I went down to the Byre to see what it was at,
I stole some wine from StAnza and I went back to my flat.

I recall repeatedly muttering something like this imperfect couplet after a gatecrashing incident in my fourth year when with my characteristic arrogance I wandered into a StAnza reception almost entirely for the free wine and got annoyed by Douglas Dunn and Robert Crawford waxing lyrical over the word “gallus” – a perfectly good word I felt they were using against me as some sort of poetic shibboleth because at that time I didn’t know what it meant and couldn’t infer a definition from anything they said. I was a sensitive little soul.

Growing older (I recently had to explain to a sixteen year old colleague what a “fax” machine was) I have realised that although I have read and written extensively within the university system, my unwillingness to play with the other children has resulted in me missing out, for by connecting to these sorts of events I can gain knowledge and practice my skill. Had I simply asked someone the meaning of the word and stuck around a little longer I might have learned not only that but a few other words which could have gone into a far better poem than the overly contrived mantra I composed instead. Still, after an interview for a creative writing course which I spent heartily wishing I’d never meet my interviewers ever again (unlikely in the case of being accepted) I realise I still can’t or won’t play their game. Nothing to stop me eavesdropping though.

Which is why I’m back at StAnza, this time paying for tickets and not getting any free wine. I’ve just been to a lecture by Gillian Clarke who started slowly but became fascinating when she started talking about Cynghanedd. Admittedly I might have mentally grafted Panmellis on top of her to sustain interest. Not wishing to alienate any of my beloved readership with a shibboleth (ie word or phrase that is used by certain groups to show belonging and/or to the exclusion of others) I will explain further that Cynghanedd is a system in Welsh poetry by which consonants are repeated in order within the line. There are a great deal of different forms and rules which GC herself sees more as guidelines (to pirate a phrase) and there is of course a Wikipedia article on the subject:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cynghanedd

the accuracy of which, as a dyslexic non-linguist I most certainly cannot vouch for. GC (her rap name, I believe, although PanMelly would own her at slam) gave a few interesting examples in English, here’s one from Gerard Manley-Hopkins’ The Wreck of the Deutschland (his rapper name was “Notorious G.M.H”):

Of the Yore-flood, of the year’s fall
f – th – yr – fl(d) – f – th – yr(s) – fll

And there is a full essay on Cynghanedd in Hopkins from which I lifted (ahem, referenced) this simplest example which can be found here:

http://www5a.biglobe.ne.jp/~gegebo/welsh.htm

So as I am now old and wise I imagine I should try to use some of what I’ve learned in my own work. How about this:

I like coffee lacking caffeine
As I cant stomach lentils so I cut stimulants
– For too long we keep farting awake

Which just goes to show how what GC described as the “restrictive” nature of poetic structures can interfere with natural truth. Ahem.

More instalments at irregular intervals soon, later, or not at all.