It’s been an odd week, an odd couple of weeks. I started a new job, and am still settling into whatever it might turn out to be. I mean, I know what I’m employed to do, it’s not like I’ve been blindfolded and taken across the border into the East, forever to make movies at the whim of a mad king. But how what I’m employed to do will manifest itself is still up for grabs. Everyone else is being very helpful. But even so, that doesn’t stop me from feeling a little lost.
Thank goodness for my other job, the one where I know what I’m meant to do. I was at the Creative Writing MSt in Oxford this weekend, teaching a couple of workshops on writing poetry. In the first year of the MSt, everyone has to try every genre, and so I was teaching 29 people, only eleven of whom stated that poetry was something they were interested in. A difficult one to pitch.
One exercise we did, and which seemed to work well, was one I’d picked up from Alastair Brotchie’s A Book of Surrealist Games. The students write a question on a piece of paper, which they then fold in half. The questions are handed in and shuffled. They are then dealt out to the group again, and on the outside of the paper, the students each write an answer. The poem has to link the question and the answer. Nothing as great, or as unarguable, as what came up when I was playing this with a friend of mine once: ‘What is love?’ ‘A hedgehog’.