SJ Fowler likes bears
Just because this is Poetry – we shouldn’t take it too seriously. Often, I forget this. Over the years what was once play has, at times, gotten built up in my head enough to make seem like work. I’ve never liked work. So, I found myself avoiding writing as if it were a school assignment. I was very much in this mode when the poet SJ Fowler, without knowing, slapped me in the face and snapped me out of it. Fowler punched with words, loved a weird line, and turned scraps of conversation into poetry and reminded me: it doesn’t matter, all poems mustn’t be understood, and that writing is for the self as much as it is for the audience. Conversations with this avant-garde courter of the dangerous and lover of the extemporaneous was a much needed shot of adrenaline. When we met in September 2012 on a Literature Across Frontierstrip to Sofia, Bulgaria he was deep into his Enemies project – a series of collaborations between himself and other poets – and I was flattered when asked to join in. I was nervous but immediately found freedom in our exchange. I enjoyed the way I could send forward only half a line or force the poem off a cliff or mimic his style or say horrible things noone could attribute to me alone. Our Suburb poems were conversations, arguments, and journalism – as news from our lives, or the world, intruded on the work. I enjoyed it so much that when it ended, I wanted more. And so that is what this is. Every month you’ll find a new collaboration between myself and a poet friend. Consider yourself cc’d.
More about SJ Fowler’s collaborations.
This month:
Dave Coates: Over the past few years Edinburgh has been better for having Dave Coates in it. We met when he was doing his MSC at Edinburgh University and I was struck by his mature voice and his ability to edit and critique wisely with kindness and taste. Over the years, it has been my pleasure to regularly workshop with Dave and his advice on my first collection was invaluable. Over November we worked on a series of haiku while I was in France and he in Edinburgh. It was some of the best email I’d gotten all month. Also, I enjoy Dave’s provocative blog. You should too.
Building on a Lake
Outside is the wind.
Last night’s limitations brought
instantly to mind.
*
The last leaves struggle.
Fog rises from pond, ablaze
in my own head lights.
*
Bowls clean, table clear,
huddled in a corner, cats
spring around YouTube.
*
Seasons change a face
I will move slower than trees
avoid all the screens
*
Should we? Shouldn’t we?
What have we to lose but our
frozen memory?
*
Walking cross a lake with a large branch, my brother empty
red coat and racoon hat. Hearing only our fog breath, cracks.
*
Someone built a bench
on one side of the Great Lake.
I join the sitters.
*
And folks built a bar
on frozen Lake Laida, well
this is what we do.
*
What we do in spring
is what we miss in winter.
Round here? Everything.
*
And what are your hands
thankful for – the shadow cast,
splint of popsicle?
*
The walk home. The wine.
A darkened streetlamp reveals
Venus, Orion.
*
I want new feet, it would be good to rest. An honest man
could read all of Kierkegaard and never guess humans have bodies.
*
Music can be played
everywhere and has no smell.
Hands, peach, flesh, wheel, ice.
*
The leaf in the cup.
The heat in the still café.
You, inside, look out.
—
Usually writing a poem is a soul-searching, teeth-grinding, self-doubting excoriation laced with the kind of head-clutching existential angst reserved for the underemployed and overpriviledged. My commonest thought during the few weeks of this little collab: writing shouldn’t be this much fun… I rather hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
Best,
Dave.
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