Reflections After A Poetry Reading

I went for a poetry reading two days ago (thurs) at Little Bali, a little hideaway in the Gilman area (former British barracks along Alexandra Road). There were of course the usual suspects -- local poets half decorated with literary prizes; valued not so much for their talent, but for actually even writing in the first place. Perhaps I'm too harsh, but it's really hard to see the artistic merits in some of their works.

There's a more admirable group -- the ones who, in the glint of their eyes, one can spy hopes, dreams of literary stardom -- i.e. the ones that still believe, still hope, still hanker for their place in the sun. Not brilliant in quality, but certainly worth a modicum of respect.

I was musing with HM on the way back -- that there's a palpable lack of criticism in the local literary scene. Not the sort of criticism where one writer slams another and socks the ego till it's bleeding. But the constructive sort; the kind that we'd work at in our practical criticism for our A level Lit. We practise our craft for two years on famous poets, but let ourselves down at the most important part of that "education" -- critiquing each other's writings.

So I am sufficiently piqued to start thinking about doing some of that. Not just poetry, or the "literary" arts, but in all areas of my life -- to have that critical mindset, to want to help others improve with constructive criticism. Self-reflection is tough -- but the tough words of a trusted friend is a sure way to fire us up the improvement trail.