Some Thoughts on Poetry and Particularly Tanka

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Julia’s latest vase (she gave the last one away as a present) with silk fritilleries.

I’ve just been replying to two emails from editors. One was comparatively simple, a quick note of thanks for an acceptance. I had an automatic reply by return, telling me that they weren’t taking submissions at the moment – an impersonal response to my attempt at being polite. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised – some magazines are like that.

The other was more complicated. It was a rejection with some suggested links to articles which would help me improve. It’s the sort of response that always invites being categorised as condescending.

I read the first one and it told me that most western definitions of haiku were too restrictive. This explains why editors annoy me by publishing haiku that fall outside the published definitions. Maybe they should take down the definitions hey often display, or display a current one. Same goes for the people who are often quoted on the subject – if your definition is outdated, have the courtesy to indicate this or update it.

As for the haibun article, it quoted a number of haibun. One of the haiku wasn’t a haiku by any definition and the rest all reiterated the subject material, which you aren’t supposed to do. I can’t help feeling that if I’d have submitted any of them, they would have been turned down, not used as examples. I just wrote and thanked them for the feedback and said they provided food for thought.

Email is not the forum to exchange views over something like that, as it could be construed as argumentative and although I have issues with things, I don’t want to start an argument with someone who is trying to help.

This is the one she gave away as a present.

That’s the nice thing about tanka – fewer rules, more freedom, and fewer people writing about them.

 

Marx, Opium and a Senior Moment

4 Replies

Refillable Pilot V7 – another of my doomed attempts to profit from product placement

Yesterday I missed posting and had to do it in the early hours of the morning. It had, as the post reveals, been a vexing day. When I tried to link to the post I found I had managed not to post it, and although it was on my list when I checked the posts, it was still a draft. I have just posted. A senior moment, and today looks like it may be a vexatious day too.

I mentioned Bargain Hunt yesterday, then realised there may be people who don’t know what its true place in society is. It basically fills the place that religion used to hold for many of us in the UK, and the political space that Marx claimed for religion – being the opiate of the people (or opium of the masses or whatever translation you prefer). Well, it is for those of us who are retired.

Pilot V7 – I wonder if a box of free pens is heading my way? You do hear stories . . .

There have been some heated discussions in the antiques world , I admit. I’ve been in some of them. But antique dealers have  never declared war on anyone just because they prefer Clarice Cliff to Susie Cooper, or consider Christopher Dresser to be the anti-Christ.

I looked for a new pen on Amazon yesterday as I sometimes like to use fineliners like the Pilot V7. I have a couple that are on their last legs and was wondering about buying some more. The trouble is that they are a little pricey for what they are, and they aren’t very ecological. Well, I found one on Amazon tha is refillable and, according to the card, is 72% recycled plastic and has 56% less CO2 impact. They don’t saw what it is actually 56% less than but it is a pen, not a politician, so it is probably not a downright lie.

Yes, not buying a new pen would have 100% less carbon impact, but it’s a start.

An advertising claim that is not as clear as it could be . . .

 

Oh dear, missed a post! Or a day. Whatever . . .

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It’s been a day of bits and pieces. Visit to the nurse this morning – all going well.  Bit of writing, indexing poetry. Lunch. Bargain Hunt. Wash up. Bit more writing. Unfortunately, nothing very useful. More indexing. Then my sister called and took me to hospital for my scan. Nothing major, just a foot. In fact just one toe. And only the tip of that toe. It’s already been X-rayed and pronounced clear, but the sent me a letter so I felt I had to go.

It’s probably an example of NHS waste, but it’s better to try to do too much than to do too little. Not that it mattered. They have a lengthy safety questionnaire before you have a scan. They also have a lot of other questions, which weren’t on the questionnaire, and it turned out that I couldn’t have a scan. I have to go back next week. I can’t keep asking my sister to give me a lift so that, like the extra (unnecessary) trip last week, is another £16 for taxis. Another hour and half out of my life.  Another evening spent feeling like my life is pointless and that I count for nothing. Another half hour spent lying uncomfortably in two badly fitting gowns. They make me wear one at the front and one at the back because, apparently, I am the only fat person who ever goes to hospital.

And then I checked my emails. I have had a rejection. Not only that, I have had some advice from the editor. It is very good of them to take the time to do it, but once again, as so often, the advice is basically to read some articles (links enclosed) as I am missing the whole point of haiku and haibun. The problem is, of course, that I have read much on this subject and had thought  I was doing it right. There’s a very fine line between being helpful and depressing.

However, I bought myself a new pen, which always brightens a day. More of that later. Time to post and go to bed.

Tomorrow, as they say, is another day . . .

On the other hand tomorrow is actually right now as it’s past midnight, and I need some sleep.

Note: Actually I then went to bed and forgot to post, so here it is, posted at 9.54 when I discovered I couldn’t link to it and found out it was still in drafts.

The Drudgery of Organisation

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Sign from the trackside between Grantham and Notingham

I have listed 44 published poems, with dates and details of first publication. I have been through them again, and they are now mainly in alphabetical order. There are several other lists to go through, then more searching to find the unlisted ones. I wish I’d been more organise. At least I was organised at times, which makes it easier than it might have been.

As a result of this month being so light on possible submissions I now have six weeks to get things organised. With any luck I may be able to submit some things as soon as the window opens in May. This was how I used to do it. In fact, I used to do all my submissions on the first day of the window instead of leaving it until the last minute. It was more relaxed and though my poetry probably wasn’t any better, it was at least edited properly.

Brick Train at Darlington

Experience tells me that I should not fritter this time away, and I am going to try not to do this. I have four minutes left, at which point it will be time o cook lunch for Julia before she goes off to help in the tearoom.

One thing I notice with my index of poems is that I have a lot of poems starting with the word “The”. I may have to try to be less formulaic.

To make the index more interesting I could, of course, index “The Banana in the Road”, an editor’s choice in Cattatils Spring 2022 edition as “Banana in the Road, The”.

It’s a thought . . .

Mallard at the National Railway Museum – looks fast even when she’s standing still.

 

 

Keeping Count (109 Posts 108 Days)

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This is going to be my 109th post of the year and it is day 108. It’s a lot easier now that I’m counting in the titles and don’t have to go back to the first day of the year to do my counting.

It’s depressing that my work rate is actually so low, and also that the year is almost a third of the way through.

I’ve just been reading an interview with an author in the back of a book -it’s a J D Kirk Scottish crime novel, though his real name is Barry Hutchison.  In the interview he claims to have written 200 books, though somewhere else he goes for 140. It’s a lot of books.  This includes a lot for children and some comic books, so the word count may not be very high, though I’m not one to judge. I (vaguely) claim to have had 250 poems published, but I honestly have no idea, having lost control of the counting some time ago. I am going to have to try and get them all together. In terms of word count, some are about a dozen words and I doubt if the longest passes 300, so I’m not in a position to preach.

Actually, I have a terrible feeling that I may be exaggerating. It’s possible that I went to bed thinking “150” and woke next day thinking “250”. Excuse me while I go and count.

My Orange Parker Pen

Several hours later . . .

My admin, as you know, is poor and I can’t find all my published poems. Even if they were all in one place it would be incomplete as I’m a poor record keeper, and they are in at least five lists, but I am over 250.

In fact, I’d better get on with that. And I’d better get my act together and keep proper records in future.

Orange Parker Pen

Thoughts on Editors

13 Replies

So far this year I have had 16 acceptances. One came this morning and prompted this post. That’s from 30 submissions, so it’s a touch over 50%. I have done better in past years, but this year, as I have said, I have tried harder and sent submissions to people who habitually turn me down. It’s character forming.

I’ve been scouring the internet looking for more places to submit and have found a few, but run into three problems.

One is that some only accept postal submissions and I no longer like sending them. Paper does actually, as the expression goes, grow on trees, but I feel it’s better to use emails for both convenience and carbon footprint.

Two is that the editors of these harder to find journals can be quite aggressive, which is probably a reason why they are not so well supported. In general I find editors of Japanese style magazines are nicer and more helpful than those of mainstream poetry journals, but if they aren’t, why should I bother with them?

And three – when I relaunched my poetry writing I decided to aim for the best magazines. I did. I got rejected. I am still rejected. But when I did get in it was worth doing and quite exciting to find myself in a journal with people I’d actually heard of. Better to be rejected by a quality journal than be accepted by one of lower quality.  And better to aspire to meet the quality threshold of a better journal.

My Orange Parker Pen

There is another reason, I just remembered. Some magazines want to be paid to include my work. With some, it’s voluntary – I can access a quicker decision by paying, but with one they actually want you to pay for inclusion.

Few magazines have ever paid. I can live with that. I can live with taking out subscriptions for magazines. That seems fair. It’s a hobby and hobbies cost money. But to pay for inclusion? I don’t think I’ll bother tank you.

Poetry – creatively stacked but a touch light on stock

Rat Traps and Ramblings

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We have had rat traps down for four days now. We have caught three rats (two of which were quite young) and three mice over the four nights with two traps being sprung without catching. We currently have them out but not set. I want to see if anything finishes off the bait, and I also want to give them a false sense of security. And, to be honest, I want a rest from emptying them.

When I am once again prepared for the sight of bulging eyes and mangled bodies I will give it another go.

I really don’t know what is going on in the world when I am feeling sorry for dead rats. However, rats spread diseases and I take immunosuppressants. The two things don’t go together well, and though I’ve not heard of someone getting ill from contact with rats in the garden, why take the chance? I once worked with a man who became ill after fishing. He seems to have come into contact with germs from rat urine in the water and when he put his fingers to his lips (he was a smoker) he made himself very ill.

However, I won’t bore you with my rat stories.

When I was an adolescent (and possibly a borderline embryo psychopath) I used to go out looking for dead animals by the roadside. I collected birds feet (this was a proper thing – there was even an article in the RSPB magazine about it. I still have the book on taxidermy I saved up for, though I never progressed to actually curing a skin or stuffing anything as I couldn’t get the chemicals and my mother objected to me storing dead birds and animals in the fridge.

Blackbird on picnic table – Rufford Abbey

The crunch came when I stored a dead mole in a box in the conservatory. I managed to conceal it from prying eyes for several days (I only used to skin at weekends) but after one particularly warm day it made its presence known and taxidermy was banned.

For some reason my word count has disappeared but I must be past 250 words by now so time to publish. I just noticed that I don’t have  place for Tags either. Curiouser and curiouser . . .

Chaffinch in the Bird Garden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two Countries Divided By a Common Language

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I have often commented on the differences between UK English and US English. I don’t mind either. The Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, Indians, South Africans and many other groups all have their own versions of English too. I look on it as a gift to the world, and once given, it is not ours to control. Use it how you want.

However, I also have to point out that there are many other languages and cultures in the world who all have a claim to something similar. China, India and Arabia have all made great contributions to the world we know. Even Switzerland, as Orson Welles points out in The Third Man, after five hundred years of democracy and peace, produced the cuckoo clock. And chocolate and bankers who still cling to Nazi gold.  No single nation is universally brilliant and moral – no single nation, whatever politicians tell us, is universally evil.

 

The first sign that something was not right in the President’s head

Bearing that in mind, it seems that there are people who want to control English and force others to speak like Americans. It’s bad enough that we are bombarded with constant American films and TV, but recently it seems we can only get US English in spellcheckers. We are being forced to become part of the USA.

Not only in spelling, but politicians in the USA are taking it upon themselves to advise us how to live and run our country and, even worse, are giving a misleading picture of life in the UK.

Even if this is a picture of a doctor healing man that isn’t Epstein i still represents a slide from both humility and reality

It is, I think, time to start pushing back. I accept that most citizens of the USA are lovely people, and my mother always told me that Americans had very good manners. It is the tragedy of modern America, that you don’t draw from this pool of talent and elect some of them.

So here are two pictures. The Daily Star has just run a headline based on the famous line “He is not the Messiah, he’s just a very naughty boy.” If you know your Python you will recognise the quote immediately. If you don’t, I apologise for my cultural imperialism.

This is how o cope with a delusional brat – you can’t reason with him, you aren’t allowed to punish him because he has corrupted the system, so ridicule is all that remains

The other is a picture of Sweep. Again, you may not recognise him, or his importance, and I apologise again for my insensitive use of cultural imperialism. He is the rapscallion companion of Sooty, and I have more confidence in him, than I do in most current politicians.

And finally . . .

 

 

 

Statistics – the Greatest Lie

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I’ve grown used to lying over the last few years. It all started after Donald Trump’s first election when he declared that millions of people had attended his inauguration and claimed it was far more than had attended Barack Obama’s inauguration. The pictures clearly showed this was not the case, and although it’s true that pictures can lie, is more likely that a politician was lying. We soon learned that if his lips were moving, he was lying.


The one on the left is a candlestick – it has a metal insert. The one on the right it a snowman. They always make snowmen when they have spare wood and time as they sell well at Christmas when they do the craft fair in the Cathedral.

WP is much the same. I have had over 400 views a day for several weeks now. I have also had an average of 12 people a day recorded as looking. So which is it WP – 400 or 12?

It could be AI robots, but in that case why don’t they show up on both counters. It could be that I’m being monitored by American Intelligence for my comments on President Trump and the Death of Democracy, but they wouldn’t do that surely? Juxtaposing the two words in view of the moronic outpourings we hear every day is surely just handing me an opportunity for mockery. It couldn’t be much else as nobody else would be interested, and in truth I’m sure it must be AI. Trump is flirting with Armageddon, but AI is setting up to slowly strangle the life out of us. It will be like the boiling frog – we won’t notice until it is too late.

The candlestick again. It started out as a bent bit of pine with a split and a massive knot. She just set to work, the knot pinged out, another, as you can see, stayed to make a decorative feature, and the split disappeared along with a lot of the wood. She is getting good at this.

It’s much the same with Julia’s wood turning (where she went today). I won’t notice that all the shelves are covered in turned wood products until it’s too late.

She baked simnel muffins over Easter too, but they don’t last, so they won’t be taking anything over.

 

 

 

Reasons to be Cheerful

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As I have become older, I have become more soft-hearted. this is comparative, of course. I am soft-hearted compared to a farmer, but a murderer of innocents to a vegan. Last night, I added two more deaths to my conscience. No rats were harmed in last night’s trapping, but two mice paid the ultimate price. It wasn’t an ideal result as I am after bigger vermin, but it does show that the traps work and that I reset them properly.

Daffodils in Nottingham

Today I have been to the doctor already, had a relaxed breakfast of bacon cobs from Greggs, watched an episode of The Sweeney on TV and attended to the blog. I am now ready to start work, but it also time for lunch and I will need to prioritise. It is a hard life. A little light writing, I think, and a slightly delayed lunch.

And after lunch . . .

The steam seems to have gone out of my day. I have pottered and fiddled and moved things about, but not much has actually happened.

Blossom at Wilford

Julia’s wedding outfit was delivered (it’s actually a jacket and a pair of trousers but “wedding outfit” shows I’m taking it seriously) and I received a three month supply of arthritis injections. The delivery man took my sharps bin away. That’s about it. Not one of my more exciting days.

I assume that if I checked the internet I would find more stories about warfare and politics, but I don’t want to. I am able to live without knowing all the details. I presume if WW3 breaks out Julia will let me know. And if she doesn’t, an almighty flash and mushroom cloud will do the job.

Narcissi

Spring in the Mencap Garden

One thing I don’t need to worry about, as Julia pointed out, is losing my hair due to radiation poisoning.  Even in the midst of so many worries about Armageddon, there is still a bright spot if you look.