Bilston - You Took the Last Bus Home: the Poems of Brian Bilston
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It was funded directly by readers through a new website: Unbound. Unbound is the creation of three writers. We started the company because we believed there had to be a better deal for both writers and readers. On the Unbound website, authors share the ideas for the books they want to write directly with readers. If enough of you support the book by pledging for it in advance, we produce a beautifully bound special subscribers edition and distribute a regular edition and e-book wherever books are sold, in shops and online. This new way of publishing is actually a very old idea (Samuel Johnson funded his dictionary this way).
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Just visit unbound.com, make your pledge and type lastbus in the promo code box when you check out. Thank you for your support, Dan, Justin and John Founders, Unbound
This is quite deliberate on my part. I do like a rhyme. But not all the time. Secondly, to demonstrate my poetic versatility, some of them do not rhyme . Those poems were harder to write as I had to select words from a much larger pool. It has been estimated that there are over one million words in the English language, and so hand-picking each word to go into a poem has proven to be something of a Herculean labour.
Thirdly, there is variation in length and width . Most of these poems have been shared in earlier, more primitive versions on social media, particularly Twitter. There are some which were written to be small enough to fit in a tweet. Other, more expansive efforts were photographed and posted up as pictures, grainy and indistinct like their author. Fourthly, many do not follow standard poetic forms and structures . This stems from a deeply held conviction that expression is more powerful when rules are abandoned and that poetry needs to free itself from the shackles of the literary convention.
That and the fact that I dont know what rules I am breaking. There are pieces in here which I am not even sure are poems in any academic sense, and you will discover words written inside Venn diagrams, organisational chart structures, Excel spreadsheets and the like. I wrote them simply because they were different to preconceived notions of what forms poetry should be found in, and they were fun to write. Fifthly, some of them may contain jokes . But not necessarily ones which are funny. I suppose that means I shall be disapprovingly exiled to the bleak, literary island commonly known as Light Verse with the expectation that I spend the rest of my writing career complaining about how I just want to be taken seriously .
Well, I dont. I want to be taken unseriously, at all times, even when perhaps especially when I am writing about serious things. Finally, many of these poems are about everyday places and situations : waiting for an online shopping delivery, going on a work awayday, staring at a mobile phone, taking the last bus home. They would often be partly composed while I was in the middle of these situations, either quickly thumbed into my phone or clumsily assembled in my head. I suppose these are not traditionally regarded as being the stuff of poetry. Brian Bilston,
March 2016
the last bus home
dont know how
you got it through the door youre always doing amazing stuff like the time
you caught that train
so it was not until today that I saw the vans begin
their slow rumble south startled into movement
by the early January frost which had gathered softly
upon their windscreens before waking them suddenly
as if from a night sweat. Brian Bilston,
March 2016
the last bus home
dont know how
you got it through the door youre always doing amazing stuff like the time
you caught that train
so it was not until today that I saw the vans begin
their slow rumble south startled into movement
by the early January frost which had gathered softly
upon their windscreens before waking them suddenly
as if from a night sweat.
I watch this strange procession
as it passes, a curious sight suggestive of fun and funerals
an ice-creamed cavalcade, a cornettoed cortge
of lollies and 99s, all pinks and whites
and Mr Whippy markings bound for North Africa.
Not all will make it. And, as they pass by,
I hear the wayward chimes of Greensleeves , O Sole Mio ,
Half a Pound of Treacle , for these are the songs
they sing to each other as they start their journey
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