One Poem at a Time
A while back, you may recall, I was musing on whether – and how – poetry could save the world. I postulated various possible answers to this question, one of which, 'one poem at a time', I labelled as the 'smart rat' answer.
Well, maybe it was simply the smart answer. And maybe, rather than saving the whole wide world all at once, our poetry can save a bit of it at a time.
Last week we saw how Tony Walsh's Manchester poem, 'This Is the Place', helped give heart and inspiration to a city reeling from a terrorist attack. This poem was not the only thing that did so, but it was seized on by the public, almost as a rallying cry. This effect was beyond the poet's wildest dreams, particularly as he wrote it before the attack, but what a wonderful effect for any poem to have.
The latest on his fb page is this:
In the foreword/manifesto to my book I wrote about trying to reach ordinary people with my poetry. Last night people chanted for about 10 minutes on a packed, boisterous tram until I did this, then chanted my name all the way home, including when I'd sat down and they thought I'd got off.
Some of the news and buzz sites are starting to share this now, I've got an email from CNN here, so Lawd knows where it'll end up.
There'll be other videos too, lots of people filmed it on their phones, some of them were crying. So many hugs/kisses/selfies yesterday and around town at the moment. So many people re-thinking what a poem is and what it can do. Overwhelming. Confusing. Surreal. Beautiful.
(This is accompanied by a photo-tweet from a member of the public – which unfortunately I am unable to transfer here – of Tony reading the poem on the 'packed, boisterous tram', to a background of shouted applause and people chiming in on some of the most stirring lines. They know and love it so well already.)
In a different way, here is another wonderful example of 'what a poem is and what it can do'. Do you recall Leigh Spencer's 'Freedom Ride' poem about a rescue dog? I used it in 'I Wish I'd Written This' in March last year. Let me refresh your memory:
Freedom Ride
They know, you know
When you slip that temporary leash on them
they vibrate
while you sign their release papers
The lap they sit on
in the getaway car
belongs to the new
absolute
love of their life
They know
a savior
when they see, lick, and smell one
Susie was a skeletal Chihuahua mix
two years old and e-listed
for being a stray and too thin
My son’s was the lap she sat on
and the pillow she slept on that first night
Home
wrapped around his sleeping head
Seven years later
she has her own staircase
to reach the top bunk
where my teenager
HER teenager
sleeps
She hangs over the edge
protective gargoyle
Never doubt
all twelve healthy pounds of her
would face any threat, real or imagined
for him
Sarah was fifteen
same owners her whole life
They couldn’t afford to have her teeth cleaned
so they dropped her off to be put down
Spry, adorable, and surprisingly quiet
Jack Russells usually bark
but not when their vocal chords are cut
I guess that surgery was affordable
when she was a pup
Sarah had her head out the open window
worshipping the sun and wind on her smiling face
When we stopped at the park,
she nearly wrenched my arm out of the socket
tearing off to run in the grass, chase pigeons,
and play with ALL the children
Apple was twelve, fat, and blind
She literally pranced to my car
proud and happy, past all the other dogs and kennels
She wedged herself between me and the steering wheel
smiling, clumsy, endlessly goofy
My lap and then my heart
claimed as hers
Before they know
about ample food and indulgent treats
about soft, warm beds
about pats and scratches and belly rubs
about people who will never leave them
scared, hurt, or alone
about HOME – a safe place to FINALLY
share their divine, unconditional love
Before they know any of that,
they know their greatest joy
starts
with that temporary leash
that welcoming, open door
that savior’s lap
of the freedom ride
© Leigh D C Spencer 2016
© Leigh D C Spencer 2016
It still makes me cry good tears.
You may recall that this poem was commissioned for a fund-raiser for shelter dogs. Now, with her permission, here is a recent facebook post of Leigh's:
So, I got this little email today:
Hi Leigh,
Something amazing happened last night that you need to know about.
Last year, you donated your original poem Freedom Ride to my local Humane Society event. The piece was framed and decorated with paw prints of one of our pups before they found their forever home. Well that piece was purchased by our board chair and gifted to the volunteer who adopted the pup who did the paw prints.
Fast forward to last night - we held our annual auction once again and our board chair had a spot in the program to speak to the crowd.
Unbeknownst to me, he told the crowd that he was not going to bore them with stories about our organization and all that we do, instead he announced that he wanted to read an original poem written for us by Leigh Spencer titled Freedom Ride!
Leigh, he didn't read it, he had MEMORIZED IT and spoke your words with such passion that you could only hear his voice in the room speaking your words. I'm sorry I was too shell shocked to pull my new iPhone out of my purse to record it for you. . . but then again I think I have saved you a box worth of tissues.
His name is ************ if you feel you would like to reach out to him.
Just wanted to let you know what your wonderful gift has done a year later.
With much appreciation,
************
So, yeah. My little writer's heart is pretty much exploding with pride and joy. <3 <3 ♥
I did reach out to him to say THANK YOU. And I managed to leave out the part where I frantically ran circles around my office, squealing "Holy shitballs! Holy shitballs!" Because, you know, words have power. :D
So, forgive me dear readers, please – this is not a musing in itself, so much as a follow-up to that earlier one. And a reminder: write the words, get them out there! They do indeed have power.
Fame must be wonderful, and Leigh and Tony thoroughly deserve their slice of it. Money would be nice too – but any money received for these poems is donated back to the causes they support. What matters more than fame or wealth is to be able to move people with our poetry. And beyond that, to have an effect in changing our world for the better: lifting the spirits of a city, a country, to the defiance which refuses to let terror win; helping a dog shelter rescue more hurt or abandoned animals and find them homes. What great things for poetry (and poets) to do!
Some of us may be doing it in a quieter way. If we write to educate people about injustice, readers who are made aware may pass the message, if not the poem itself, to others. When we write of love, or the beauties of nature, or our pleasure in family, we may soften readers' hearts and lift their spirits, so that their mood then lifts the spirits of others. And so on.
Keep writing! Keep communicating! It is one thing we can do, and keep doing, in the face of all the ills of the world that we also hear about. Not all people make poetry; nevertheless, poetry is the voice of the people.
So, forgive me dear readers, please – this is not a musing in itself, so much as a follow-up to that earlier one. And a reminder: write the words, get them out there! They do indeed have power.
Fame must be wonderful, and Leigh and Tony thoroughly deserve their slice of it. Money would be nice too – but any money received for these poems is donated back to the causes they support. What matters more than fame or wealth is to be able to move people with our poetry. And beyond that, to have an effect in changing our world for the better: lifting the spirits of a city, a country, to the defiance which refuses to let terror win; helping a dog shelter rescue more hurt or abandoned animals and find them homes. What great things for poetry (and poets) to do!
Some of us may be doing it in a quieter way. If we write to educate people about injustice, readers who are made aware may pass the message, if not the poem itself, to others. When we write of love, or the beauties of nature, or our pleasure in family, we may soften readers' hearts and lift their spirits, so that their mood then lifts the spirits of others. And so on.
Keep writing! Keep communicating! It is one thing we can do, and keep doing, in the face of all the ills of the world that we also hear about. Not all people make poetry; nevertheless, poetry is the voice of the people.
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