*Cover Photo – Andrew McMillan, physical, Cape Poetry, 2015.
There is much emphasis on the so-called importance of deciphering the true, intended meaning of a poem in current discourse, and it hurts that we seem to be losing the pleasure of experiencing the elusive, ambiguous mystery of some poems. I’ve always remembered something Anthony Anaxagorou said in a workshop that has stuck with me, to paraphrase, you don’t have to understand something to enjoy it, but perhaps ‘understanding’ here refers to the looking for immediate, personal meaning that a poet injects into their piece.
And yes, of course there’s a joy and a deeper level of appreciation that can come from the analysis and critical reading of poetry, but poetry is simply a feeling. Poetry is a feeling and a moment in time. Just like we don’t always quite understand the mechanics of a moment of transcendence, a moment in which we experience something so indecipherably beautiful—it is not our initial reaction (at least, it isn’t mine) to analyse the moment in order to uncover its particular, minute details that made us feel a certain way. Sometimes we can just feel. That is to say, I found a particular pleasure in reading McMillan’s collection in a non-academic/non-critical fashion. As a literature student, as one’s study progresses, it can become increasingly difficult to switch off the critical eye when just reading for pleasure, and it can so easily become impossible to achieve the kind of reading during which one simply feels the effects of good literature without trying to clutch at the tangible, formal writerly techniques that constitute that feeling.
Andrew McMillan’s collection is now almost a decade old, and is still a prominent, much discussed debut in the contemporary poetry scene. McMillan focuses on the queer, masculine experience in a way that is refreshing and enlivening.
From my diary the day I read physical:
At 7:57, whilst waiting for coffee to brew, had five minutes standing outside the back door. I’m always struck, when I head back home—that is, to where I grew up—by the quietness of it all. There is a peculiar tranquillity to a densely populated housing estate. That is to say, despite the situation of our house, the surroundings are quiet, particularly in the morning. The treat of home is the birds. Birdsong is the singular most wonderful sound, and there are few things that put me more at ease. Where I live in York, though love it I do, very rarely can I hear the birds. Their music is sorely missed. The precise time noted, 7:57, I know because I took a short clip of the sky, just to record the sounds, if anything. The birds, of course, the two cockerels either way of our house. The sound of morning air. It does have a sound, a hum. There is a poetry to morning air that I miss in the city—the poetry is still there in the city, it’s just different. Beauty in difference. Alas, New Year’s Day morning…New Year’s Morning. Coffee brewed. The quiet of a childhood home. Coffee brewed. Spent time with Andrew McMillan’s debut collection, physical. There was one poem in particular, ‘The Men are Weeping in the Gym,’ that I believe I will keep returning to. There is a beautiful mystery to it. Although I have gleaned my own meaning from it, there is something McMillan is trying to tell me I feel. I’ll be open-armed for when that telling happens. There’s something on the tip of my tongue about the piece that I can’t seem to articulate. It haunts me in a beautiful way. More thought needed there. Will mull over that. Poems. 7:58 now. Year. Turn. And on—
Essentially, reading McMillan and submitting to the effects of his poems washing over me with little further thought was intensely rewarding, and ended up making me notice and write about more acute moments in the day. Just feel a little more.
– Oliver Lewis
This blog post is in collaboration with the 2025 Beyond the Walls Anthology. Submissions for the Anthology are now open and you can find the submission guidelines here on the Where Ideas Grow Blog. The Beyond the Walls team are also excited to announce that the first podcast episode which discusses a brief introduction to this year’s project is now available to stream on Spotify and can be found through the social links below! This year’s project is a great way to get your work seen as a professional writer, so please do submit your work to beyondthewallsysj@gmail.com before submissions close on Sunday the 16th March at 23:59 midnight GMT.