The PK Featured Poet 19 Philip Johnson
"Bungled my way through, really. Images come from all directions. Have even woken in the middle of the night with them demanding to be set free from my head. I always keep pen and paper by the bedside for such times. Once the idea is out I can turn over and go back to sleep.. " - Philip Johnson
Philips's poetry is unique. He has developed a style of observation and form which demands a lot from his readers. You have to involve yourself in his poetry to really understand where it is comming from, and where that is is life, his work and his battle with Crohn's Disease. Each short poem is apparently part of a much bigger poem, confessional and autobiographical they provide a glimpse through a carrage window raising many more questions than they seek to answer. (Jim Bennett)
Featured Poet 19
Philip Johnson
Tell us something about yourself.
Born Davenham Hospital, Northwich, Cheshire 18th July 1960
Schools: Winnington Park Primary, Hartford Secondary, Mid
Cheshire College of FE.
Diagnosed with Crohn's Disease 1982.
Resection Op April 82.
After 23 years remission am presently undergoing treatment to a
recurrence of Crohn's which has rooted itself deeply into the
ring of stitch and scar tissue left by that resection for which
further surgery may be required.
Employed presently as a Care Assistant
Member of The Board of Directors at The Princess Royal Trust
Cheshire Carers
Centre - 10 years.
Co-opted to Northwich Town Council 1993
My knowledge of poetry really is little and neither can I claim
to be that well read.
Though, I always enjoyed reading the likes of Roger McGough
and Spike Millighan
and the funny limericks which turned up in comics I found poetry
a disinteresting
subject at school, couldn't engage with Shakespere or Chaucer
etc.
Too old fashioned. It was in the late 1980s, after a long
term of unemployment,
I went back to college where I was guided into poetry
by tutors: Jane Dunkerley and Tony Davies. For as long as I
can remember I
had been writing what I felt were song lyrics but Jane and Tony
showed me
how, with a little edit, what I really had was poetry. I
started to read
more. Found I liked Thomas Hardy, Philip Larkin, Sylvia
Plath and so many
others. Then, while fishing, I heard on my walkman radio a
BBC Radio 4
programme on poetry and politics and heard how words can be used
to sting
(The pen is mightier than the sword). From there on I
determined to try to
develop my works.
My mother always said I was an awkward beggar! I contracted
Crohn's Disease
at age 20. It meant 18 months off work while doctors played
around with
medicine to try and control the condition then finished up in
surgery when
they failed (that's because I'm one of the awkward beggar's meds
don't work
on). After resection surgery I enjoyed 23 years remission
until Christmas
2004 when CD recurred right back in the join where I was stitched
back
together. Have spent the whole of the last year in and out
of hospital on
and off work while the doctors play around with my medicines
trying to
control it but am not yet back in remission. Seems
whichever way I turn I
always end up on my (that's because I'm an awkward beggar).
How/when did you start writing?
I think I've been writing since I picked up a chalk and started
to scribble
on the wallpaper, doors, floor tiles - anywhere but on the
blackboard which
came with the chalk.
Was there anything that particularly influenced you?
Bungled my way through, really. Images come from all
directions. Have even
woken in the middle of the night with them demanding to be set
free from my
head. I always keep pen and paper by the bedside for such
times. Once the
idea is out I can turn over and go back to sleep.
I never took any exams prior to leaving school so I went back
into Open
Learning through my local college (I'm an awkward beggar) where I
went to
learn algebra and came out with GCSE English Language (?)
It was during Eng
Lang class I met 2 tutors, Jane Dunkerley and Tony Davies, who
guided my "words"
from what I thought were song lyrics into poetry.
Yes, its all the fault of Jane Dunkerly and Tony Davis.
Do you have any strong influences on your writing now?
I pick up from so many angles but its usually from the extremes I
am
inspired. The likes of by Roger McGough, John Hegley,
Spike Milligan,
Thomas Hardy, Sylvia Plath
How do you write? Do you have any particular method for
writing?
I try to join in with set topics but, by far, my best script
comes
spontaneously. It can be from
something I hear or see. Some might call me a day
dreamer. I've just got
to let it pour out of me or I won't be able to find any peace.
Do you make much use of the internet?
I simply do not know how I ever managed to live without the
internet.. When
I had to give up both work and my social life to care for my
father through
his dementia the web was my only outlet. Perhaps once we
all have video
conferencing the electronic writers group will exceed the live
group all
round
Why poetry?
I can't draw as well as I would like to be able to so I have to
portray
cartoon moments in words. I write. Always have
written. As long as I can
remember I have been scribbling down my thoughts. I wrote
what I thought
were song lyrics until the tutors mentioned in answer to Q3
helped me
condense my works toward poetry.
Is there anything else you would like to add?
That algebra I wanted to learn came about as a result of my doing
some
training on the electronics bench while unemployed. My
history of Crohn's
Disease tended to scare off potential employers. Government
cutbacks meant
I couldn't get a place on the course I'd been working towards
without the
ability to calculate using algebra. So, instead of becoming
an electrical
engineer, I transformed into poetry. Well, we all have to
be flexible these
days. And, that experience I picked up caring for dad,
helped me into my
present post as a Care Assistant which is perfect for me as it
allows me to
read my works to live groups 5 days out of 7.
POEMS
This was the week the medics and surgeons started to argue
over treatment and who could give me best outcome. A weird
week which started with medics telling me they could pull me
through then the surgeons claimed they should have me and then I
was told they were to discharge me. I felt the surgeons had
lost the initiative as my symptoms had been brought back under
control and my bloods were in order again so they were letting me
home in the knowledge I'd soon backslide.
Ward 15,
Leighton Hospital,
Crewe,
Cheshire 10 / 08 / 05
(Flutters and Grumbles)
have not made much sense of today
only yesterday they were talking surgery
tomorrow I'm wanted out,
discharged.
i watch from the window as an ambulance screams past
my belly flutters and grumbles
Self explanatory, really. But, its probably the best reason
for why I never achieved any qualifications from school.
Inability of teachers to inspire me or the trait of those with a
creative streak, who knows?
Often we don't know where Philip's head is
(teacher's comment on a school report)?
would be football
on the way home from school
a vision
maybe one day to pick up the "Jules Rimmet"
if not done for in the mean time
beaten almost daily
new shoes were always scuffed
and my ears always cauliflowered
result of a clout from ma
Why are my girlfriends always so distant - Josie in Lyon / London
then Georgie in Huddersfield (I use soap)?
Modern Relationships
modern relationships
you in your bed and me in mine
miles apart.
when did we last make love?
have we ever made love or is the love we make not really love at
all
but lust?
do we take each-other like dogs nowadays?
Re: news Ian Brady was fed up with his lot and wanted to be
allowed to starve himself to death
there is a new mischievous glint in his eye.
he has his pencils
and crayons
he uses to draw scenes
of children
in various stages of
dissection
lately
it seems to be the devil
takes his fancy
with one clenched fist
holding up the wailing head
of a female accomplice
the devil's head he has substituted
for his own
nights he roars with laughter
where he used to weep
mornings his cell has a stink
of putrid flesh
he is adamant he is going to change places
any day now
there is a new mischievous glint in his eye
half a smirk on his lips
calmly he whistles
a familiar tune of the sixties
Thinking about the question: Where do poems come from?
This writer's thing
tears and temper
torn paper
early to bed
stomping all the way
frustrated
the words won't come
at least not as envisaged
disappointed
"its all scribble and cross out, unoriginal,
lines of cliché - reads like prose, notes
not verse"
I picked up the scraps he discarded
and found a haiku I entered into a competition
something from within
words that out from conscience scream
pencil and paper
familiar
this writer's thing
how later
in the middle of the night I heard the
frantic pitta-patter of fingers on keyboard
come from junior's room
Asked to read for the children at my local primary school on
World Book Day. I really wanted to produce something
special for the occasion but, as hard as I tried for several days
beforehand, I could come up with nothing.
Disappointed On the eve of the event I'd resigned to
the prospect of having to read old material, and bursting for a
wee, I discarded my keyboard and made for the bathroom.
There, as I reached out to open the door, this little beauty came
out of the shadows to scuttle across and then down the
door. I could hear my father telling me to leave it alone
(a quick wee and I ran back to my pc to air dad's message, and a
twist of my own).
Spiders I just caught a spider dad says spiders are friends because they eat flies our house is full of them I love them so much to keep them in I pull off all their legs and put their bodies in a basin I like them especially when my sister mistakes them for peanuts |
I was at work when I heard a news report about police finding a
terrorist's den inside which a devastating chemical weapon could
be produced. And then I thought about the time at which the
den was raided and the time at which the news broke, and then of
the fear of the neighbours wondering if any of the chemical had
come into contact with them
News Report
shivers
frost if not snow
white over
britain
shivers
pale face
over ricin
concentrate
less than a grain of salt
assures death within 36 hours
minus 32
My Crohn's Disease having flared up I found a website support
group who, were having a get together and invited me to join
them. Couldn't actually go due to health and work
commitments. But, I thought about it and, as a single man,
I thought about the possibilities. Just too soon after
losing Georgina who, was also a Crohn's patient. The one
lead to the kind of naturally to the other into which I put
Caroline, actually a nurse who noted my lack of visitors when in
hospital (my best friend Georgie deceased November 04. My
Crohn's flared xmas week). Caroline provided a cake on my
birthday. How could I ever reveal the reason for my
loneliness?
note no. 93
(a) well
a coin thrown in
hope the chick at the bus stop
turns
our eyes meet
she smiles
a heavy old diesel engine
thunders
her lips were that close
(companion)
(b) Guess we're all between here
and there somewhere?
Air kisses with chick near bus stop by mock wishing well.
Never mind. My cursed luck produced note no. 93
On a platform at Crewe station spot girl from my arts class,
we seemed to spark over coffee
(think maybe)?
She said her name was Caroline and I called out to her on
approach.
Best not to dwell over missed opportunity
She watched as I tripped over my own shoe lace and stumbled
head long into a lamp stand.
Knocked myself out!