(man it felt weird to not include this bold-faced, bracketed subheading just now)
Art! Culture! Words! Poetry! Buzz-words like this have been banded around the hangouts of pretentious bastards, self-important whiners and fans of Steven Moffat’s Sherlock since the dawn of time, and now I’ve absent-mindedly lobbed my hat into this great ring of attempted artistry, by not only writing a poem, but publishing it on the Internet for any Tom, Dick or Harry to gaze over with their intellectually-charged, or otherwise, eyeballs.
It can be read here, if you missed the boat, presumably like the pairs of dragons, unicorns and minotaurs did when Noah saved all the animals on Earth from the Flood that one time, apart from the mythical ones that were caught in traffic on the M40, just outside Burtley Wood, and so quite literally missed the boat.
And while I don’t feel art intrinsically needs justification for its existence, when it’s coming from James Patrick ‘I’m doing an English degree but have no real interest in literary culture’ Casey, I’d like to talk about this rather uncharacteristic admission to doing something remotely intelligent or artistic.
Basically, I wrote the first things that came into my head (after I’d checked that, lo and behold, I’d already written a post about how much I like the rain), and considering my mood was one of serenity, distance and random unrelated thoughts, I didn’t want to force myself into writing a piece of prose, involving the numerous clauses, ridiculously forced similes and constant backtracking to explain my actions and ideas that are kinda the hallmarks of my writing style – I wanted to write something sincere for once, and felt that a ‘poem’ (i.e. a collection of individual, broken-up lines) was the best way to do this, as it discourages a writer from constantly going back to reevaluate (or in my case undermine) things they’ve already written.
This is reflected in the content of the poem itself; far be it for me to tell you the ‘right’ conclusions to draw from it, but I was trying to weigh up the distinction between voluntary isolation, which can lead to great relaxation and clarity, and involuntary isolation, a product of social exclusion that leads to loneliness and feelings of low self-worth. I don’t tread the fine line between the two on a daily basis – people make me shortbread and pancakes, and ask if I’m feeling okay for god’s sake – but the fact that a lot of ‘work’ on an English degree consists of sitting alone in my room reading made me question these types of isolation and their causes, and effects on people.
So that was me trying to be artistic and stuff, hope you enjoyed / weren’t repulsed by it. Oh, and the idea for that single-line structure comes from this clever person.