I am sorry to have to say this, but for anyone unaware Mike sadly passed away in Decmber of 2009. He will be sorely missed by us all, Martin (Stepson)
It is, I suppose, inevitable that my upbringing has had a profound effect upon what I am, and in turn how my approach to art has developed.
My early years were spent in the Valleys of South Wales - a schizophrenic environment when the landscape of miners' terraced houses clinging to the hillside segues seamlessly into crags and fern-garnished mountainsides, vigorous brooks and secluded woodland. Musicality, lyricism and a love of spoken language are all part of my Welsh heritage and I think they are all discernable in my written works. My father was killed in WW2 and my widowed mother married a man from Manchester in the north-west of England. To say this development was a culture-shock to me is an understatement - I hated my new home, and my new family. Wales was - and remains - the place I call home, though we only visited there each summer holiday every year until my mid-teens.
Apart from those early years and visits, a further two years living semi-rough on the resort coast of North Wales, three years at College in Chester, and a single year working in the Fenlands of East Anglia, I have lived and worked in Manchester. The earthy and grounded tones in my work are directly attributable to my childhood and adolescence in the back streets of this soot-stained, grimy industrial city. My passion - and my life's work - for the education of children with special educational needs arose purely by accident: during the summer of one of those years on the North Wales Coast I worked at a Holiday Camp., and was asked, as a favour, to be 'Uncle' and look after the guests' children, arranging activities etc. The problems of one or two children who simply didn't fit in affected me deeply, and pointed me in the direction of my future career.
If asked what my influences are I could be ridiculously trite and say 'life' and given that I've lived more than sixty reasonably eventful years, there'd be more than a modicum of truth in that. However, in terms of literary influences, here goes: I've always been a voracious and woefully indiscriminate reader, although until I was in my late teens my reading was almost exclusively non-fiction. I was a typical back-street philistine late-fifties teenager interested in birds, booze and Buddy Holly - in that order. It wasn't until I reached my late teens that I began to read anything of interest, but when I did I devoured everything - Satre, Camus, Kerouac, Dostoyevsky, and Nietzsche. Poets included the beat poets Ferlinghetti et al, Blake, Gerard Manley Hopkins, Baudelaire, Rilke, Lorca, Cummings and a selection of contemporary British poets, Dylan Thomas, T S Elliott, Christopher Logue, Ted Hughes and [ironically] Sylvia Plath. Of these, I think only G M Hopkins and Dylan Thomas had any stylistic impact on my work, and then not deliberately.
Until the age of 18 art was of minor importance only - I wrote the odd poem purely as an elaborate 'chat-up line' - but my main academic interest lay in science. It was assumed that I'd go to University and end up in medical research. However, a chance friendship with an art specialist changed all that. After a few visits to pubs I discovered that I was moderately skilled in sketching likenesses: this led to portraits with pastels and then oil-painting. I was hooked. My friend sent a folio of my work to an art college and I was offered a place, much to my mother's dismay and disgust, because I'd also been offered places at Oxford and at Aberystwyth Universities to read sciences.
The upshot was that, after a catastrophic row, I turned down all the offers, left home and for two years drifted aimlessly in North Wales hardly earning enough to feed and house myself let alone afford to buy art materials. The experience with children in the holiday camp seemed like the answer to my problem - I could have a 'proper job' and still have time to make pictures and write. I made my peace with my mother, did a year's unqualified teaching to be sure I'd made the right choice, and as a compromise accepted a Teacher Training Course specialising in Art and in Human & Social Biology. At college, I exhibited and sold my first pictures and also had some poems published in college magazines.
For ten years I combined committed teaching with a moderately successful period of art production. Headship, however, requires a great deal more involvement, and the amount of spare time for painting and writing diminished year by year, until by my mid-forties I was totally wrapped up in my work to the exclusion of every other interest. My son's suicide changed all that. Art provided an essential outlet for the mental devastation of this tragedy, and for the trauma of a distinctly nightmarish final year of teaching leading to premature retirement. I don't exaggerate when I say that Art - pictures and writing - and the opportunity to 'publish' online saved my sanity.
There has been more than one defining moment in my life:
a. my sudden switch to art, leaving home, and the final choice of teaching as a career
b. my marriage and horrific divorce after 15 years
c. my son's tragic suicide [aged 29]Â - my promise to him led to online publishing
d. my premature early retirement after gross mismanagement by my employers
I'm married for the second time and have a stepson and stepdaughter, in addition to my own two daughters - and 8 grandchildren [to date!]
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Comments (22)
Chipka
This is a fantastic poem--or triplet! You capture each of the distinct moods perfectly and offer shards of...well...poetic truth. Fantastic work.
SusiQ
Sadness, nostalgic and a touch of resignation are the feelings I get when reading this trio. I had to read the last one out loud to enjoy the teasing with 'hold'... very enjoyable...
RodolfoCiminelli
Fantastic work very creative my friend.....!!!!
algra
Nice words, nice thoughts, but I'm afraid the barriers between my siblings and us (my wife and me) are too high, I lost believe nine years ago.
tallpindo
What about murder? Murder suspects have significant barriers to meeting classey ladies of their choice. Fortunately, war has left a few widows. They might not like all the lethal awareness but at least they understand the difference between love and homicide.
kansas
Three wonderful poems, but I like the first one best.
NekhbetSun
Lovely and touching poems, cariad.
dhanco
All three are so beautiful and touching, but the first touched me deeply. I'm currently in a situation much the same and I can so relate to the pain of what was and what is now. Thanks for sharing these, Mike.
auntietk
Ahhh. The third one. Sometimes it's tough to get past old wounds. Where is the balance between healthy caution and moving on?
beachzz
They all speak to me, touch me, know me; every single one. Are you reading my mind, listening to me talk? You have this way of knowing, of understanding that is so real, so true.
tizjezzme
You seem to be so in tune with human emotions and relationships..its such a gift you have. Then to put it in verse like you do, is a talent not many are capable of doing. Your words here I can relate to ... I hope you have a perfect day. xx
lil_t
Amazing words in all three!! Simply stated and so true!! Very expressive, Mike!!
helanker
So sad and so beautiful Poems all 3. I like the first and the last the most :)
leanndra
Mike, Each of these reaches deep feelings. The Age Gap :Spring Thing makes me think of a person who has distanced himself from love by a perception that he is too old and that it is his lot in life to be alone, (although this might be a misconception. He feels that he has lost his young love, because youth is lost to him. (One is only as old as they feel, since I believe old age lies within the mind). Distance: Perspectives is an indication of how the passage of time changes our perspectives, softens the emotional blow of events recalled through the veil of time. Past Secrets: Holding On makes me think of someone who is either in a relationship with someone, or wants to be in a relationsip with someone who is afraid to be in a relationship and is stating, do what you must to hold on, hold on to me, as I will hold on to you. (Just so you know, there are worse things than being alone!) :) Lea
amota99517
Your pros are fabulous and so very powerful in their range of thought and emotion. Excellent work.
Meisiekind
This touches deeply dear friend. Wonderful work. Hugs, Carin :)
hipps13
beautiful words, Mike a smile is seen sweet sunshine to you warm hug and love, Linda
AusPoet
Ah, such truths, never better expressed. Wonderful work on all three counts, Mike. All three of these speak to me, such eternal struggles. Thanks for sharing them with us. ~v
LovelyPoetess
Yes well, we mortal creatures do spend an inordinate amount of time either building up or trying to pull down these self imposed barriers. Makes one wonder what a barrier free existence would be like... Bravo on your trio, well written indeed. : )
elisheba
Brilliant and moving... you almost made me cry... I am so used to forget my romantic dreams that I can't even remember where Iburied them... And your first poetry makes me sad to think you feel old and forced to bury your dreams, never do that!!!!! You ain't old!!! But I totally understood your feelings and melancholy about aging, and I totally relate to those strange barreers we build out of fear of being rejected or disapointted, the higher the dream, the bigger the fear, the worst the bareer...the same ones who made me a nun...
romanceworks
It is hard to think and believe we deserve love when we are not as beautiful as we once were ... and yet this is when we need it most. And yet I know so many who have youth, beauty, and barriers. Very touching words. CC
amirapsp
Gorgeous work...WOW