WRITING AS THERAPY: LESSONS FROM A 21st CENTURY WAR POET
There’s long been a debate about whether having mental health issues helps or hinders the writing process. Some argue that it helps to have a touch of madness and sadness to write the deepest poetry and the most memorable love songs. Others flatly deny this, even to the extent of arguing that it’s impossible to be genuinely creative while you’re unhappy. They say we must wait until we’re stable and joyful before composing the finest songs. As Albert Einstein once said, "In my experience, the best creative work is never done when one is unhappy."
To help us with this hotly debated topic, let me introduce you to Karl Tearney. For 34 years, Karl was a helicopter pilot in the British Army. After seeing the most appalling atrocities in Bosnia, and being forbidden to intervene and help, Karl suffered with an acute form of PTSD. In 2017, having left the army, he started writing poetry. He has written a poem a day for the last 2 ½ years, more than Tennyson wrote in his entire lifetime! He is now regarded as a modern-day war poet. His first book of poetry Second Life is out soon.
I spoke with Karl recently and asked him about his writing.
Karl, when did you discover that you had a gift for writing poetry?
It was in 2017, just after I’d left a six-week course on Combat Stress. I had to leave early. I couldn’t handle it. I then spent a week at home, unable to leave the house. Then I just told myself I had to get out of the house, so I went for a walk. I saw this willow tree and climbed underneath its branches, which took some doing, and leaned against the trunk. As I sat there, I thought to myself, “I’m like this willow tree. All sad, forlorn and weepy on the outside. But I have a strong core, like this trunk, on the inside.” Then it just came to me, “I’ll write a poem about that.” And I did.
Willow, Willow, Willow Tree
We’re very similar
You and me
While others climb up to the sky
We stay quite low
And wonder why
We twist, we turn, we look so strong
But deep inside
There’s something wrong
We weep, we weep, we weep all day
We try so hard
To run away
But we’re both rooted to this land
And so I’ll stay
To hold your hand
Our arms outstretched and hanging low
We look so sad
Quite rightly so
But willow Tree I have your back
So we can stop
The lumberjack
Willow Tree, 2016,
©karltearney
What happened next?
I felt calmer, more connected to the world around me. The next day, I was in Tesco. These two kids were kicking off and screaming at their mum. All I could think of was the traumatic experiences I’d had in Bosnia, the terrible things I’d seen. I couldn’t believe that they were shouting about something so unimportant. I felt sick and had to leave the shop. I went outside and wrote a poem. Then I felt better. Like the previous day. Calmer. More connected. Grounded. So, I went back into Tesco, and I continued shopping. I’ve written a poem every day since.
This is the poem I wrote, entitled Tesco:
I stand in Silence
I stand in Fear
I cannot see
I cannot hear
I’m not in Battle
I’m not at War
I’m simply stood
On a shopping floor
The people rushing
From here to there
They cannot see me
And do not care
For I am different
For I’m part dead
You cannot see
What’s in my head
I wake, I shake
I wonder why
And now its coming
And now I cry
I simply popped in
For some bread
But something happened
Inside my head
So please you people
Do not stare
Just pass me by
Til I’m aware
I need my time
I need my space
I can’t be normal
I’ve lost that race
Now don’t be sorry
Its not your fear
I can be normal
But not in here
I guess its time
To shop online
My friends say try it
You’ll be fine
But that won’t help
It just delays
The need to conquer
And have good days
So off to Tesco
I must go
Please lets have quiet
I do hope so
Tesco, 2016
©karltearney
What forms of poetry do you prefer to write?
I met the actor Charles Dance recently and he said to me, “Karl, you need to have quality not just quantity. Try writing sonnets.” But I thought, “I know that’s not me.” I had a troubled childhood and left school with no exams in literature or language. I learned to write in the army where reports must be spelt correctly, and where the grammar must be just right. If you misspell words or write with poor grammar, it’s as if you’ve thrown away the Holy Grail. What this means is that I’m not a formally trained and technical poet, but I have learned how to write. My words just pour out of me. I almost feel that I’m a vessel for some other poet. I’m just recording it. That’s why I don’t like a set format. Sometimes I use four verses rhyming. Other times I might squash it all down to something minimalist. My poetry doesn’t have any formula. It’s normal, natural language, not formal. Recently, I was showing my poetry at an art exhibition. A bloke came up to me and said, “I don’t read poetry, but I’ve really enjoyed reading your stuff because it’s written for normal people, not for thespians or people with literature degrees.” I think I’m on the border of rap music and poetry. I call myself a gutter poet.
How do your poems come to you?
Something happens during the day that kickstarts my mind. It could be something I see. For example, I was driving, and I saw a railway bridge with an icicle hanging down underneath it and my brain went into overdrive. In a sense, I’m blessed because my PTSD gives me hyper-vigilance. I see everything, even in my peripheral vision. I was already alert as a soldier. I went through my military career analysing threat. But in addition to that, I have this hyper-vigilance which is a component and symptom of PTSD. It can be quite exhausting because it can lead to a sensory overload. But it makes the world more open. I see more. And I record that in my poems.
A lady at King’s College London has this theory that when you’re a child there are great areas of your brain that are empty, ready to store memories. The nugget of creativity you’re born with tells you that you can have free access to all these empty areas. However, when you get older, you need to give these all back so those spaces can be emptied and then filled with memories. When you suffer PTSD, large chunks of your brain become empty again. Your nugget of creativity goes Bing! “I can go over here and over there.” I believe my poems are the direct result of this greater awareness and alertness that comes from my PTSD.
How much of your output is war poetry?
About one third is based on my experiences in the army, and my memories and reflections of war. Sometimes these war poems are about wars and battles that I haven’t been involved with myself. I wrote a poem about D Day even though I wasn’t there. I could imagine how it felt because I had spent so much time with soldiers. I have written a colossal amount of WW1 poetry. I have no idea how my mind works when it comes to how it decides the content. I write war poems when my mind thinks I need to process that part of my life. These war poems not only help me. They help others who have traumatic memories.
I was on a beach and this guy came up to me and said, “You were in the army, weren’t you?” I said yes. He went on to say that he had been in Bosnia. I told him I had written a poem about my time in Bosnia. When he read the poem, he wept and I thought to myself, Oh no! “It’s fine!” he said. “These aren’t sad tears. They’re tears of happiness. I thought I was the only one who felt these feelings. Now I realise that I’m not alone. Thank you.”
Sometime ago I went to war
But not a war for me
Because my job to sit and watch
Report what I could see
Serbs, and Croats, Bosnians too
The things they did unkind
I struggled each and every day
It tore apart my mind
To see young children suffering
Was just too much for me
I see those children every day
They cry so vividly
To be at war but not at war
Tis the very worst of things
I hate that I was tied by law
To watch those sufferings
Now times a healer so they say
That's simply so untrue
Those memories are still so clear
I'm glad it wasn't you
Now when I joined up long ago
I didn't have a clue
I thought I would defend our land
Protect the things we do
Now when I hear a child scream
For want of better things
It tears my soul, and rips my gut
For the flashbacks that it brings
War not War, 2016
©karltearney
Finally, Karl, what can you tell us about your first book of poetry?
I’d been doing poetry readings and exhibiting my poems and people were asking me if I had a book. People were asking about if I had a book. That got me thinking. I looked online, doing a search for poetry and mental health. I found Fly on the Wall publishers who are interested in poetry and mental health. I sent some of my poems. I’d been led to believe it was a nightmare getting a contract, but they wrote back immediately. “We’d like to offer you a contract.” I told them I wanted hardback. They said they’d not done that before. But I insisted. And now Second Life is coming out next month (July 2019). The first section contains poems about mental health. The second poems about love. When I had PTSD, I couldn’t feel love. My love for everything went. I fell out with God, everything. The third and last section is called Moments. The Willow Tree poem is the last in the book because it’s a random moment. So, there’s a structure, and an order. I wanted it to be random, but my publishers wanted it in sections. Originally, they only wanted MH (mental health) poems, but I didn’t want to be known as the MH Poet. So, there’s variety.
Thank you very much Karl. You really have shown us that poetry is therapy. We wish you every success with the book, and our heartfelt good wishes as you manage your PTSD, write your poems, and bring hope to others through your words.
To hear Karl’s poem “100 Years” celebrating the centenary of the RAF, go to