Saturday, August 25

Something I've never understood...

when filling out forms with personal details, for a bank account/ card/ boots card/ whatever it is account, why don't companies assume that a woman or girl is a Ms? Wouldn't it make life better, and easier, also encouraging more people to take up Ms?

It's a sensible, simple idea, isn't it? Who wants to be Miss, or Mrs, when males have the privilege of not having to disclose (or be asked to disclose!) their marital status?!


I am writing/ thinking about this this because I now realise that all my bank details, etc are under the title 'Miss'. Yeuch. Although considering there was a point when I thought 'Ms' meant that a woman was a lesbian (thankfully I'm more up-to-date on basic Feminist 'issues' now), perhaps it wasn't so peculiar that I must've always used Miss. Eurgh. Why did no-one educate me about this when I was younger?! Why was this missed off the school curriculum? (Yes, I DO believe it should be included.)

Reading poetry/ Judging poetry

One thing a lot of people say a lot when talking about my blog, or poetry in general, is that they 'don't know how to read poetry' or 'don't know how to judge poetry', or 'don't know what's good poetry'.

People worry about metre, rhyme, scansion, references, form, so many technicalities. They worry about not knowing much about them, or not knowing what they actually are, what they 'mean', or how they're defined. There's some kind of instinct with poetry, I think. And it's okay to leave the technicalities, just as much as it is to know a lot about them, to appreciate them, to be learned about them. Only it's not always needed, not if you're reading poetry in bed, a couple of poems a night, before you switch off the light. Why not concentrate on the poem, the sounds, the pleasure you can derive from it?

I'm going to just write, write, write, some sorts of questions or wonderings which I find myself asking about poems when I read them. No doubt you'll have your own, if you do read it.

My is-it-a-good-poem-or-some-naff-stuff-meter:
  • Does it make me laugh/ cry/ almost cry (ie. particular ear ache)/ uncomfortable?
  • Does it linger in my mind, even when I try to push it to the back because it's making me uneasy, because it's taking up my concentration, making me lousy company? Does it take up even more space, demanding thought, demanding mental space when I try to ignore it? Does it refuse to be ignored?
  • Do the sounds echo in my mind; the patterns, the variations allowing it to cement easily?
  • Are the words, the punctuation, the language, exciting? Is the poem as a whole exciting?
  • Am I compelled to return to it?

Sunday, August 19

Sorting out the messy room/ the cluttered cupboards.

Just for the hell of having French as my thingy. I'll change it to German soon, maybe.So, sorting out the messy room. I've learnt that I've far, far more photographs than I remember having taken, been in, or been given; many of these are hilarious, many moody, many just plain fantastic. And others abominable. I've discovered that I really did spend a lot of time drawing, scribbling, painting when I was younger (enough to fill several French 'bags for life', certainly). I've unearthed cards I'd forgotten, postcards I'd not laughed at in a while, and many, many letters - most of which are fabulous, and, at most, a couple of years old. This time I've left the journal-reading till another day, instead choosing to shove them in an old shoebox (I also discovered some lovely shoes I'd forgotten I had; probably because there's generally not the occasion enough to wear such,) where they lie along with the photos and some letters. I've chucked many clothes, little games, silly scribblings (kept some, too,) as well as giving some things (GCSE rubbish - old books, etc) to neighbours, whilst a lot remains in a heap (I'd like to say 'neat pile', but the wine squishes my want to pretend that I am so very tidy - organised? yes. Tidy? sometimes) - a heap on my floor.

The art stuff has been relegated to another, smaller shelf (and also tidied up; it is purely 'art stuff' there, atm), whereas I'm making room for more books, to put my shoes somewhere, to try and make sense of what I want to use, what I am going to use, and not just what is comforting to open the wardrobes and look at (besides the poems, and other things - flyers, etc - which I've stuck on the insides of the doors...) I've also concluded, quite happily, that it is time, and I am certain it is time, for quelque chose to be stacked away at the back of the wardrobe, or put in a plastic bag (maybe entitled, maybe not), and then lifted away into the loft.

Arranging is relaxing.