BLOG 74: The Contemporary Poet and the Classics

Aug 30

5 min read

I used to often feel like an imposter when surrounded by other writers and poets. Maybe it was always just my own insecurity or that neurotic streak that often comes with becoming a writer, or maybe it was because that plastic spoon I was raised with felt (and sometimes still feels) cheap and insignificant in comparison to the ornate display of silver spoons in the literary arts world. Those stereotypical look at me I’m more educated than most conversations surrounding Shakespeare being a pioneer of the poetic craft or the likes of Lord Byron, Percy Shelley, or T.S Eliot being awe inspiring, have always bored me. I’m talking, visibly yawning, and rolling my eyes boring. Perhaps that’s because, as a bisexual working-class woman, I don’t buy into the rhetoric that wealthy, privileged white straight men are the reason that we are able to write immersive poetry now.

The truth is that the poetic world appears to be dominated by these seemingly (because they’re not really) authoritative figures: the people who had the privileges of private education, a wealthy (or at the very least, stable) upbringing, a nice postcode opposite to our estate postcodes, money to buy a plethora of first-hand books and the elitist attitude that sometimes comes with these experiences. See, I was raised by a single mum only eighteen years my senior who never had the opportunity to finish her GCSEs, living below the poverty line with no reasoning or time to be focusing on the classics. I mean, was I supposed to be picking up and enjoying a bit of Wallace Stevens on my council estate while worrying about if we got to eat a proper meal that evening? I wish my time was so frivolous, but for most it just simply isn’t.

Instead, I grew up listening to the conversations of my mum, the estate and the local pubs, the different phrases and terminology specific to northern towns or the lower classes, the aye ups and ‘ere ar’s, the different cadences and speech patterns, the stories and memories told, the arguments, the drunken conversations, the tone shifts and emotional language, the dialects and varied slang, the amalgamation of music genres blasting from windows and cars and the rhythms of the lyrics. It was and still is all of these everyday listenings that inspire my poetry.

I fear that we’ve been conned as writers into believing that we must bow down to the grammar gods and write in standard English understandable by (the English speaking) masses. That we should abandon our colloquial tongues, our dialects and slang terms. That we must follow the poetic rules of those poets long gone, that it isn’t a poem unless it rhymes or follows a metrical pattern. That you must read the classics to understand the poetry of today. Blah, blah, blah. I don’t care for the superiority that still lingers in the world of poetry. It’s tiring, it’s ignorant, it’s racist, misogynistic and classist. But welcome to the world, aye.

See, the thing is, solely regarding the likes of the privileged poets mentioned earlier as the standard or goal as a writer or reader is ignorant to the many talented writers left in the dirt. The writers and poets who didn’t fit the socio-political framework of the times, the poets who were poor, or less educated, or black, or women, or gay, etc. It’s easy to become ignorant of ourselves and our own backgrounds, experiences or communities whilst in pursuit of poetic greatness. And this isn’t to say that these writers didn’t possess genuine talent and skill, or that their writing should be ignored because they come from privilege. I just don’t personally believe that they are necessary reading material like is assumed. I mean, how many incredible writers exist all over the world without access to these supposedly important European writers? Most do, however, have access to cultural writings, to communal writings and language, to religious texts, to familial stories and songs passed down, myths, legends and fables, etc. Are we really supposed to be convinced that these writings aren’t as rich with imagery, emotion and literary devices? Remember, poetry did begin as the spoken word performed amongst the community.

I do think that it is always important to bear in mind the fact that the only reason the poets mentioned were held with such high regard is because they were men, because they were white, and/or because they already had hoards of money. Frankenstein was written by the writer Mary Shelley (Percy Shelley’s wife) and it could be argued that the initial success attributed to the book was sparked by her publishing anonymously and the preface written by a man, her husband. So, to me, it makes no sense to compare my northern voice, my working-class voice, my female voice and my experiences to those past poets. Poetry has changed and evolved a great deal in the past few decades with an array of cultural voices permeating the world of contemporary poetry, voices that truly reveal the idiosyncratic nature of the craft and the various avenues that can be explored.

I was fobbed into thinking that poetry had to rhyme, that I had to pick a metrical pattern deemed impressive and fit my identity within the rigid confines dictated by some writer from hundreds of years ago that I never even cared to read. Nonsensical. It wasn’t until I picked up Ocean Vuong’s Night Time with Exit Wounds that I realised the vast scope of poetry, how form can be played with and manipulated and how rhythm can be created in many different ways that don’t require anxiety inducing limitation.

My lack of care for the poetic classics has only allowed me more time to explore the voices of my gender, my class, my community and my country, as well as those from writers of different cultures with different beliefs or experiences. Here are some poets from a variety of backgrounds that I have been recently loving and greatly respect for sharing their voices. Some discuss class and the consequences of poverty, addiction, mental illness and violence, some discuss sexuality, sex and gender, some discuss the experiences of being a refugee or experiencing the trauma of forced migration, some discuss racism and inequality. All of these poets discuss real, authentic and connective experiences that many readers and writers can actually resonate with on a personal level.

Ocean Vuong, Jake Hawkey, Caleb Femi, Jay Bernard, Joelle Taylor