‘Bye bye blackbird’ by Ray Pool is Write Out Loud’s Poem of the Week
With his poem Bye Bye Blackbird, Write Out Loud regular Ray Pool finds himself awarded the accolade of Poem of the Week for the second time. Members of our team met up at a Walthamstow tea-room, ate our weight in scones and jam, and put together a fresh set of questions for Ray to answer....
Is there a particular style of poetry which you enjoy writing more than others? If so, why?
I enjoy the challenge of writing on several levels. One is to produce a poem that describes a feeling I might experience. Sometimes a theme that interests me will come to mind again: again I wish to involve the reader. In some cases, I may want to experiment with wordplay for its own sake, that may be hard to analyse. I can't settle to any one style. but I try to exploit humour as a signature.
What three things would you say are the most important when performing one’s poetry at open-mic nights?
The important things I have found during live readings are: rapport and eye contact with the audience, a clear and expressive diction, and allowing the words to breathe using pauses and inflections to suit the type of poem.
What influences you most in the poetry world?
To be honest I think I am a bit isolationist re: influences, being fairly self-sufficient, although I am constantly influenced by some outstanding live mic readers. I merely seek to perfect my own self-expression. Great poets like Dylan Thomas , Heaney and Hughes are always an inspiration. I am quite readily influenced by great authors, who too can be poetic in style. What does affect me are malapropisms, slang and variations in accents. I like to try anything!
Which four persons, living or dead, would you like to share your last meal with?
My last meal choices would be Peter Sellers, Dudley Moore, Anthony Hopkins and my wife, as she would enjoy them too.
Bye Bye Blackbird.
by Ray Pool
Something about that eye
not knowing me there
is like a dream
of soaring free
the gripping of a branch
consensual sex on the wing.
Beside me now on the spade
while clawing at nothing,
it seems unconcerned
while the bright beads of bluebottles
steer her to the earth.