It was in the midst of exam-stress at Christmas that the opportunity arose to take part in a workshop run by the poet Harry Cliffton and I decided to submit some very, VERY old poems of mine. Surprisingly, I managed to blag myself a spot and for four weeks, ten of us sat around a table and talked about everything from poets that inspired us, forms of poetry, types of poetry and even our own poetry all under the guidance of Mr. Cliffton himself. Admittedly, I was a little overwhelmed by it all at the start-being thrust back in to the world of poetry after an indefinite break and desperately trying to remember lines of poems that I had learnt off in my leaving-cert days to try to appear educated and read. Mostly, I just stayed silent and hoped that if I didn't make eye-contact, people would just think that I was pondering life and other poetical shit.
The most nerve-wracking of all was having my poetry read and critiqued by the group. It's like allowing people to read little snippets from your mind and you're there, completely at their mercy, desperately hoping that they don't now think that you're a psychotic serial killer who is going to go all college-shooter on their asses in the near future. Having not written in so long it was so beneficial hearing people's feedback and having a panel of external readers give their own opinions and critiques of them. The group was so open and encouraging and gradually, I felt more comfortable expressing myself and offering opinions.
I think the most shocking aspect of the whole thing was how interesting and diverse the group was. I had the incredibly stilted view that it was going to be a whole host of English students in hipster clothing discussing the futility of life. Instead, there were students from law, philosophy, social science and politics, all interested in poetry and all writing on an array of subject matter. Every week, I looked forward to reading their poems and be granted that momentary glimpse in to their minds of what they saw, what they sensed or what they experienced.
And then the unexpected thing happened...I started to write again. And then things exploded and all of a sudden, I'm going to open-mic nights and poetry readings with these new found friends of mind who ALSO write poetry. It's like having a support group where you stand up and read your poetry to a sea of strangers, never having the fear of not being applauded because you have your little army of fans on your side.
Poetry may seem inaccessible, outdated and uncool but it's not so far removed from lyrics and rap that is so worshiped in modern-day culture. The name of our group is "The Skinny Cats" a.k.a, Harry's Hunzos, made up of young UCD-ers who write poetry and we are on a mission to prove that poetry can be cool too.
