The
last time I had anything like a typical writing day was when I worked as an
operator at a BT call centre, taking (among more mundane enquiries) emergency 999
calls. In those days I would finish work at whatever time, go home, have
supper, and write, usually with a bottle of wine to hand and music playing.
Then, in 2005, I went to China to teach, which was very exciting and also very
busy, and ever since I’ve written (a) when I’ve had time and (b) when I’ve been
in the mood. (a) and (b) have not always occurred at the same time. In 2011 I
began the One Million Elephants Couldn’t
Begin to Understand daily “notations” section of my website, which was
designed to make me write something – anything – every day. And that’s still
going, daily, although its original purpose no longer really exists, to be
honest. I am probably just a creature of habit.
I
returned to the UK for keeps in February, and I don’t have a job because (a)
I’m 65 approaching 66 and get some pensions and (b) I left China in large part
because I’ve had enough of working for other people. I’m old. I want my time to
myself, as much as possible.
So,
with most days kind of “free”, how do I write in them? Well – it took me a few
months to get used to being back in England, and to having so much time on my
hands. But I’ve figured out that I have time to work and time to relax, and I
can do as much of either as I please. I feel good when I have a productive day,
and I don’t feel any less good or guilty if I have a day doing nothing. And of
course I have hobbies that pass the idle hours. I enjoy horse riding and jigsaw
puzzles, and my friend, the poet Eric Eric, has been urging me to take up
tatting, but I don’t think I have the eyesight for it, or the interest.
In
terms of writing, I always have a few things on the go. Apart from writing fresh
and new and original genius poems (irony alert), I am also steadily working my
way through translating and producing “versions” of poems from the great Tang
dynasty era of classical Chinese poetry. Poets like Li Bai and Du Fu. Some have
been featured in magazines, and I have an eye to publishing a collection of
them at some point. This work initially entails basic translation, which is
fairly journeyman kind of stuff, although little to do with the Chinese
language can be classed as particularly easy; then comes serious consideration as
to what I want to do with the poem in terms of working a “version”, and then
there is the actual composition, editing, working and tweaking. This can take
hours, or days, or weeks. It’s business as usual, in other words, because the
same goes for my own poems with regard to how long they take to do. Sometimes
they arrive quickly and need very little revision. Other times they sit around
a while waiting for the right tweak, the right word, the comma removal or the insertion
of a thoughtfully placed dash. Sometimes they sit around for ages then get
thrown away.
Both
the work on my own poems and the translations really have no regular schedule.
It’s about being in the right frame of mind and the mood. I can write every
day, and usually I do, but it might only be a few words. Other days I can write
quite a lot, or revise something a lot. But there is plenty of thinking going
on even when I’m not actually at the desk writing. Recently, for example, I’ve
been writing several prose sequences – they are probably prose poem sequences –
but quite how to present them and exactly what form they need to ultimately
take has been occupying my thoughts for some time. The thinking is happening in
the back of my head even as we speak.
And
I also review on a fairly regular basis. That tends to be something I just sit
down and do over the course of a day or two for any one book. But of course I
have to read the stuff. Well, usually
I read the stuff. Some people think my reviews are mainly negative, sometimes
verging on the harsh and cruel, but they’re wrong. They just don’t realize how
much dreadful poetry there is out there being accorded either undeserved
accolades or, just as often, back-slapping plaudits from so-called reviewers
who want to get their own poems published so won’t risk upsetting anyone who
might know someone who might know …. and so on.
So,
what’s a typical day? I get up when I’m ready to get up, have a cup of green
tea, do my half hour of exercise on the yoga mat and the exercise bike, have
breakfast (coffee and toast), and by ten I’m usually at the desk doing
something, even if it’s not very much. I make myself do a couple of hours of
some kind of work - and that will include reading, either something for review
or something poetry-related of my own choosing - in the morning, and a couple of hours of the
same in the afternoon. Come the evening I might work if the muse (Mrs. Baxter)
shows up, but by 8 o’clock I’m more likely to have had a couple of glasses of
wine, a good supper, and will be sprawling on the couch in front of something
on TV. I’m retired. I’m allowed to be lazy. Having said all of which, if I have
a day where I don’t feel like working I’ll have a day not working.
Of
course, what I’ve missed out is the shopping, the housework and the laundry, and
the coffee or a couple of beers with friends (I have a few). And I decided a month
or two back that weekends should be weekends. In China, weekends were often
compromised either by my girlfriend having to work, which meant our leisure
time was likely screwed up, and also by my having the usual commitments a
teacher has: marking, lesson preparation, and the like. Now they are much more
about lounging around unwashed, reading a real paper copy of the newspaper
instead of the annoying website version, watching the football or something on
TV, reading books that have nothing to do with poems, and sleeping when the
body says sleep. So, it would appear that my typical writing day either doesn’t
exist, or is a bit of this and a bit of that, and eventually things get done.
After
40 years in poetry world I’ve decided not to stress about any of it. Apart from
sending stuff to regular outlets like Stride, I only get around to submitting
work to other places two or three times a year. I find it a bit of a grind, to
be honest, spending half an hour getting the stuff together, sending it off,
then waiting six months for a reply. I know it’s part of the process, but I
don’t get too worked up about it these days. What usually happens is that one
day it will occur to me I should do it, and then eventually, on another day,
I’ll dedicate a couple of hours to sending things I deem worthy out to
somewhere or other. Writing is the pleasure, and having readers who enjoy what
you write is a bonus, so while publishing is still obviously a consideration it
doesn’t occupy a huge part of my thoughts beyond the fact that I have to
produce work that’s good enough for strangers to read. Have to? Well, now there’s a good question …..
Martin Stannard lives in
Nottingham, England. He was the founding editor of joe soap’s canoe (1978-1993) a
magazine some people still regard as legendary. It can be found archived at http://martinstannard.com/jsc/jschome.html.
He was also poetry editor of the online art and poetry magazine Decals of Desire (http://decalsofdesire.blogspot.com/).
A poet and critic, his most recent collection is Poems for the Young at Heart (Leafe Press, 2016) (http://leafepress.com/catalog/stannard/stannard.html).
Forthcoming is Items, a chapbook from
The Red Ceilings Press.
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