I like wrecks, I like ex-junkies, I like flunks and ex-flunkies, I like the way the career-less career, I like flat beer, I like people who tell half stories and forget the rest, I like people who make doodles in important written tests, I like being late. I like fate. I like the way teeth grate, I like laceless shoes cordless blues, I like the one-bar blues, I like buttonless coats and leaky boats, I like rubbish tips and bitten lips, I like yesterday’s toast, I like cold tea, I like reality, I like ashtrays, I write and like crap plays. I like curtains that don’t quite shut, I like bread knives that don’t quite cut, I like rips in blue jeans, I like people who can’t say what they mean, I like spiders with no legs, pencils with no lead, Ants with no heads, worms that are half dead. I like holes, I like coffee cold. I like creases in neat folds. I like signs that just don’t know where they’re going, I like angry poems, I like the way you can’t pin down the sea. See. - Lemn Sissay
It was Lemn Sissay who first told me that sometimes when you’re thinking about naming a poem, you can just pick two or more words that appear and put them together. This was revolutionary wisdom from the British poet, ancient wisdom, a blessing, a gift because, as you would have it, such titles always, always, always describe the poem perfectly. Examples of such impending.
Sissay was probably the first “professional”/grown/official (published) poet I ever met, at a writing festival in Nairobi with my poetry class and several other expectant young. I was 12. He read a poem I am unable to find that truly blew my mind, and I hope that I will find it, and I will bring it to you all. So did Imtiaz Dharker, whose work is to follow very shortly.
Hear this poem by Lemn read by fellow poet Pádraig Ó Tuama here.