> Recently, Randolph published a small chapbook of mine, VIVAS. When I
distributed it to my family, I was a little disturbed to see it used as a
beer-mat; also interested to know that the title VIVAS was instantly read as
a health insurance company (rival to the VHI where my sister works); also
cheered to hear my family sitting around the table reading the poems.
Ridiculing them too; but also remembering things like the milk-bottles of
our childhood, and having conversations that would not have happened without
the poems. It's sort of a gristly satisfaction, but a bargain I agree to.
<
Mairead, you're beautiful! That was so much my experience. I come from a
non-literary family who were once-upon-a-time well-off. Well, rich even. I
grew up comfortably and was expected to join an oil company or sell real
estate or sumptin like that. But I chose the path of poetry and poverty; I
chose early to work in factories and bars, etc. My family thought poetry was
a 'hobby' - and laughed at my interests and never read it. One brother I am
still close to is a case in point: A few years ago I had a book coming out,
so I asked him if he and my sister-in-law would like to come to my book
launching. He said, Oh, good. Thank Christ you've got rid of that poetry
crap. I said, What'd do you mean? It's a book of poems, ya dumbo! To him the
word 'book' meant 'novel' - If you go to bed reading a book, it isn't a
bunch of poems to his mind. Sigh. He did come - and even brought lots of
carafes because he said it looked cheap to have wine casks dotted around the
place. (I was on a tight budget.) He put the wine in the carafes and spent
the afternoon as a wine waiter, somewhat tipsy by the end of it. I gave him
a copy of the book - he wouldn't have bought one :-)
Andrew
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