Observation of everyday life.

 

The American poet William Carlos Williams was one person who made a successful career out of writing poetry while at the same time practicing medicine as a local doctor (see, you can write and work!).  What I like about some of his poems is the observation of everyday circumstances and ordinary life that he captures with a minimum amount of words – brevity – less is best; write four words – delete three.  I believe it was poets like Williams and T.S. Eliot who introduced a style of free verse and imagery that was then picked up by others, giving us the modern forms we know today.  Williams’ influence on me is an awakening to ‘quick observation’ – observation of the simple unfolding of events around me in everyday life – like a snapshot, still-frame from a camera; bang, captured a scene, and this is what it says.  Williams’ The Sun Bathers is such a snapshot.  That poem was taken so long ago, but I can still see the image clearly in old black and white, clearer than if it had been captured in a photograph.

                                                         The Sun Bathers

(William Carlos Williams 1883 - 1963)

 

A tramp thawing out

on a doorstep

against an east wall

Nov, 1, 1933:

 

a young man begrimed

and in an old

army coat

wriggling and scratching

 

while a fat negress

in a yellow-house window

nearby

leans out and yawns

 

into the fine weather

In my poem, On Maitland Road, I’m aware of Williams’ quick observation (except I get to repeat this quick observation over many days).  The subject is everyday circumstance.  It is what I experience and I want to capture it like a still photograph.  I’ve still got things to learn about cropping and reducing the image.
 

2009.   I travel the same route home every day.  People crammed into the suburbs live pretty ordinary lives.

 

                                                   On Maitland Road

 

There’s a dude

lives on Maitland Road –

right on Maitland Road,

the front door of his rental

opens out

on pedestrians

pushing along the sidewalk,

that’s all there is,

a building front

and a door

with graffiti all over it,

he must hear their permanent pen markers

working on his door

middle of the night,

and drunks urinating

and whores getting screwed, and

dogs sniffing

and covering scent,

traffic up each other’s arse,

braking, engine revs,

tyre hum squealing in the wet,

I’ve seen the dude

I look for him every afternoon

soon as I turn right

into Maitland Road,

he’s there,

two door’s down,

sitting on a kitchen chair

propped up in his doorway,

the building façade

facing directly into the afternoon sun,

4pm daylight saving time,

you can feel the heat

coming off everything covered in concrete,

radiating out of dull coloured walls,

the dude sits like he’s posing

in the front row

of an academy graduation photo –

class of 84,

except he’s got a can of beer in his hand,

and his face is flushed,

that’s his thing,

sitting direct on the footpath

watching the fucking parade

pass by.

 

I don’t get to see

inside the rental,

I don’t think

anybody does,

it’s a black cavern,

right on Maitland Road.

                                                                                     J. O. White