
I got to know poet and musician Dick Jones (who lives outside of London) through his blog,
Patteran Pages, and admired his thoughtful, elegant poems. I’ve always enjoyed his readings of poems (and was honored when he read one of mine for
Whale Sound).
I find his work to be extraordinarily sensitive and full of surprising details (because we carry who we are into our art!). He has a great voice, and I’m happy to share a couple of audio files of him reading his work with you here. I’m also very excited that Dick’s first collection of poems,
Ancient Lights, is now available (from
Phoenicia Publishing), and it is a beauty. Note: text of "In The Daubigny Chapel" appears after the interview.
Q: Many of your poems in Ancient Lights are concerned with time and memory. How do you use memory as a muse? When you revisit a memory in a poem, what does it feel like to you?
A: I never seek out memory consciously as some kind of goad to inspiration. I can only write in response to some jolt from without or within and long periods may pass between such events. Then a small linkage of words or a complete line will simply appear, often enough in the midst of a sequence of either focused or disconnected thinking. Many poems begin when I’m driving on my own. The pairing of concentrated attention behind the wheel and the freewheeling bundles of randomised thought-bursts stimulated by music that might be playing or by the passing scene seems to provide particularly fertile conditions for the start of a poem. It’s within this kind of creative context that memory might interpose itself at some point. So there’s no conscious attempt to site an emergent poem in some recollection of the past: if it’s going to happen it will simply happen. But when it does the greater likelihood is that a first draft of the poem will be completed swiftly and its emergence will carry with it an immediate and commanding emotional charge.