‘In Budapest’ by Hazel Ettridge is Write Out Loud’s Poem of the Week. Hazel says that it was written in “a seedy hotel room” in the Hungarian capital, “having returned from an evening exploring this exciting and exotic city”. The poem talks of “the thrill / Of running down a street / Lit only by cafe glow”. It’s Budapest – but it could be many other places, too. On her Write Out Loud profile page Hazel says: "I write fragments and some of them feel true. Some of them are beautiful to me. All of them come from a place that I might call 'home'."

 

How long has poetry been an important part of your life and can you remember why it became so?

Poetry was a mystery to me as a child - I loved rhythm and rhyme, but the content was often too obscure for my little brain to appreciate. As I have grown old, I love poems that reflect the human condition with honesty, beauty and humour (many examples to be found on the Write Out Loud blog).

 

Can you remember the first poem that you wrote?

I wrote my first poem when my heart was broken for the first time. This was followed by many more poems of the “heartbreak” variety. Thank goodness I have moved on!

 

If you could only have one poet’s work to read which one would you choose?

My favourite poet at the moment is Mary Oliver. She has a relationship with nature that is so intimate - no romance or sentiment, no froth or frills - just absolutely real.

 

Do you perform your work and if so, what advice would you give to a other young poets just starting out?

I don’t perform my work. Joining Write Out Loud is my first venture into sharing my poems.

 

 What was the inspiration for this poem's title?

'In Budapest' was written in a seedy hotel room in Budapest. I was just trying to capture my feelings having returned from an evening exploring this exciting and exotic city.

 

What would your desert island luxury be?

A coffee maker - I could treat myself to caffeine shots while writing poems in the sand.

 

IN BUDAPEST

by Hazel Ettridge

 

Ah, the thrill

Of running down a street

Lit only by cafe glow

To see a dog 

Taking a pee

And bundles in doorways

That are sleeping men

Ah, the thrill

Of running down a street

Where students  smoke 

and taxis speed by

Or wait for fares

Where the smell of pancakes

And curry mixes

With the rubbish of the day

Ah, the thrill

Of running down a street

And yes, I admit to

Feeling a little afraid

Of men just standing and

Men just turning away

And dark alleys

Where muffled music plays

And sounds of life

Come in short gasps

Ah, the thrill

the thrill of running

Running down a street

In Budapest