What's all this fuss about 52?

From the inside of the closed facebook group it has been like this: I see others post their poems, I like them if I like them. I comment, briefly and instantly. I read the other comments. I an not scared of commenting. I say if I don't understand a word or stumble somewhere. If the other wants to they post an edit, or they don't.

I enjoy specifying what I love in a poem. It isn't deeply thought out, but a sudden pointing to a word or phrase. I enjoy putting brief replies, no need for these long correct sentences.

When I write it is usually directly into the facebook box, but I sometimes write into my email drafts, or type out something I have come to after writing in longhand on paper. That is a different process.

There is a sod it moment when I press send. We have shared some intimate writing with each other.

Overall I now have massively high expectations from any poetry group I am part of, since I know what it is like to have such a flow of work and comments to be part of. I find it normal to work alongside people with different lengths of time in the poetry world and different levels of publushed-ness, I mean published-ness. Another wonderous typo: pub, lush, blushed, shed.

To me they are all the same, just a more or less anonymous name attached to a poem. I read the poem. Some names are neither male nor female so there's that haziness about the writer too.

I see others deal with their ebb and flow of production. I wait and see where I am going. I get used to the angst of others, let them get on with it.

At the South Bank in the summer I was in a hall full of potential. Had I known the compere I might have asked for an announcement for any 52 members to come to the front to meet each other. Without knowing what we look like, there is a mystery and potential for meeting each other anywhere.

Denise Levertov was home educated

Now I must read her.

This week's prompt on 52 sent me to one poem of hers, on Essex, which led to her biography. It is rather long, so I only skim read it, but I recognised and liked all the poets referred to.

The repetition of the words 'clear' and 'direct' jumped out at me too.

Money, I was going to give this to 52, but I don't think it would count as poetry

52:32:6

True email to my son - is this poetry? 'Hell Yeah' as my son would say!

"Eh, what? £400?

Help, I can't transfer cash from RBS to Barclays account that fast. I think you need to have a heart to heart with Stuart about £££.

Sarah xx"

Timeline terror

Facebook groups are all very well, but we all have to make extremely sure where we are posting our stuff. Just putting it onto the general timeline is the worst possible outcome. At least there is an edit/delete button for when that happens. Pray you notice immediately, not 3 days later.

'dangerous curves' - Jenny Lewis

Two words from a poem she wrote 20+ years ago. It is only to be found on links about the controversy surrounding it: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/mcgough-poet-and-plagiarist-1198633.html Go to the end of the article to find the complete poem "In Case of Fire"

The weekly poetry prompt group called 52 had an awkward theme this time: Songs of Praise. It's hard to move away from the literal meaning. I managed to though and wound up with something leading on from those two words. It's gone into the boot of my car though. Only some things make it to the 52 facebook group.

Her website: http://jennylewis.org.uk/ See how she puts a huge amount of effort into teaching and leading others. Also, see how she encourages others to move between art and poetry.

Typing Straight Onto Facebook

I don't know why it is, but I seem to have developed an ability to type a poem in one go. It must be because of the nature of the 52 Facebook group and my comfort with it.

As they are online I print them off so I have my own copy. Remote printing is a great thing! I'll go down to the kitchen now and pick it up off the floor where it will have landed.

52 - 4: An Invitation - "To Arnold"

I will sit on the stairs and gently wait for you.
I will watch as you walk over towards me
and rub your body and head against the bannisters.
If you wish you can come closer and sniff my fingers.
You might lightly brush your tail against my still arm.
I won't move, I'll wait for you.
Another time I might lay out some string on the landing,
so you can be a wild cat and pounce on it
and kill it again and again.
I want to see your fierceness surface
and your playfulness.
You are safe with me.