Every poet has quiet times. Or do they? I don’t know. I do, I’m sure of that. Times where life is so busy I can’t find time to collect my thoughts, or the news so depressing I can’t find the strength. Times where your conviction in your ability takes a bit of a kicking and you wonder if you’ll ever pick up a pen in anger again. You tell yourself this will pass, but a small voice whispers that you’re kidding yourself when you do.
It’s been a bit like that recently. So this week – when I’ve had poems published in two very different anthologies – is a much-needed shot in the arm. First, my poem Stabberjocky was included in the collection ‘Poems for Jeremy Corbyn’. Published by Shoestring Press, and with a fairly obvious theme, it’s on sale here and has poems from fifty poets. Twelve of us will be reading at the launch night on October 14th in Housman’s Bookshop in London. Entry is free, and there’ll be a collection for the Ritzy Cinema strike fund. Come along. And if you can’t come along, please spread the word.
Then, this morning, my copy of Half Moon dropped onto the doormat. An anthology of poems about pubs, published by Otley Word Feast Press. One of my poems appears there, and on the accompanying beermats. I’ve never had a poem on a beermat before. I quite like it, just as I quite like the idea that someone may be having a pint in a pub and end up reading my poem. After all, poetry belongs in pubs as much as it does on the page.
Two anthologies in a week. Am I blowing my own trumpet? Yes, a little. But – mainly – I’m writing this blog to remind myself of one thing I’d begun to wonder if I’d forgotten. That every poet has quiet times, but they pass.