Jacob Davies sat down with journalist Joe Booth to discuss his new book of poetry ‘The Dream Must Die’, out in November. It was his most personal and in-depth interview to date.
Read their full, unedited conversation below.
What makes this collection stand out from your previous two?
I think ‘The Dream Must Die’ is a more complete collection. I wouldn’t say the previous two were rushed as such, but TDMD feels like it contains most of my best work. I have been performing ‘Hugs at the Station’ for nearly three years now. It’s as much a part of me as my right arm. There are no poems in ENIN or TTTNS like that.
How did your journey as a poet begin? Was it gradual or did something hit you?
I think it’s something that is fundamental within me. It sounds pretentious, but it’s true. Sometimes I wish something had hit me. There was no big revelation. I remember being 11 years old and writing about funeral bells. Nothing much has changed.
Which pieces of literature have had a significant influence on you?
The book and film ‘I’m thinking of ending things’ changed everything for me. It is more of me than anything I’ll ever be able to write. Everything about it is so perfect. It says so such about life, about me, about us.
I also remember reading ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ when I was 13. I went through it and gleefully highlighted all the lines that later inspired Morrissey or Smiths lyrics. I thought, at last… I am home.
Your work sometimes feels really familiar. Have you ever secretly written under a pseudonym?
I tried once but I kept remembering who I really am. It’s unfortunate and it’s a shame.
What triggers a new poem in you?
I have no idea. I feel so intense all of the time. It doesn’t switch off. I've tried therapy, meditation, alcohol… nothing changes. I don't get to 9pm and switch off for the day… the thoughts flow forever. Sometimes that forms a poem and other times I wonder if I should be sectioned.
Can you explain why this book has a Part A and a Part B. What is the significance of that?
I’ve always loved the ‘A-Side’ and ‘B-Side’ element of vinyl records, there’s something so distinct about it. It’s both a homage to that and also to allow more than one first and last poem. Order and structure are very important to me. Some poems are openers and some are encores. I think some poems are complimented next to others.
What is ‘the dream’ and why must ‘it die’?
The dream is many things. It’s ambition, it’s love, it’s idealism. The phrase on the face of it seems very negative, but... I see a great deal of hope within it. Nobody with suicidal ideation wants to hear ‘go and achieve your goals’ or ‘the sky’s the limit’. It’s completely the wrong kind of affirmation. I think the dream must die, and let’s live in the glory of the aftermath. I’m pathetically realistic. I have to be.
How much of the poems are fiction or how much of them are true to you?
Some of the stories the poems are built upon are obviously fictional stories, ‘Ernie at the Seaside’ being the example that comes to mind, but they are all vehicles of expressing very real emotions and things I feel. So, I suppose it’s all true to me. What would the point be otherwise?
How on earth can someone so young write ‘Ernie at the seaside’?
There’s no process to determine the subject matters of my poetry, I just write. ‘Ernie at the Seaside’ comes partly from personal experience and partly from speculation. I was Ernie once, and I’ll probably be him again. I remember writing Ernie and reading it back and thinking - where did that come from. I think it demonstrates the cyclical human experience better than any other poem I have written.
Which poem from the new collection holds the most emotional weight for you and why?
That’s a tough question because they all represent different things for me. I feel the weight of ‘A Stranger’ very often, even though it might not be the most well written poem. It’s oddly specific in its nature and it’s about loss and never being able to come to terms with it. Surely that's universal? I like the atmosphere of ‘When I get back from the funeral’ too. That’s a concept I’ve been trying to write for what feels like 50 years.
Can you share a specific line or two that you find most gratifying and impactful and tell us why?
I always can’t help but laugh at “Hand me a card, an emergency number to escape trouble / where after 7pm the calls cost double” from ‘Am I allowed to say?’ there’s something shockingly cynical and true there.
Other than that, there’s too many to mention. It’s like being asked to name your favourite song, anyone who can answer that question quickly doesn’t listen to enough music.
There are many ‘North of England’ references in the collection. Are they literal or metaphorical? Is your poetry inspired by events immediately around you or the wider world?
They are literal and entirely by accident. I don’t purposefully think I should write a line about Normanton bypass - it just happens because the work is a reflection of my life. I enjoy it because the work feels like mine. It would be strange for me to write a poem about the deep south.
Are any of the characters you talk about e.g. Shauna, real people?
Yes, although I almost never use the real names of people in my poems. That feels crass to me. Shauna is an interesting example as she is one of only two people I have written about using their real name. She does exist and she wanders the same earth as you and I. The poem is only loosely inspired by her though, ‘Dear Shauna’ is a plea for a unified Ireland through the metaphor of unrequited love and desperation. I have to play to my strengths, you see. I write poems about a lot of people I meet, but when you say that people give you funny looks.
The other real name used is Alysha, who is referenced in ‘New Year’s Eve’. She is a brilliant young poet who knows more about the world than I ever will.
All the name dropping seems to involve names of people we might recognise as over 50! What attracts you to the names you use in these poems?
I have no idea what you mean! That isn’t intentional. The names just come naturally. I suppose I re-name people what they ought to have been called. Audrey, from ‘Every Night is November’ is the perfect example.
I think I identify more with older people, generally speaking. I jumped from cradle to grave far too quickly.
You seem to write about loss, longing, missed opportunities and even unrequited love. Is that within you or something you observe in others?
Both. I see it everywhere. If you peel the outer layer from people, most are broken and very unhappy. I project my own sadness, and the sadness I see in others into my work. I would like to write from a different angle, but sadness is really all I see.
Life’s fragility is another theme. Is this your reflection on societies apparent arrogant belief in immortality?
Absolutely. I’m a terribly existential person. I carry around my own mortality everyday. I see the way other people act and surmise that they just can’t feel the same as I do, in that sense. People have read my work before and said that I am fascinated, or obsessed with death… I’m not sure I agree but I think we all need a reminder of death occasionally. It’s healthy.
You mention some relatively untypical, quite obscure, or forgotten historical figures in your work e.g. Goffman, Parker and Murray, where do these references come from?
A combination of different places. Goffman and Murray in ‘A Stranger’ are a symbol of the mundane experiences of everyday life at that time. I studied Goffman and Murray and their work didn’t say a great deal to me about my life, but in the context of the poem, to be back in that time with the people who were around me then – I’d revel in it. It’s strange who and what you end up missing. You discover things about yourself.
The mention of Dorothy Parker is slightly different, it was a nod to the poem ‘One Perfect Rose’ as an inspiration for ‘The Language of Flowers’ she’s got a distrustful poetic voice that I just love.
You seem to focus in on life’s small details to express wider, more universal points about life, is that a fair observation?
I think so, yes. I think when talking about larger subjects of existentialism and heartbreak and so forth, things can get lost in translation and become trite, but everyone knows how they feel when they look at the streetlights in winter. It’s the same thing, but far more commonplace. It’s a much more interesting analogy.
Your writing and word play seems to come from a bygone era, where does that poetic voice come from?
I have no idea. I don’t consciously write from a certain voice - I just write. If I had to guess, it would be the musical influences of my work. I’ll never have the wit of Morrissey, the characterisation of Stuart Murdoch or the cutting internal rhymes of Mark Morriss, but, my god, I’m going to try. (laughs)
‘England’ is a particular favourite of mine. You seem to express genuine love and yet derision, like you might for a partner, spouse or family member. The book feels very English. What’s your central message for the reader in this respect?
Thank you. It’s a poem I’m becoming increasingly wary of within the social context of 2024 England. I don’t want it to be seen as me lining up to join the riots. It is not a political poem, but when I have performed it live it has been perceived as such. It’s simply about appreciation of home. I find comfort very difficult to come by, but when I see an English motorway, an English pub or the places that mean the most to me, I feel a little less troubled. It’s what I imagine love feels like.
The killer last line in ‘Bring the Summer’ seemingly changes its whole focus and meaning. That’s so clever.
(laughs) Was that a question?
I think it’s one of the weaker poems in the collection, but I do still feel strongly about it. It’s a poem with more desperation than most would assume.
Could you tell me more about ‘Mother of the Accused’? It hits you like a brick right in the middle of the book and feels like a departure from your usual voice?
‘Mother of the Accused’ is, as you say, not written from my voice. It is the voice of a Canadian women. I don’t know where it came from or what it means in the slightest. I could never read it live as I wouldn’t do it justice. It would feel like a cover version. I am very particular about what I do and don't publish, but I had to find a place for this poem in TDMD. I had to. I think it belongs to a more abstract collection, but who knows if I'll ever get the chance to write one.
‘My Wedding Day’ is perhaps the driest, most cynical entry in the whole collection. And then we have ‘Engaged at Nineteen’. They are almost humorous in their distain. What’s your view on marriage or even long-term relationships? What makes you so cynical about this?
I’m naturally very cynical and very sceptical, and there are times in my life when I don’t understand whatsoever how or why people are in long term relationships. People isolate themselves whilst trying to feel less lonely. ‘Smiling Lovers’ is much the same idea. It only causes trouble and life is so much simpler on your own. This isn’t something new, ‘Vivian Goes Home’ from my first book is written with the same basic thoughts. The heart is fickle.
‘Engaged at Nineteen’ is about someone I knew a long time ago, it’s an outsider’s view looking in – and more importantly must be the only poem in history to reference a Travelodge Hotel Bar. If that doesn’t earn me the Booker Prize, I’m not sure what will.
In ‘There are Times’ you mention needing Jesus whereas the rest of the book offers strong suggestion of a godless world. Is your ‘Jesus’ a metaphor, or is it a cry of ultimate desperation?
It’s less about Jesus, and more a search for what he represents to religious people. It’s about looking for resolve and spirituality, even if by evil means. The following line is ‘to burn off my skin, to cleanse these sins’ – it can hardly be read as a declaration for my love of Christ.
The outro quote in the book is from the bible. Firstly, I am surprised you quote the bible given the text and the specific quote, to me, is all about seeking forgiveness and transformation. Can you explain, are you offering hope, are you guiding people towards religion?
(laughs) Neither, really. I chose that quote because it appears quietly on the radio during a scene in the film version of ‘I’m thinking of ending things’, and I always found it incredibly haunting, yet inviting. It also works with the scarlet colour scheme and the imagery I have for the book in my mind, and with themes of death. 'Sins like Scarlet' was one of many working titles for this collection. Eventually your blood will dry, and you will be untainted by your actions. I see it as an existential quote more than anything, and it has nothing to do with the bible.
I don’t write with any religion in mind, it really doesn’t interest me.
Your book seems riddled with contradiction? How do you explain your stance on almost anything?
I can’t. Contradiction is the only consistency. I love being alive and I want it to end. I see so much beauty and so much evil. It’s a miracle to find anything that I entirely like or dislike. That’s why I love writing, and why without poetry I would be nothing. It’s expression and identification without explanation or scrutiny. There’s nothing else in my life like it.
Tell me about your use of humour in this collection. Is it real or is it a foil regarding something deeper, perhaps a way of concealing something else?
Nothing at all is concealed. The humour in the collection is nothing other than humour. I do enjoy a bit of gallows’ humour and I think it’s worthy of its place within the themes of the collection. You need light sometimes to make the dark appear darker. Plus, it wouldn’t be a fair reflection of who I am to omit the more humorous poems. I do laugh occasionally.
‘If you were a Twin’ seems to talk about ultimate numbness and apathy in a radical way. Do I have that right?
You’re halfway there. It’s about strained relationships, and whether a fresh start could alter or remove that apathy entirely. It’s about the possibility of starting over but holding onto all you like about a person. It’s a conundrum I’ll never have to solve. It’s based on a dream I had.
Certain lines such as ‘when you try to forget/ all you can do is remember’ really pierce the skin. Lines like that feel like they should come from someone much older, or weary. Where do lines like that come from?
I may not be old, but I am certainly weary! That line specifically is inspired by something Morrissey said a few years ago. He was right. It seemed like a good way to end a poem called ‘New Year’s Eve’. Generally, though, I have no idea. It just comes from within me and sometimes it works, often it doesn’t.
You pick out Shane McGowan specifically and blatantly in one of your most literal offerings. Why did his death hit you in a way maybe others didn’t?
Yes. The death of Shane left me shattered. It hit me harder than I thought it would. I suppose it’s about what he represents. Traditional Irishness, that ‘no surrender’ attitude and his amazing music career. He didn’t care and yet his heart was huge. It was yet another reminder to me that we all die. Even the best of us. Even people like Shane will one day be no more. That turned into a desperation for his legacy to live on, and then into that poem. I was too upset to dress it with metaphors.
I have felt a similar way about a few people over the last few years, but my grief for Shane evolved into words.
‘Ode to Zopiclone’ really brings the emotions up. Without getting too personal, tell me about the message in that poem?
‘Ode to Zopiclone’ is one of my favourites, it's probably the best poem I will ever write. It is simply the story of the speaker of the poem taking the drug and fading away, and a presentation of the relief that brings. The final line of that poem means six-hundred different things. I am truly so proud of it.
And finally, why should someone read this collection? My take is that it might be to allow identification with the self, to feel awareness, maybe connection or to understand more of one’s authentic feelings, but, as the author, what is your take?
That’s a tough question for me to answer, as I am so emotionally invested in it. It could be my last ever collection or my third of one thousand. It represents here and now for me. I hope people can get something from it, even if they just identify with one or two of the poems. If people read the words and feel the same way I do, I want them to know what they feel is valid and not uncommon. We are all trying and we are all suffering and we aren’t all so different. It’s what I would want to hear.
Thank you, Jacob.
Pre-order 'The Dream Must Die' here.
Comments