The First Person

I contain multitudes

I heard Bob Dylan sing those words during one of the first covid lockdowns. I remember my wife and I were painting a mural on our (yet to be born) sons’ bedroom wall and the song came on the radio. Walt Whitman said it before him but I didn't know that then. It wasn't a new idea, it was a bit of a cliche, but whatever way Bob sang the words resonated with me. It makes sense to me that no one is themselves all the time, that there is no definitive version of yourself. This is what makes me skeptical of loud voices of conviction and, I think, is the reason I find I can hold contrasting, seemingly incompatible, opinions in harmony in my mind—a bit like a flame, it’s only when they are aired that the paradox shines. I suspect many artists experience this, which is why you should never pay too close attention to an artist with a steadfast adhereance to a particular belief.

Do I contradict myself?

I suppose the hope, my hope, is to own the contradiction, allow it to drive the work.

Abe said, ‘Man, you must be putting me on.’
God said, ‘No.’
Abe said, ‘What?’

I began my creative life in visual arts. I built a portfolio, applied to art college and was funnelled into visual communication which, to my initial dismay, I discovered was actually Graphic Design. Commercial art didn’t interest me, nevertheless, I embraced the course because it seemed there were fundamental principles that spanned creative practices and I assured myself I would be able to use these wherever I ended up. It was a four year 9 to 5 Bachelor in Design and sometimes felt more like an apprenticeship than a college course. It required commitment. I was taught by serious arts practitioners and learned what it was to pursue a creative life. Later, when I began to look at writing in earnest, I recalled those principles and applied them to creative writing with ease. The most important of these to my mind was (is) iteration. In other words, drafting. But there is also dedication, mastering tools, learning to be self-critical and wearing a thick skin to weather the criticisms of others.

Very well then I contradict myself.

I wasn’t interested enough to do design well. I worked enough to pay rent and barmen and spent much of my time writing and reading and soon published my first poem followed by my first story. I left design, I called it a retirement, hoping for new experiences / writing material. I moved to rural Alberta in Canada and took a job on a horse ranch but wasn’t tough enough to be a cowboy and found myself instead basking in the soft anonymity of life in Vancouver. I was writing every day. I wrote hundreds of thousands of words. I kept a fiction blog that only I read. I worked as a dishwasher, moved to London, worked in an events crew.

During a short period of unemployment around this time, I sent out a CV to prospective employers with only six words on it. It read:

Lobourer. Barman. Designer. Cowboy. Dishwasher. Writer.

It didn’t get me any jobs but maybe illustrates now my frame of mind then. At some point I spent four weeks alone in rural Sligo (where I had a prolonged and unpleasant encounter with a version of myself I don’t care to meet again), I worked in a gallery, I made comics and then worked with a plumber. One day I read an article about how a masters degree in creative writing could offer writers space to develop and on the back of it applied to the MA programme in the University of Limerick. Again I was taught by serious artists but this time they were novelists and poets and this time I felt recognised and welcomed. Validation was important. I needed someone outside of myself to tell me that the effort I had put in over the years was not in vain. In Limerick that is what I received as well as the space to learn and grow as a writer.

(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

After the MA I went back to design for a while (five years!). I met the love of my life. I became a father. Now I write, I teach poetry classes in my local community and my wife and I look after our children together. One of my classes is called A Re-introduction to Reading Poetry. It’s for anyone with an interest in reading poetry but who may be unsure where to begin. I’ve found that many people are intimidated by poetry so in the class we read two poems each week and re-read them and the students come to realise that all poetry, however difficult a reputation it may have, is always accessible on some level through repetition. Repetition in reading is necessary to navigatethe space around the words and absorb what the words do not say. The same is true for writing. Repetition and iteration, these are the corner-stones of my practice. The cement is the urge to keep going. I haven’t mentioned inspiration. Well, I believe inspiration is provided by the many versions contained within us. The multitudes. The contradictions. The public and the private. Natural and nurtured. First person and third person