I innovated the podcast to make it about people communicating through sending one another voice notes and then editing those voice notes into a cohesive conversation with a variety of visual techniques for added stimulation.
The fourth episode is called Poets in the Knight.
Here is our cast:
Transcripts for certain sections included below:
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What’s the one thing in your writing you keep sneaking in—even though you’re afraid someone will finally notice it?
I guess I’m not afraid of anyone picking up on it, but my new thing is song lyrics. Or at least references, especially to songs that are important to me that I know absolutely no one reading a cutesy, flower and ponies poem will have ever of heard of, or be like oh yeah, that’s a reference to that one guys verse from a pirate radio set in like 2005, there isn’t much crossover in our audiences, but it’s really fun for me to throw them in there. I’m definitely afraid of people thinking I write flower and ponies poetry though.
When your narrator writes about being watched—by a postman, an ex, a reader—do they want to be seen, or do they want to control their gaze?Do your narrators want to be seen—or do they want to choreograph how they’re watched?
Yeah, I like this question! Because I think that both control, and the idea of being seen or watched are two of the more common themes in my poems, and I'm sure if this were a therapy session and not a podcast, we could really delve into why that is, but I'll keep us focused on the writing for now. And the short answer, is yes. The narrator, who definitely isn’t me, I think desperately wants to be seen, and beyond that, heard, accepted and loved. And if it ever feels otherwise, like they don’t want any of those things, and the naivety and frailness and desperation turns to a stoic, i don’t cared-ness, that’s usually me stepping in as the writer, dipping them in a hard, outer shell coating, and doing my best to protect them from the outside world. I feel deeply responsible for this person, I know and care for them more than anyone, which means I know that being seen or heard, accepted or loved just isn’t on the cards for them any time soon, so I'm conscious of what they’re exposed to and who’s allowed in.
Do you write like you’re bleeding out or like you’re in surgery? And what’s the recovery time look like?
It’s definitely closer to bleeding out, but I'd say it’s a bit of both if that makes any sense? Writing is hard for me, like, it’s tough. And this is the part where talking about writing can get a bit too bullshitty, too metaphorical, quite self-indulgent, so I hope I don't lose you all here. And perhaps it’s tough because i’m not a very good writer, it definitely could be that, but i mean emotionally tough ya know. And yeah i’m sure i could open up the thesaurus and just start jack hammering away at the keyboard like the rest of you guys (joke), but to get to something i’m proud of, something that feels like me, i must first sit in darkness and solitude for seven days and seven nights, then i’ll invite my 8 year old self over to bleed onto half of the page, then shed some tears on the other, i’ll let those congeal and mix and marinate for another seven days and seven nights, and then see what comes from it. And importantly, if anyone has already, or ever does read any of my poems, I hope that process NEVER comes across! If you’re left thinking wow this was just a simple, stream of consciousness notes app ramble with no fancy words or anything, i could have written that in 10 minutes, then to me, i’ve done my job. The last thing I'd want anyone to do is read a poem and think or care about the writer’s process or how well or terribly it was written. Once those words leave the page and enter your little brain, I'm no longer the writer, you are.
Your narrators write about shame like survivors—but also like people who keep going back for more. What does shame give them?
Again, shame is very much a big feeling throughout these poems, wow you must’ve really done your research huh? I’ll go back to the 8 year old thing because she… they are one of my favourite voices to write, that’s a kid who’s very much just happy to be there. There's a joy and a brightness that pours from the page whenever she speaks, despite, from the content at least, seems to have had a pretty depressing and heavy life? So mixing that and weaving between this kid, and someone closer to current day “me” who has survived all of that, who still holds a tremendous amount of guilt and feels just as vulnerable and alone, yet is trying and perhaps failing to heal and navigate and carry the responsibility of keeping them both safe, i think that’s when you get a feeling similar to that of shame.
If one person had to carry your poems in their body—silently, privately, forever—who would you choose? And why? No cop-out answers.
Well the fact that you’ve said no cop-out answers makes me really wanna give a cop-out answer but ok i’ll try, can i give more than one. Firstly, my grandma. The only reason there are deep rooted religious themes throughout pretty much all of my poems is because I know that’s the only way I'd get her to read them. I’m not religious at all. I mean She’d still hate them because of my foul mouth and all the debauchery, but I like to think that wherever she is, she’s reading at least a few lines and smiling. Secondly, Girl insides. THE GREATEST, most enigmatic, talent-ridden writer of our generation. Yeah, that’s my pick! if my poems could be in any body it’d be hers, right next to the erewhon smoothies and diet cocaine.
You write like someone who wants to be known—but only on your own terms. What happens when someone sees past the mask before you're ready? Any answer acceptable besides, you kill them.
I’m too cool for lots of things, but I'm never too cool to say that I wanna be known, of course I do, my writing would never leave my notepad if i didn’t. And the great thing about being a writer is that you aren’t confined to ONLY being the writer, you can be a character in the stories you tell as well. And that’s the goal, for people to know everything about me, feel what I feel and live alongside me in our own little world, yet know nothing at all about me, you know? I think the internet makes it very easy to and even rewards over sharing and giving your all to any and everyone, and for what? acceptance? An ego tally? I have nothing to hide but I don't log on to here or anywhere, as an extension of myself to invite the entire world into my life, I didn't sign up for that and it’s not the reason i write. I’ve worked so hard and continue to work on building ‘hopeonsundays’ the character, and i think, selfishly or not, that if you just let me conduct the ship over here then we’ll all have a good time. And with that being said, i love you all, anyone that wants to be best friends or know me on a ‘deeper’ level, you’re more than welcome, but as soon as you do, you lose all the mystique, charm and allure that comes with hopeonsundays, and i don’t think that’s worth it just to maybe know how my day was or what i ate for lunch.
If I’d known you your whole life, what would feel obvious in your poems—but instead slips past me now?
That i’m a real fucking sweetheart! And this is to everyone, I never get messages saying ‘hey i just read your poem, do you need a hug?’ It’s alway ‘this was hilarious’ or ‘i loved this, you’re a genius’ and although i agree, i’m not a robot with a pen in my hand guys, i’m a sensitive soul that really cares, and i know i just said that you shouldn’t know me at all, i’m just saying, if you did, you’d see my meanness and ice cold heart for what it truly is.
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