When I write that I haven’t blogged before, I lie. I started a blog exclusively for poetry in the summer of 2017, posting initially every day and then quitting once I realised that both I didn’t have it in me to create content at such a rate and because I felt inadequately prepared to maintain a blog.
I’ve always enjoyed reading poetry. Many of my favourite bloggers are amateur poets and many of the words that I feel have defined or encapsulated my life at a certain moment have been in the poetic form.
However I have also often felt locked out of poetry, the way modern art can sometimes make you feel! I have questioned the necessity of poetry, the choice to write poetry versus prose, the complexity of the seeming simplicity of the best poems. I have also been left speechless and not fully understood why by some poetry. Perhaps it is the fact that I sometimes don’t understand why I have such responses to certain poems that makes me uncomfortable.
Anyway here is one of my own efforts. As with almost everything I’ve created (used loosely) in my life, it wouldn’t exist without emigration.
Missing A Family Gathering
The sound of sweeping
Is not something you usually hear
Or if you do you never really pay attention
The sounds of cars coming and stopping
Of families arriving and little ones laughing
Ears straining to pick up what those complaints are about,
And who is going to shoot who down and
Insist on entering
Their father’s family home first
Scraping chairs and padding feet
In thick socks or barefooted younger cousins,
Rushing too quickly to disdain
To get to the chocolate tin
Or the repeated pattern on a piano nobody
has forgotten how to play despite the years,
Older aunts silence younger throats
At the moment when a grandparent
choses to speak
To drop a little cough or history here or there
And remind everyone who’s in charge
Sounds of sweeping lose out to family
In such circumstances
But in their absence
A brush against a living room floor
Can be very loud indeed.