Coleridge advised the budding young poet to seek another occupation in order to avoid the solipsism that a desk-bound occupation can induce. Several of my literary colleagues teach English, although they often acknowledge that this draws off their energy for writing. As an exception, the poet Bernadette Hall teaches Classics and appears to find no conflict. It may be that the problem is not teaching itself but the sheltered perspective that the teaching of an English syllabus (at whatever level) occasions.  

For myself, I have studiously avoided both academia and the add-on careers of arts administrator, literary agent etc for the distinctive profession of pyrotechnics. Sure, it’s possible to plot a whimsical parallel between the silence that underwrites a poem and the space that is articulated by fireworks. I use explosives to ‘write’ on the night so that an audience can say they’ve ‘seen the light’. I want the same response from my readers; the sense that something wonderful has announced itself, however briefly, and in doing so has removed the cataracts of habit such that they can see anew. Just as there is an optimum order for the parts of speech in a sentence, so there is one for the various pyrotechnic effects in a display. If a poem operates within the context of locale and tradition, then a pyrotechnic display operates within the constraints of site and brief. In both professions it is necessary to connect apparently disparate elements in order to make things whole. But, really, all of these assertions are thin as tissue-paper and fit for the same purpose.

Whereas a poem charges past the ephemeral on its way to the eternal, a fireworks display delights precisely because it is fleeting. Pyrotechnic effects don’t accrete like metaphors into a conceit; instead they disappear into either darkness or the more intense light of their successors in the firing sequence. Poetry can brand the mind for as long as forever is, but fireworks turn into smoke that clears with the crowd.

Although I’ve enjoyed acting as pyrotechnician to the All Blacks and as Tour Supervisor (SFX) to Metallica and Janet Jackson these roles are literally diverting. While it cannot match rugby or rock for physical thrills the rhythm of poetry is closer to my own. Opposing Auden’s ghost, I believe memorable poetry can make things happen because it works to ‘establish person’ rather than personality; not even courtly spectacles such as those designed by Leonardo in 1490 and Bernini in 1638 can claim as much. And the fastest number 8 isn’t in the running.

David Howard