click here)!
Anyway, I thought in lieu of written words this week I'd share one of those recorded poems - I wrote this a while ago now (2009) but it seems more relevant than ever as I watch my little boy learning about the world, surely forming a million questions just waiting for the language he can wrap them in.
This poem is for the child in us,
and the 'grown-up' in us,
that continue to have conversations
in the depths of us.
'SpeakUP' is one of the things I am most excited about for 2015. I'm absolutely frothing for it.
I've been to a lot of Poetry Slams and Spoken Word nights in the past - and a lot of these events have had a significant influence on my approach to poetry and my continued pursuit of spoken word opportunities. The poetry scene in Australia is amazing, and it just continues to increase in depth and quality, as great events and performers pop up all over the place.
But as I've said to people in the past, I used to struggle with feeling a little too 'hip-hop' at poetry events and a little too 'poetic' at hip-hop events. This wasn't because of anything that anyone said or did - it was just my own insecurity and self-consciousness as someone who didn't feel like I fit cleanly into a specific category. In the last year or two I've embraced my distinct style and felt more confident being someone with influences in both categories. I'm not strictly hip-hop, but as a spoken word artist I can't separate myself from hip-hop. I'm drawn to complex rhyme schemes, fast-paced rhythmic delivery and melodic, hypnotic flows. Hip-hop is the culture and music that has shaped me most significantly as an artist.
So part of the reason I'm particularly excited about SpeakUP is that it represents what I used to crave. As a High School student I would spend my hours on YouTube watching Def Poetry Jam. To see some of my favourite rappers step away from the beat and come out on a stage looking so raw and vulnerable was a powerful thing to behold. I love the openness of spoken word and the myriad of styles that it brings to the table.
But, I really LOVE this particular place
where the VALUES of hip-hop (flippin' something out of nothin', keeping it real, confronting power imbalances),
and the STYLE of hip-hop
meet the SIMPLICITY of spoken word
and the BEAUTY of poetry.
That's unique. That's fresh. That's a place that resonates with my soul.
SpeakUP is an attempt to develop a place and space that is distinctively hip-hop influenced, whilst remaining a very open, welcoming spoken word night. It's likely that the critical mass of performers at these events will generally have a hip-hop background. And yet, having said that I don't want anyone to have the opposite experience I used to feel - I don't want any poets who don't have a hip-hop background to feel like they need to imitate or conform to that style just because the event has a distinctive flavour that is different to their own. I want every writer who steps up to the mic to walk away feeling energized, encouraged and affirmed. The great draw of spoken word has always been (and will always be) its openness and ability to bring together very diverse stories and styles.
So, this is an open event, with a lot of room for the unexpected.
But, should you choose to find yourself at The Lounge Room in Gosford on the 14th of March at 7pm, there are a few things you CAN expect.
Fresh coffee beans, friendly baristas, home-baked treats.
Hip-hop beats and smooth melodies.
Emcees, poets and people who have never performed spoken word before, getting vulnerable on a mic.
A creative community representing some of the best the Central Coast has to offer.
Sounds good, right? I'm frothing.
See you there.
Ben Procter and I used to sit in our year 7 classroom and chat about things we wanted to do in the future. Our list included travelling overseas together, living together, working together and buying a lifetime's supply of Starburst Squirts (not even sure they make those anymore?)
We've ticked off the most important ones in that list - and apart from our sugar cravings our year 7 dreams were fairly aligned with where we are at in our lives today. It always excited me having any opportunity to do something creative with my best mate, who all bias aside, is incredibly talented in all areas of film and media. Do yourself a favour and peruse through his website and see what I mean. We've both recently decided to take the plunge and dedicate ourselves to having a serious attempt at developing our artistic passions and profiles. This video represents a new season for us. It's a very simple, one-shot video, but for Ben it was a chance to try out some new equipment (a gimbal) and for myself this was a poem I wrote to launch 'SpeakUP', a monthly spoken word gathering on the Central Coast which kicked off with a bang in February.
So, simple as it may be this is representative of the season ahead and the projects it will bring.
And at the heart of it is the simple thought that our lives are cluttered, chaotic and complex - and maybe things would be a little less off-balance in this world if we all took a moment to breathe....
Grace and peace to you.