Happy National Poetry Day + Mametz Wood Update

Once again it's National Poetry Day, and safe to say the poetry world is still as busy as ever. It's been a bit busier than usual on this blog as well, with two new poems in the last couple of weeks and a few more to come. The next installment of Frynwys Features is on it's way, as Frynwys has been a bit livelier of late, and I have a few other projects on the go as well. One project that I'm sorry to say has experienced a fair few delays has been my Mametz Wood project, but as something special for National Poetry Day, I thought I'd share with you some of the work in progress. The following is a draft of a poem which sets out the basis of the full poem I'm attempting to write. Hope you enjoy, and have some good poetry-related celebrations (if that stuff goes on and the like). See you again soon!

Mametz Wood First Draft

Ahead of the trenches
sits the wood itself.
A fortress of trees
on a small hill.
Coils of barbed wire
spiralling outwards,
carving up the mud.
Nest of machine guns
and snipers perched
atop the fire-steps
as sharp-sighted
as birds of prey,
hidden by the trees.

Gods of the Sundarbans

There is a place where three rivers
pour into the Bay of Bengal.
Merging in a vast forest,
they wind their way through
the soaking delta of the Sundarbans.

Mangroves line the creeks
with their rib-like roots.
By day otters swim in the waters,
deer quench their thirst while
macaques watch from the trees.

Night falls, turning the streams
into mirrors of moonlight.
They catch the reflection of a solitary tiger.
It lurks in its forest refuge,
guarded by the coast.

Men sometimes see the tiger at night
as they fish the mangroves
or gather kindling from the forest.
It can swim through creeks and rivers
to kill them on their boats.

The boats rest at the beaches tonight.
No one intrudes on the forest
lest the tiger should appear.
It spies the boats on the shore
and retreats into the shadows.

The Bear of Mysore

after Kenneth Anderson, Man-Eaters and Jungle Killers

The last light of day leaves the fields.
A blazing torch flickers through
the darkness on the road in Mysore.
A woodcutter on his way home
hears a snort somewhere ahead
and the crush of figs under heavy paws.

He approaches the noise through the trees
and spots a figure in the brush.
There is a flash of black fur
in the glare of the woodcutter's torch.
Long claws blunted on termite mounds
lunge out and the fire is gone.

The morning light reveals a corpse.
Red coils protruding from a stomach,
eyes and nose bitten out and ripped
from their vacant sockets,
and a bloody tapestry of muscle
where there was once a face.

Two Seas

Out in the hot wastes
sun swelters scorched sands,
sidewinders, beetles,
highways of the dunes.

Silhouettes in haze,
herds of elephants
weary and weathered
track down waterholes
one trek at a time.
Lions shadow them,
envying the chance
to snatch a young calf.

Fresh dew disperses
on the crested dunes,
white breakers rolling,
a mirage far west.

Slam Poetry on the Spot #2: Harry Baker - 'Paper People'

A while ago I posted my first Slam Poetry on the Spot analysis of Suli Breaks's poem 'I Will Not Let An Exam Result Decide My Fate'. Since then, I've been building up to embarking on my second analysis of a poem from my Best of British Slam Poetry playlist, this time of one of British slam poetry's most terrific performers. The problem is that the poem of his that I've chosen to analyse is so ballistic that it takes a lot of time to take it in, both in watching the performance and reading the text. The good news now is that I've done it, so let's embark on the long awaited analysis of the poem 'Paper People' by spoken word artist and battle rapper Harry Baker.

Born in Ealing, West London, Harry Baker was raised as part of a Christian community, which is sometimes brought up in his poetry. He initially studied medicine, but switched mathematics alongside German at Bristol University. He has won several poetry slams, including the World Slam Poetry Competition in 2012, becoming its youngest winner. He has also performed in rap battles, had his first collection published in 2015, and is one half of the musical comedy duo Harry and Chris.

When it comes to alliteration, few poems use the technique as extensively as as expertly as Baker does in 'Paper People'. Immediately from the opening lines he dives straight into a tongue-twisting series of musings on what would happen were he to make some paper people. He sets out what he would use to make them, and goes on to describe a paper city which reflects the current state of society. He uses references to Kate and Pippa Middleton, and compares the media's coverage of modern day terrorism with the hysteria surrounding Jack the Ripper, giving the poem a topical feel. When he performs live, Baker spits out the words with rapid-fire pace, and how he does so without tripping on the words is testament to his skill as a performer. Also, while this is going on, he uses some brilliant wordplay to create gems like this one:

'We'd see the poppy paper rappers rap about their paper package

Or watch paper people carriers get stuck in paper traffic on the A4.'

As Baker reflects on his paper metropolis, he posits that a paper society would face the same problems as the real world, specifically corrupt politicians and divisive politics. The alliteration never lets up during this section, and Baker utilises some great rhymes to convey his grievances, which include the government ignoring poverty, greed, police brutality and many other things. I especially love the phrase 'origami army' and a line about how the government will ignore complaints about 'paper cuts'. Occasionally a refrain of 'A little paper me. And a little paper you' occurs. It's at this point that you start to wonder if Baker is making a thesis on the state of society, but the use of a paper population as a device through which to illustrate societal woes gives it a sharp comedic edge. The never-ending rhymes and constant alliteration add to Baker's wry critique and when performed live makes for a ballistic tour-de-force.

At this point the poem seems to be reaching a gloomy conclusion, with Baker lamenting on how the situation is never likely to change with governments remaining identical. However its here where he breaks from the previous tone with a simple declaration:

'I like people

'Cause when the situation's dire,

it is only ever people who are able to inspire.'

In this section the heavy alliteration used so masterfully dissipates and is used more sparingly. Baker affirms his belief in the power of ordinary people to be a force for good. To illustrate this he uses examples from his family, such as his grandparents, where he references his own Christian upbringing and brings in a bit of mathematics as a way of showing the scale of inspiration ordinary people can produce:

'Who every single day since I was born, have taken time out of their morning to pray for me.

That's 7892 days straight of someone checking I'm okay, and that's amazing.'

Baker goes on to list other examples of people able to inspire in dire situations, such as his aunt who organises plays with prisoners and persecuted Palestinians. Although the rhyme scheme is still in place, the alliteration which defines the rest of the poem does not pick up again until near the end. Baker brings his hypothesis of a paper society to a close by suggesting that although authority figures seem oblivious to the problems of the populace, the system does not need to remain the same. To make his point stick, Baker reiterates the same refrains he has used throughout the poem, and ends on another affirmation of his belief in people;

'There's a little paper me. And a little paper you.

And in a pop-up population people's problems pop up too,

But even if the whole world fell apart then we'd still make it through.

Because we're people'.

As an example of a literary technique being used to its maximum effect, 'Paper People' is flawless. Baker uses alliteration for all that it's worth, in the process creating a series of amusing multi-layered puns and turning a hypothetical paper metropolis into a commentary on the state of society. Like much of slam poetry, his assessment of society is scathing, but the final section where he affirms his belief in the power of ordinary people makes for an uplifting conclusion to a terrific poetic roller coaster. It's this, and the combination of technical prowess, phonetic wit and on-point observations that make this poem a masterful piece of work.

(Original Poem: Baker, Harry. Paper People)

Remastering Old Poem Videos

I'm sorry it's been very quiet here the last month or two, but once again I've managed to become distracted. This time the cause is related to my YouTube channel, and centers on video editions of some of my older poems.

When I first started uploading video versions of my poems to YouTube, I would read the poem and add audio of my reading to a video to create an audio/visual version of what was on the page. However, after a couple of tries at this I decided to opt for the silent format, whereby I would reproduce the text on the screen with the same pictures and music by no reading from me. Now looking back on those old videos, I've decided that this style doesn't really work for poetry, so I'm going through the list and remastering those old videos. Only my silent animal poems won't be remastered.

So far I have remastered versions of "Night of the Dhole", "Rudraprayag", "Kalua", "Ghosts of Sariska", "The Tiger and Me" and "Red Duke" up and running. There are many more still waiting to be finished, but I will have those up and running in due course. In the meantime, there's still a lot to look forward to over the next few weeks, including my analysis of Harry Baker's "Paper People", and an update on my long-gestating Mametz Wood project. All this and more will be on the way soon - he says.

Remnants

There sits a man by a lake in the cold valley,
hunched over, still, face as scarred as the old quarry
waiting for the wheel to turn, coal to flood back in.
Gone, those days, remnants of steel and masonry.

Snow settles, night draws in, freezes fireless furnace,
yet he sits by the lake, eyes the winding tower,
sits, waiting, hopes for the wheel to resume turning.
Black gold no more, the mine sleeps despite his yearning.