RAW 2525 – BOOK 2

Introduction

Embarking on 26-50 naturally led to some reflection on 1-25 and if I had remained true to my declared intent – that of simplifying poetry, not being reliant on complicated verse and obtuse references, and in general widening its appeal to the general public What surprised me most looking back, and having the first collection set in my mind, was how long some poems had been and had developed into the short story genre almost. This took me aback for I had never quite realised it at time of writing, but on reflection did not mind much for at least it showed some attempt at structure and progression had come about.

The other thing which had struck me was that how melancholy some of the poems had been – sad almost – and this would have disturbed me had I not in the editorial stage realised that no matter what the tristezza was, even tones of desperation at times, the message was often one of reflection, hope, inspiration, and love, and this notion, these moods, they coloured the cover of my book and gave some sense to the strap line to the title “still alive, live shall we – we shall live, still alive”.

And so to the second collection and a word on what we have here. I realised this time around that right from the start my poems had a sort of social commentary on persons and states of being – how people react to circumstances and how situations impinge on our lives for better or worse.

I have tried to be shorter and more to the point in some of the poems, not always succeeding I might add – this attempt at occasional brevity not through laziness or a wish to ‘get it over with’ but for effectiveness – a sharper more incisive telling of the tale if you wish and the progression compacted in a more evocative and telling way. I say this but as always the poet is not arbiter of his poetry for time can drag and productivity can be sluggish and at times dissipate but one learns to wait for the moment, to be more relaxed about ones art, perhaps keener in observation and generally standing back from situations as if to hold a microphone to the moment and see the commentary unravel. The great joy remains in the moment, the ‘in the zone’ moment of being alone and not being disturbed, and not being open to disturbance, and almost gushing as the meat of a poem grips to the skewer. The marvel of poetry has had a decisive impact on me –its life-force, its companionship, its ability to embrace sentiment and evoke grandeur, and I only hope that I have managed to get some of this emotion across to the reader – not in a depressing way but in a way which leads to the 4 tenets of these collections – reflection, hope, inspiration, love.


Foreword

What are these poems about? Discover the true nature of the author

Asked again to record Haig’s poetry, this his second book and suitably entitled RAW 2 (26-50) – the second in a project to embrace 100 of his poems in total -, I agreed without hesitation. The journey has faced me with the revelation of how casually we claim to “know” people. I often have claimed to know Haig fairly well. We have been in each other’s orbit for some decades now. How ignorant of me. I now realise it has been but a claim to “know” him. His poetry tells who he really is.

A poem can be so many things – a shallow entertainment, provide a laugh, a novel philosophical frame on some element of life, a phrase that defines an existential moment, “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”; it can be a protestation or a plea, “Tread softly because you tread on my dreams”, and it may speak in a voice we recognise as somewhat like our own. And that’s all well and good. There is a measure of all these elements in Haig’s work, although you would be severely pressed to discover any hint of shallowness.

No, no, no, in truth this is so much more than all the above combined; this is an exercise in intimacy. So much here is an invitation to know its author, an “into-me-see”. I have encountered so much of myself yet again. As such it is with relish that I have played and played again inside his word-craft, his appreciation of phenomena others might pass by without noticing, his placing of inner thoughts and impulses under the microscope of self-reflection, deep regrets, humble admissions, and despair that morphs into ‘mitigated’ optimism. Optimism earned by a journey embracing the darkness, the awakening light is achieved by full experience of loss and not by fleeing from it. And in this there is precious wisdom.

Through it all there is a rich vein of love – love as living impulse to live much more, love for others not always received as love, love as regret for love left in pursuit of love for life, love that passes, love for a rockface, a breast, red boxer shorts, a desk. We also meet his god, with an after-world, or indeed lack of such, that I honestly had not anticipated. A god not by any means foregrounded, but, for example, an assumption to be set aside in analysing what a waste death appears to be, and the interposing force of nature, perhaps nature being the only healing psychic for a world ailing from the destructive vicissitudes of mankind. Through his work I meet myself in Haig, and Haig in me.

Much has struck me about a Haig I have missed or merely glimpsed before, a Haig who defines his own literary tone, his own poetic meter, and his own personal rendition of life. So, that is enough of my words. I warmly invite you now to enter his conflicts, perspectives, insights and confusions, his mind and beyond into his very heart.

Whatever your preferences – to read his words silently in your mind, to read aloud, declaim them on a crowded train, sit alone mumbling them in a coffee shop corner, or to listen to my takes as an audio book – indulge Haig and you are certain to indulge yourself, and in so doing come home a little more to a person you might all too often casually claim ‘to know’; I don’t mean Haig himself, I mean home to yourself.

Mac Andrews

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