Some of Gibraltar's poets, or persons who write poetry, gathered at the John Mackintosh Hall for the launch of a self-published book by Sonia Golt, "Love Letters I never mailed," March 24th 2011.
Is there a collective noun for poets? I've had a trawl around the net and in my dictionaries but could find nothing except some questionable suggestions. Anyway, the photo above is as good a collection of poets as can be gathered together on a gloomy March evening to listen to each other's murmerings and musings (a murmer of poets?). The other reason for the bardic invasion of the stage was to launch Sonia Golt's book, Love Letters I never mailed, in which Sonia publishes some of her stories and a novella, all in her inimitable style and mostly with a strong thread of romance interwoven into the plots. She also includes a section which comprises an anthology of poems donated by local writers.
The launch was well-executed. Local "celebrities" were on-hand to provide a little bit of glitz and media-savvy; there was a well-placed and suitably well-spoken politician at hand to give an opening speech and appraisal of the book. (Have I just said ap-praisal?) There were lots of people who knew each other, and most indulged in varying degrees of air-kissing, earings and cuff-links clanging like chain-mail. Some chap, also terribly well-known by all but me, provided wine and nibbles, the local press turned up and there was a guitarist who provided some calming background music to the recitation (a round of poets?) Someone whispered that there were television cameras there. At a gathering of poets? (or rabble of poets?) Gibraltar is either highly literate, or the literati are highly media-sensitive. I have yet to cast my vote on that one. (What about, a sonnet of poets?)
I struggle with taking up the title of poet (a denial of poets?). This is a title conferred to one by others, and I'm not sure that it is earned by merely penning some rhyming words from time to time, or non-rhyming words that by virtue of their complexity, or by reciting words in theatrical terms with a certain waving of the arms to punctuate their meaning. I put words together sometimes, and their rhythm, or the shape they make as they fall together on the page, creates an image or plucks at an emotion, or even shapes a previously amorphous thought into something tangible, and I dare to call it a poem. So to recite publicly a selected set of words was a struggle for me. Hence the shaky delivery and daft expression on my face (below)
Jackie Anderson, looking decidedly uncomfortable in front of mic and camera.
I have to say, that nerves and the sense of impending disaster as my turn at the microphone approached did not detract from the enjoyment I felt at listening to some excellent poetry and discovering that there is an untapped bedrock of talent in Gibraltar and its environs. (A peppering of poets?) Some of it was not so great and some of it was overstated. My offering came across as trite and undeservedly underplayed, but I write, an essentially lonely passtime, and I am most comfortable in my solitude and away from the limelight (perhaps, a struggle of poets).
What the event did do, besides the book launch and the mention of the charity towards which some of the proceeds will be aimed, is to uncover a love of poetry in a small town, and a variety of styles, backgrounds, skills and genres, which makes for a rich soil in which to grow yet more, and more skilled and mature poetry. (A garden of poets?) I'm determined to give the setting up of a writers' group a go, so that some of those that feel that their skills are never quite good enough, can learn from each other and keep growing in their skills as writers - poetry or otherwise - because, as soon as you think you know it all and there is no more to learn, you may as well pour your ink into the sea and chuck your pen in the bin. Unless you are learning, listening and reviewing your work, you may as well stop, because nothing you write nor recite, will ever be any better.
Besides events like this, wouldn't it be great to have story-telling evenings? Or open mic sessions at local pubs? Or jam and slam sessions? Perhaps something on internet radio, or You Tube, where networking is full of mystery and subterfuge and the themes are dark and dangerous (a huddle of poets?). I hope the poets pictured above are with me on this - any comments welcome and anyone who wants to come to a first meeting of a writers' group - media and genre non-specific - leave a comment and I'll let you know when (a council of poets?)
In the meantime, well done Sonia for bringing some of our local poets to the public attention, and giving a few of us the courage to admit that we are not just writers of words, but crafters of poems, weavers of dreams, conjurors of nightmares, tellers of tales, observers of reality and creators of fantasy. A pride of poets, perchance?
