Tag: poem

WRITING IN SOLIDARITY

nottinghamcreativewritinghub

MA Creative Writing student R.J. Eaton gives a personal perspective on writing to express solidarity with causes that matter to her, and introduces a new short poem of her own.

Words have power. This is something I am very aware of, increasingly so.

I write both fiction and poetry, and it is in my poetry that I most obviously express personal thoughts and feelings, especially on subjects seen as political or in some cases controversial. I find it easier to express myself about complex and often upsetting subjects in poetry, carefully considering what I say and how I say it. I often to write on subjects in which I have a personal stake, and have written poems that engage with feminism and LGBTQ+ rights, because as a queer woman I want issues that affect me heard.

However, I also write on subjects that don’t affect me personally or directly – in part, to express my solidarity. Poems, songs, novels all get quoted at protests, in speeches, in articles, and writers can use their talents, and in many cases their platforms, to spread awareness about the things that matter to them.

Often, I feel, people are ignored because of things like race, gender, and sexuality. Although this is changing, in many places, I feel it is still important for writers to use their voices to advocate for the things they’d like to see change, even if those things primarily involve others – male writers can use their voices to advocate for women’s rights, straight writers can support queer people, and white people can write in solidarity with people of colour. While we should, first and foremost, centre people who are directly impacted in discussions about their specific rights, I believe support and solidarity from others still helps.

It is in that light that, as a white British writer, that I urge other writers, wherever they are from, to turn their skills to writing about specific social and political events and concerns, even if those things are not directly impacting them. For me, this includes the situation in Gaza, which in December last year Amnesty International described as including ‘acts prohibited under the Genocide Convention’. People’s rights to freedom and peace have always been important to me. In writing poetry about these things, one example of which is the poem below, I hope to help spread awareness, to encourage empathy, and to express solidarity with those directly impacted.

Using writing to express solidarity is, potentially, a slippery slope – something that requires considerable care. However, it can be a powerful tool. I can only speak from personal experience, but as a queer woman, seeing poetry or other writing that expresses support for people like me gives me hope, and lets me know that people support everyone being equal and an end to injustices against us.

I strongly encourage writers who have not done so to think about writing in solidarity with a cause dear to them – they might inspire others, and might even provide glimmers of hope. And doing so may well help you understand, and express, your own potentially complicated feelings on complex or even maligned topics.

I hear children scream

outside the house.
Adults sigh, huff, complain:
“Why can’t they be quiet?”

In Gaza, children also scream.
No adults complain about it,
because the quiet is worse.

Poetically speaking

nottinghamcreativewritinghub

Laura De Vivo discusses her rediscovery of contemporary poetry.

I have dabbled in almost all genres, broadly speaking. As the years rolled on, I slowly leant more towards prose, neglecting  poetry, and I think I have done myself a disservice. So, entering my second year of the Creative Writing Degree at NTU, I felt it important at the very least to have a respectful understanding of the discipline, and dare I say even a greater appreciation for it. I enrolled on the optional Poetry and its Contexts module, where I would read and discuss several collections of contemporary poetry and write my own.

The first lecture terrified me: I felt I had bitten off more than I could chew. Enveloped by knowledgeable lecturers and students that have a real passion and flare, I was guided through the fun-loving verses of Wendy Cope to the long-lined, discursive poetry of Togara Mazanenhamo. In his collection Gumiguru, Muzanenhamo’s imagery had me hooked and for the first time I didn’t feel like I was drowning. He spoke my language, and he spoke of home, a theme close to my heart.

I soon found words falling from my fingers. Guided by lecturers, I was polishing drafts, and, like a magic eye picture, the stories I wanted to tell were emerging. It was around this time that I took leave of my senses and applied for a poetry scholarship, through NTU’s WRAP (writing, reading and pleasure) programme. After a tense wait, I was shocked to learn I had a place. I had gone from hiding, to committing, to standing on stage in a Poetry showcase, where I was to speak my own words for five minutes. I was petrified.

WRAP was working in partnership with Bad Betty Press. Fifteen applicants received one-to-one mentoring from a Bad Betty poet right up until the showcase. I was paired with the talented Jake Whitehall who, with his boundless enthusiasm, knowledge and friendship, got me from apologising for how terrible I was to standing proud on a stage. Meetings became an opportunity to consume coffee and talk writing and life. Emails flew between us, and words were axed and added – no syllable was safe. Each new draft pushed me closer to a polished piece. When I dreamed of being a writer, I never considered that I would have to get used to performance and public speaking, but it was time to crawl out from behind my laptop.

In addition to the poetry inspired by Muzanenhamo, Jake asked me to write a ghazal, a beautiful style of Persian poetry with a thought-provoking pattern and refrain. Writing something new made me glow inside and I was ready to share it. It wasn’t until I was on the stage that I realised all my heartfelt personal words, thoughts and angsts were about to be laid bare, and I wasn’t sure I could do it, but Jake was there with hugs of encouragement. I wasn’t allowed to doubt myself for a second.

As I stepped into the room, one of the fifteen, I sought the faces of my family, like a child. There they were, ready to witness my flight or fall. I told myself I knew my poems, I knew how I wanted to deliver them and what emotions I wanted to evoke. I had worn a hole in the carpet outside the culture lounge pacing while practising my diction and delivery. Here was my chance to tease reactions from an audience. This alone was priceless, I realised, and I’d keep it in the back of my mind in future. Then, concentrating on not tripping onto the stage, I stared out into the blackness. And I saw no one – in that moment I was alone. I read from my heart, I read like a poet, in fact I gained a fan who asked for an autograph. With feedback like that, I have to accept I am now a poet.

Laura De Vivo has just completed the second year of the BA Creative Writing at NTU.