So, this is my first blog here. It's not what you would call my 'first leap' in to blogging, and certainly not my last. Here I hope to promote some poetry, share a few thoughts with you all and who knows what else? So let's start with a little about me, see where we progress:
An Aside about Me
Not exactly interesting to most of you, I know, but we all have to take our 'first steps' somewhere, I choose mine here.
I've always been a firm lover of poetry, impressing my teachers at the age of 8 writing what resembled a child’s version of a sonnet seemed to spark off my love or the art form.
What makes good art? I'll come to that another day...
It's taken over ten years to progress to where I am today; amature with big dreams. For the interval of those ten long years I tried to make it as a novel writer, I will go back to that one day, once I've learned the trade of poetry.
Taking this forwards from the age of eight; now thirteen, poetry played its second hint of its lust for my hand; the school Eisteddfod (for those of you non welsh readers it's a huge competition over a multitude of events to find out who is really 'the best of the best'.) After my loss in the year six Eisteddfod, I had decided I was not up to the illustrious role of the poet; however, I played the game once more. Just to clarify this competition was between around 800 students from ages 11 -16 in theory, I stood no chance. But tell that to my bards chair sitting downstairs, one of the happiest moments of my life, certainly the proudest.
You see, I don't endorse competitions, or traditions, but being true to my heritage, no matter where I roam I will always feel hiraeth - longing for that one part of my heritage, where if I ever gain the confidence to enter, the Eisteddfod.
Sentiments aside, we swiftly move on; hopefully you're still awake!
One year ago, my thirst, or the thirst of Athena decided it needed quenching. I began to write again.
I admit with my hands in the air, with very little prior knowledge of poetry it was a struggle, especially as I had no idea where to turn or how to improve. Nevertheless, if you're worthy, the opportunity finds you. It came in the form of My English teacher, whom I'll not name; I fondly nickname her to myself, the angel of death, for her wonderful, if not slightly overenthusiastic lessons on Sylvia Plath. Still this title which I bestow upon her (in my mind only) is not malicious, to me it is affectionate, and it reflects her outwards appearance with the dark nature she caresses. Over all, she is a wonderful teacher and an inspiration, and is officially one of the best teachers I've been privileged with.
Let’s finish with my official teacher of poetry, once again female, and maybe one day I will disclose her Identity to you all, though never her contact details (sorry, too much professional respect). This saint of teachers in my opinion has earned the right to whatever she asks of me or any other poet to produce, knowing poetry inside out and backwards and donating her knowledge and influence in to my work. I will always be incepted to her.
For now I will leave this as brief, there will be more in future I hope, if people choose to continue reading. And remember, I'm here for you all.