I’ve been thinking about a subject for today’s post. It really ought to be a lengthy one as I have time on Sunday and most of my other posts are a bit short. I’ve also been thinking about poetry. So, poetry, a blog post and plenty of time to write it. Sounds like a perfect cure for insomnia.
Poets writing about poetry are really only interesting to other poets. And that isn’t guaranteed. There are worse things, I suppose. Accountants writing about accountancy isn’t going to be a riveting read either.
I will narrow the scope of my post slightly. Let’s talk about writer biographies as they appear in poetry magazines. I don’t mind the ones that run to two lines (though I’m not sure why the editors who specify that sort of length just don’t tell the truth and say they clutter up the magazine and use space that should have poems in it).
My standard bio is: Simon Wilson has been a poultry farmer, salesman, antiques dealer, gardener and instructor on a Care Farm He now works in a coin shop and wishes he had tried harder at school.
It is not always well received by editors but is, I suspect, more acceptable to than the version I would like to send: Simon Wilson likes writing poetry and thinks you should read it and mind your own business about his private life.
This train of thought started because I made the mistake of clicking onto a site with a variety of poet biographies. One of them was very motivational – a well-known poet and editor talking about his early days and less than positive start. It is helpful to see how other people improved and coped with rejection.
The ones i don’t like are the ones that are full of self praise, particularly the ones that give a long list of publishing credits and include magazines that have been out of production for five years.
Maybe I should just have done my review of TESCO’s Buttery Spread.
To be fair, it does spread. It also comes in a handy plastic container.
Those are the two positives. Whether it’s buttery is an entirely different matter. It contains buttermilk which, as I recall, is what you are left with after you use the buttery bits of the cream to make butter. The word “butter” in this context makes as much sense as it does when you use it in butterfly. Neither of them contain butter and neither of them makes a particularly pleasant addition to a sandwich.
Now the photos make sense don’t they?