'The Robin' by Charlotte Bergman is Write Out Loud's new Poem of the Week
“I am a 19 years-old acting student from England. I'm also a singer, Lover of all things Harry Potter, Helena Bonham Carter and of course, poetry. I absolutely adore writing poetry, it is my escape from the real world and a way to vent my emotions, good and bad. I've decided to write on this blog so that maybe one day they can help someone as they have helped me”. Here are her answers to our Q&A.
How long have you been writing and what initially got you into writing poetry?
I’ve only been writing my own poems for 2 years, I picked it up after I left school and realised how much I missed writing. I didn’t realise I had such a passion for it until I couldn’t stop writing it daily and now it’s something I absolutely adore!
Have you ever performed your poetry at open-mic nights? Would you like to?
I’ve never been to or spoken at an open mic night to read my poems but I’ve always wanted to, however unfortunately the closest place for me to go is Leeds and that’s over an hour’s drive away.
Who is your favourite poet or poem?
My absolute favourite poet is Rupi Kaur, I think I fell in love with poetry when I read her book Milk and Honey. I thought the way she wrote was absolutely beautiful and I respected the fact her poems told the truth.
Who or what is your biggest influence when writing?
When I write, I only really write about things that have affected me, whether that be negatively or positively. I write a lot about people that have hurt me and times of the year that bring back memories. Whenever I’m feeling happy or sentimental, worried or hurt, I pick up a pen and write.
by Charlotte Bergman
You have to tell the truth in poetry
every heart wrenching soul draining truth,
every damned moment you close your eyes
and lift your head to the sky
in a desperate attempt to become the air
and let it swallow you until you’re no longer
the person you were before you closed your eyes
We’ve all done it haven’t we?
We’ve all laid in the bath and stared at our feet
holding our glass of wine and intertwining each toe,
lost in the heat wrapped around your skin
like a bubble taking you away from the tragedy we call life
that awaits us beyond the bathroom door.
And you look at the glass you’re holding, half full of a liquid
that has turned into a desperate attempt
to drown your demons and your devils
and your never-ending list of never ending problems
that no one could ever possibly understand.
Except half way down the glass,
while you were trying to drown them,
you realise that your demons have learned to swim.
So you put the glass down and you stare
and you submerge yourself in the warmth
and close your eyes and think for just one second
about what would happen to you if you took a breath now.
But you get back up, and you cry.
And you scream.
And then you’re numb
We’ve all done it.
Gone on the longest walk to the most beautiful of places
and longed to be the birds that soar over the world,
free to fly wherever they wish,
free from it all,
and you think about all the places you would fly
if you were a bird.
I think I’m a robin
and I fly and play and swoop over the sad places,
my destination is the saddest I can find
to try and shed some light with my red breast.
Then I end up in my own back garden,
staring from the branch through the window, at myself.