You can buy Paul’s book here:
https://amzn.eu/d/bhA7GsL
Wombwell Rainbow Book Interview
it’s all come down to this: a retrospective (selected poems & writings [1999-2024])
Paul Robert Mullen
Q:1. How did you decide on the order of the poems in your book?
Because this is collecting poems from a vast expanse of time (25 years), I felt that the only way to organise them was chronologically. It was a massive undertaking initially to find, organise, reread and rediscover everything. Actually, it’s made me very conscious about how I do this moving forward with new work. I reckon I’ve managed to find 95% of what I wanted to find. Unfortunately some work has been lost. That’s just the way it is – I can’t let it get me down. I’ve had poems and stories published since the age of 16, and some of those magazines, e-zines, journals and anthologies are now defunct, and with others I’ve lost hard copies down the years. Things are so different these days with everything being digital – we forget how the world was operated by paper!
The order of these poems is by collection … from the very beginning with ‘Issues, Tissues & The Senseless Comic’ right through to brand new work that I felt needed to be included.
There are poems from all of my published collections:
curse this blue raincoat (2017)
testimony (2018)
35 (2018)
disintegration (2020)
Belisama (2021)
There is also an array of stuff from unpublished collections. It’s a career spanning document, I guess. I felt that presenting them chronologically would demonstrate my development as a writer, my moods and interests at those periods in time, the fluctuations with style, and some sort of journey defined by what I was doing with my work during a particular era, or chapter of my life.
Q:2. How do you think your poetry has changed over time?
I think I’ve learnt how to craft the line better. Narrative poetry, for me, is all about saying as much as possible with as little as possible. I think down the years I’ve learnt to edit better – the initial inspiration should be spilt on the page and then left for a while. Then it’s a case of revisiting what you’ve written and being pretty brutal with what is needed and what isn’t. Sometimes I can write a two page poem but realise I can actually say the same thing just as effectively with eight lines. I think I’ve gotten better at that, which has happened by process of pure practice and experience.
I also think my subject matter has changed over time. I’m an observational poet; I love to get out there in the thick of it and watch people. Observe what’s going on. Try to turn real life into cinematic snippets that work as poetry. That has meant that as I’ve got older and developed my skills as a poet I’ve started to move away from just introspection, and start to actually write about places and situations and people and everyday life.
I’ve read widely down the years too, and I think that informs your subconscious. It means you learn that not everything you write has to be directly linked to your emotions. I’m pretty certain that has made my work more diverse and, hopefully, more interesting.
Q:2.1. What do you mean by “cinematic snippets”?
Well, I think observational poetry is about capturing moments in time as well as feelings and emotions. I like to think of some of my work as movie scenes – just very short snippets of something that is really happening. This stems from an obsession with the present, and how people and situations are shaped by everything going on around us.
I love to sit in the shady corner of a pub or coffee house and observe what’s happening. The high flyer on business calls, the relationship break-up, the first date, the alcohol infused argument, the flirts doing the rounds, the loner in the shadows, the old widow waiting for death in the company of whiskey. Everyone has a story, and sometimes I like to borrow them – this is how real life becomes cinematic.
Q:2.1.1. Why do you have an “obsession with the present”?
I think most artists have an obsession with the present – the time that we are living in is all we’ve got. We can’t step back into the past, and we don’t know what’s to come in the future. What we are currently living inevitably impacts the art – or our art of the time, whether that be the political climate, fashion, music, technology, social trends … everything helps create the “cinema” of real life that I’ve spoken about previously. The present is reflected in everything we do and the way we think.
I’m really interested in “now” because, I guess, subconsciously I’m fascinated by change. I’m also keen to see how people actually live in the present. People are living very differently these days even to, say, ten years ago. You don’t see people reading books anymore. It’s unusual to see someone smoking. The pubs are empty in the daytime now. There is fear on the streets – terrorism, crime, poverty, uncertainty. The world has become a parody of itself, what with Trump and our own governmental debacle, living life through a phone screen, people making millions as “influencers”, etc. I don’t mean this to be a nihilistic commentary … more so that the world RIGHT NOW is super twisted and therefore super fascinating.
Q:2.1.1.1 How does this fascination with “change” include history?
History is irreplaceable, but it’s done. The good people amongst us try to learn from history and avoid making the same mistakes. There seems to be a mission these days to delete history, which I find troubling. Learning from history is paramount, not pretending it didn’t happen, or cancelling people because of things they did or said at a time that is no longer familiar to us. The world in which we live right now is proof that negative history does, unfortunately, repeat itself. I’m aware of history in all its forms, but I try not to dwell on it.
Change is inevitable. Change needs history otherwise there is no such thing … but I guess my fascination with change stems from possibility. Not all change is positive, but it provides something to write about. I object to some of the technological changes that have stolen from our social and moral compass, but it provides great content to write about. Where do you draw the line? Who knows. Just write about it instead!
Q:3. How important is nature in your poetry?
Nature is important to every artist in some way, shape or form. I think it’s on the conscience of most people actually if you think about nature in terms of the environment. Being out in nature can be very inspiring, and has often led to me writing poems. I’ve been very lucky too; I’ve seen all sorts of terrains and places throughout my travels. Spectacular mountains, lush beaches, rainforests that spark the senses, desert plains, magnificent rivers, cherry blossom in Japan, lush greenery and meadows, and sun-soaked paradise islands. I’ve been really lucky to travel so far and wide. Over 50 countries, in fact. They all conjure a reaction in some way, and provoke a creative response.
Nature is full of symbolism and metaphor too. The idea of purity, escape, spirituality, savagery … I could go on. Nature is beyond explanation and unlimited in terms of creative freedom. Whilst it’s probably not one of my primary motives for writing, it’s certainly an influential interest.
Q:4. The urban environment seems essential to your poetry, too?
Yes, for sure. I’m kind of obsessed with urban life. I love cities, and love to escape them too. It’s a bittersweet relationship. There’s something about a thriving city that really turns me on. The noise, the neon lights, the music, the excitement. I’ve been a barfly over the years too. It’s no secret that I love a drink. It’s where real life happens, and whilst there’s no substitute for the delights of a country pub, a rocking city bar or nightclub is a place that is full of fascination for me. Cities are pure filth and glory.
Cities are so different too … London, Liverpool, Belfast, Dublin, Berlin, Paris, Prague, New York, Beijing, Tokyo, Madrid, Jakarta, Manila. I mean, different planets really. They each have their own smells, sounds, faces, styles, architecture, vibe. The “urban” is very much an innate part of my thinking in both a positive and negative way.
Q:4.1. How important is the idea of the other, the alien to your writing?
I guess “the other” is a key theme in my writing. I’m not always writing from my own perspective – I love to write from the perspective of others, and not always savoury characters. My poems are littered with all the sorts of people that make an impression on an observational poet; down and outs, drunks, hopeless romantics, sociopaths, lovers and lunatics … that’s as well as the postman, the barmaid, the teacher, the mother and the dog. I think poetry works on a spectrum, if indeed your poems focus on people and characters. Aliens and outsiders are vital in validating your main characters and alter-egos. An Alien identifies where the compass belongs.
Q:5. What is the significance of the quote from Roxy Music’s “Dance Away” lyrics at the beginning of your book?
The lyrics from Roxy Music’s “Dance Away” are lyrics that really resonated with me as soon as I heard them. I think they are genius in many ways – not only a true testament to the songwriting of Bryan Ferry, but also a validation that words are extremely powerful when used with deep thought. Dylan and Leonard Cohen and Joni Mitchell were pioneers of this type of lyric, which are poetic at the core. Ferry definitely captured it here.
The notion that “loneliness is a crowded room” is oxymoronic; but it sums up how many of us feel a lot of the time. We could be in a class at school, at a party, in a bar, in an airport … places packed full of people, and yet, regardless, we still feel lonely. Lots of people doesn’t automatically result in acceptance or companionship. Also, this idea that the room is full of “open hearts, turned to stone, all together, all alone” is a brilliant play on words, and a fantastic exploration of the isolationist concept that Ferry is describing.
I used it because I loved it, essentially. It’s truly poetic and emphatic.
Q:6. Especially in poems towards the end of your book there are a lot of lists? What do you hope to achieve by using this form?
I like lists. They feel like momentos in a way that define a time or a place or a person. Lists can provide additional details that support or reinforce the narrative within a poem, or even give an insight into an author’s personality or state of mind. That’s certainly the case for me, especially when I’m revealing the types of musical artists I’m listening to, or films I’m watching, or books I’m reading, or places I’ve been. Lists help build an authentic profile of a writer, which can evoke emotions or feelings. It’s not a device that I’d be tempted to overuse, but it’s definitely a poetic device that has its place within my work.
Q:7. After they have read your book what do you hope the reader will leave with?
All I hope for from the reader after reading my book is a sense of fulfilment. Some sort of connection, or relatability, or appreciation for the words. I want them to feel like they’ve got something worthy in their hands – something that makes them smile, and think, and maybe even inspires them to write themselves.
But, also, saying that, these words belong to the reader now. It’s for them to deconstruct and wonder about now. I’m just so grateful to anyone who has taken a chance on my work and bought one. If my words connect and resonate with one soul, it’s all been worth it in the end. After everything is said, it’s all come down to this …
The Wombwell Rainbow 