To the Man Who Sent Me on My Way

Ramblings of a Twenty-Something

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Somewhere on the Internet

3rd September 2013

Dear Mr Heaney,

                       It is not very often that the news affects me anymore. In a world of war, crime and political agenda, it seems that the news is given to us from the same script every night with just the names and places changing. Once in a while there is a story that pulls away from this routine; a story that makes me feel something. When I heard about your passing last week on the news, I felt something.

When I was first introduced to your work back in my high school days, I was only partly aware of poetry, or at least the power of poetry. I am embarrassed to say that I tried my hand at writing verse before your work came to me - suffice to say my inadequacy was placed under a glaring spotlight. However, after I had spent some time with some of your most poignant and powerful pieces, my inadequacy became became less important and your captivating rhyme and reason took centre stage - I learned so much from you.

You will be as sad as I am when I admit that I have not penned a single verse since I was in high school. University, or at least what I am studying there, has drawn my creativity to the back-burner, with only the flickering embers of inspiration coming to me now and again. I have tried, do not get me wrong, but the words just do not come.

I am not Irish and my experience of the Troubles is based on what I see happening in your country today, rather than what happened at the time - I was also not brought up in the countryside. In short, our stories are so very far apart that is begs the question as to how your words have resonated with me so much. It might have been the way that they were taught to me or the way that they were discussed with me. It might have been the way that I was given your poetry to devour, to take home, to make my own. It might just be that your work came to me at the right time in my life. I cannot put my finger on it but maybe that is the beauty of our time together.

In the five or so years since I started writing this blog - around about the same time that I started looking at your poetry - your words have provided the sub-heading for what writing means to me. This blog, and the one before it, represents 'my place of clear water' - if you had not told me that I never would have known. Some of your words have stuck with me  over the years without me ever having to go back and look at them. I believe that this is the final verse of Personal Helicon:

Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,

to stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring

is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme 

to see myself, to set the darkness echoing.

In those four lines you capture the coming-of-age story that I have been writing for myself since I was first introduced to you. I thank you for starting that story for me and may your words be with me and a million others for decades to come.

Yours sincerely,

Martin Smail

Anchoring with Music

We are all addicted to music. Find me one person who does not listen to music regularly and I'll find you a Scottish person who doesn't complain about the weather. It might be rap, pop, rock, house (what is that by the way?) or the backing music to a TV advert, but whatever it is we love it and can't get enough of it. It is little wonder, therefore, that music can play with our emotions and moods as much as it does. It's something that has been written about a lot, at least in the places that I look on the internet, but I've decided to blend the idea of emotive music with my (recently waning) interest in Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP). I have mentioned this in the past - have you not been reading!?

(Crime and) Punishment by Video

It's been a while since I last showed my face. When I first started ROATSomething, I said that my posts would be more diverse, both in content and form. Unfortunately my writing appears to have stagnated and all posts come in the written form as well. For today's post I decided to break the mould and go for a video blog with a little bit of humour and a little bit of something that isn't seem deep personal stuff. As the video is more than ten minutes long I'm going to stop typing, but I hope you enjoy what I have to say for myself.

The title to this post now explains itself because I know that must have felt like a bit of a punishment to some - ten minutes is a long time to listen to me. I'll try and be more concise in future. Thanks for watching!

Martin

A View of Myself Through the Looking Glass

"I am what I am, and what I am is what I have made myself". Those profound words were typed out over four years ago by the same fingers that write this post tonight. The phrase made a reappearance in a rather narcissistic (and poorly written) post over on the younger brother of this blog, Ramblings of a Teenager, in 2011. 

The line popped back into my head when I was watching House earlier today, when one of the characters said that 'we are who we are'. I then set out on a mission to find the place that I first wrote those words to find out the context and mindset that they were developed in. Safe to say I was not ready for what I found.

Slipping Back to Normal Again

So it's been over a week since I got back from Salzburg and I'm now at the point where I feel like I was never away. The only obvious thing that reminds me that only a short while ago I was there is that I'm yet to find a safe home for the certificate I received at the end of the summer school so it remains on my desk. Of course there are the many (many, many) photos that I can go and look at any time but otherwise things are back to what I would call 'normal'. However, it is this normality that I resolved to move away from when I got home - and I'm going to try and stick to that resolution.

Why Home Is Not Always Where the Heart Is

We're told that home is where the heart is. I used to think that was completely true as well, not even hesitating for a moment to think that it could be anywhere else. Today I found out that although one's home will always be in one's heart, the converse it not always completely true.

Shared Experiences: Salzburg and Beyond

In my last post I talked about 'shared experiences' but I didn't really get into detail on them. In this short post (which is being written on the train to Munich airport) I want to look at them in a little more detail, sharing what I believe they are and how powerful they can be. 

The End or Just the Beginning?

All good things come to an end. That is a phrase that is brought out as a way of trying to deal with (and explain) the sadness/disappointment that we feel when a good thing actually does come to an end. The thing is that is brought out far too often, to the extent that I'm not sure that a lot of people know what a 'good thing' is anymore. Thankfully I think I found out over the last couple of weeks.

Time to Reflect

Reflection is not easy. Then again, nothing worth doing is ever 'easy' in the strict sense. I then undertake the coming period of reflection with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. This post, which I set in the context of what has been an eye opening experience at a two week summer school in Salzburg, represents what should be the start of a series of posts about some important lessons I've learned this summer.

Re-Learning, Learning

So it's been a while since we were last here together. Asked whether you come here often, you would unfortunately have to answer 'no', holding back the tears all the while as we consider our time apart. Truth is that I've fallen out of love with a lot of things recently due to work and the passing of another year at university - sadly blogging was one of those things. We've been here before though so I'm not going to bore you - any more than I need to anyway. Today's post, which is being written from a rather wet Salzburg, it about learning or, more specifically, re-learning the easily forgotten art of learning.