The title of my first book 30 Love Poems is self-explanatory. I have committed myself to one universal theme, namely love.
I am aware that Pablo Neruda published a book called 20 Love Poems. The Camden Town branch of Waterstones reminded me of this just the other day. Why is Pablo Neruda more famous than I? Several possible reasons occur:
a) He was South American and presumably had Latin fire in his blood. I am English and therefore sexually repressed.
b) Neruda smoked a pipe. I have a penchant for Werther's Orginals boiled sweets.
c) Possibly. He was a better poet.
Yet, despite these self-damning comparisons, I remain buoyant. My reasoning: Neruda and myself have been in love at some point in history. Therefore, our material is essentially drawn from the same source.
Imagine a penniless Will Shakespeare. He took the journey down to London with only an ink quill to his name. I am already in London and I am blessed with smart phone technology.
I have another advantage over The Bard. That being, I have written well on Othello, Richard III and Coriolanus. Surely, this gives me an edge.
As for my love theme. I am certain that the best love poems are written by the hurt, pained and confused. Think of Yeats He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven or Keats' Bright Star. These poems talk of longing and unfulfilled passions. They make no mention of great sex-lives or marital bliss.
During the process of writing 30 Love Poems, I kept a journal running. That would be where the hidden detail resides: in prose. Sadly, however, it shall be thrown upon a bonfire moments before my death. Byron did much the same.
So, my first book is done and dusted. It is what it is. Now I am finding new themes and already writing my second book.
My father never was much of a poet. But occassionally he would slip a simile into the conversation.
'Daniel, woman are like busses.'
'Why is that Dad?'
'If you wait long enough, another one will come along.'
'Thanks. I only wish they'd stick to the timetable.'