As a poet friend once said to me, it’s always lovely when a poem finds a home. It’s true – it gives you permission to stop worrying about them, messing with them and trying to make them something they’re not. And if they really luck out then they land up somewhere de-LUXE. Like The Rialto.
The thin-looking SAE on the mat wasn’t promising. As I ripped it open I was already saying to myself ‘OK where shall I send these next?’ But lo, only two of the three poems fell out. Michael Mackmin wants one for issue 78. Joyous! Thank you thank you! It’s always worth the 6 month wait when The Rialto gives you a yay.
What do you think about setting poetry to music? (As opposed to writing song lyrics, I suppose). Personally I rather baulk at the thought of something I’d written being given a tune. I worry that adding music doesn’t just create another layer to complement the words, but it has the capacity to alter them permanently, like putting a painting in a particular frame, it can get in the way of the personal response of the viewer/listener/reader.
Nevertheless in the hands of a skilful composer you could say music takes the words to another, higher level. I can think of a couple of choral pieces where the combination is glorious – The Lamb, John Tavener’s setting of William Blake’s poem for starters, and Stanford’s The Blue Bird, words by Mary Coleridge.
Yesterday I was in an all-day rehearsal with our choir, the Lewes Singers. We’re singing the services at Westminster Abbey next weekend. (Do come and hear us if you’re in London – all the times and details of what’s we’re singing are here.) I confess I’m not a church-goer, but Evensong is the most wonderful invention of the Anglican church. If you’ve never been to an Evensong in a British cathedral, please go some time if you can. It’s short, it follows the exact same format it has done for centuries, and there’s very little for the congregation to do but listen. History, tradition, beautiful music – a meditative experience.
One of my favourite parts of the service is the chanting of the Psalms. For a singer, psalms are one of the hardest things to get the hang of. You have to fit the words to the notes of the chant, observe the pauses and move to the next note precisely at the same time as one another. It’s intense and you can’t let your concentration slip. And the words of the Psalms are unpredictable – full of the earthy violence and passions of the Old Testament, sometimes very funny, always vivid. Sadly, it’s too easy for the psalms to sound rough around the edges, and there are some very boring chants. But done well, they are the most powerful thing you’ll ever encounter in a CofE service.
Thankfully in the Lewes Singers we have Nick (my husband, and the conductor) to write us our own chants. Lucky us! OK so I’m showing off a bit here. But listen to this and tell me it’s not exciting.
How exciting to have a copy of The Frogmore Papers hand-delivered through my door the other day – handy that the publisher lives in the same town as me! (There’s a little poem of mine in it, thank you Jeremy Page for taking it.) Very nice cover art by the way.
On the (somewhat) negative side, a rejection slip from Poetry Review, but with a hand written note from Maurice Riordan to say ‘much that I liked in them’ – just a few crumbs of encouragement, but very welcome to a poet currently starved of acceptances. However, I’m feeling pretty chilled about the whole acceptance/rejection game after having just read Maitreyabandhu’s 13 Ways of Making Poetry a Spiritual Practice, which appeared originally in Magma but was forwarded to me by poet friend Charlotte. Recommended reading if you haven’t already seen it.
Thought it was about time I shared a few more blogs, one I’ve been following for a while and two that have come to my attention just recently.
Clare Pollard’s blog
I’ve particularly been enjoying Clare Pollard‘s ‘poetic journeys’ – most recently through Kent, from Broadstairs and Margate to Canterbury and one of my favourite places, Dungeness. The journeys are part-travelogue and part-personal pilgrimage, illustrated with poetry extracts. Clare also blogs about everything from gardens and lullabies to writing children’s fiction, her own poetry and that of others, and her day to day life as a working poet. A rich and interesting read.
Surroundings – Rob Mackenzie’s blog
Rob Mackenzie isn’t a prolific blogger, but he always seems to put an effort into his posts – so I guess he comes under the ‘I’ll only blog when I’ve got something interesting to say’ category of blogger. Quality not quantity. There are some neat posts here – Rob’s musing on the nature of celebrity, the music of David Bowie and the real truth about what a poem in the Guardian gets you. And check out the sidebar – his blogroll is phenomenal, and there are masses of links to poetry magazines & webzines, poets’ blogs and resources, as well as to his own poetry publications, articles and reviews. This must have taken a lot longer to compile than a few blog posts. Respect.
Very like a whale – Nic Sebastian’s blog
I think I have Rob Mackenzie to thank for pointing me in the direction of Very Like a Whale.
Although the most recent posted is dated May 2013, don’t let that put you off. I was very excited to find this blog – not least of all because of Nic’s interest in nanopress publishing (“aka alternative poetry publication, with gravitas”) something I’d not come across before. See this post about what it is, and Nic’s interviews with three nanopress publishers.
And that’s not all, Nic has written a ‘ten questions’ series in which he poses key questions to people in the poetry biz. I have only read a couple of the interviews in the ‘Ten questions for poetry editors’ series, and there are about a dozen more to feast on. I am glutton for this stuff – good thing it has no calories. I dare you not to enjoy it.
Two rejections this week – firstly, a ruthlessly perky email from Mslexia regarding their poetry comp (subject line “Better luck next time!”) – I suppose it’s good to be told you haven’t won anything, rather than not hearing anything, which is the norm. Nevertheless it felt a bit like failing to hook a plastic duck at a fairground sideshow – sorry love! – and the consequent tearing up of the losing raffle ticket. Ah well. At least the subject line wasn’t ALL IN CAPS.
Then I got a rejection from Magma, who I’ve found are generally very good at quick turnarounds of submissions, so all credit to them. This one seemed to be an individual rather than a standard reply, since the editors explained that while my use of ‘sound language’ fulfilled the brief better than most of the entries they had so far received, they hadn’t felt the three stanzas related sufficiently to one another to justify the subtitle I’d given it (‘Three voice canon’). I sent a off a quick ‘no problem! thanks anyway!’ chippy kind of reply, then woke up during the night wondering why on earth I hadn’t at least explained that the ‘canon’ referred to the reciting of the poem by three people almost simultaneously, the stanza breaks being the places where the next voice starts.
Should I have explained this in a footnote? Personally I don’t care for footnotes or complex explanations. But this is the first thing I’ve written intentionally for performance. So, yes, you guessed it, I sent another email saying just that – ‘since you took the trouble to offer feedback, I wanted to just say . . .’ – which probably came over as passive-aggressive but it wasn’t intended that way. I hope I was brief, calm and polite. I realise if there was an alternative reading of the piece then the fault is entirely mine, and I probably should have left it there. I’ve never engaged in correspondence over a rejection before, and in the deafening silence that greeted my email I had a sinking feeling that I had behaved badly. What do you think? Have I blotted my copybook? Clearly my ‘canon’ isn’t a page poem – so maybe I’ll publish it here on my blog and save it for performance only (I need 2 co-performers though!)
My week has been dominated mainly by very sad news of a poet friend, the kind of news that stops you in your tracks and makes you think just how inconsequential in the scheme of things it is to be blogging about the microworld of poetry or the ups and downs of competition entries and magazine submissions. And I remember the words of a neighbour and friend who died last year aged just 52, ‘in the end, all that’s left is love.’
It was a great pleasure to read at the Swindon Shuffle event on Thursday. Our co-host was the lovely Hilda Sheehan of Blue Gate Poets. As well as being a fine poet and prolific writer, Hilda is clearly a major driving force for poetry good in Swindon, and I’m hoping to be able to reciprocate sometime soon and invite her down to Lewes for a reading.
I took with me both my husband and my brother- & sister-in-law who told me they’d never been to a poetry reading before, which made me a tad nervous. I needn’t have been though – the mix of poetry and music, together with several breaks, meant it was perfect for poetry ‘virgins’.
In the first half we heard talented local up-and-coming Jadine Eagle followed by the experienced and widely published Anna-May Laugher from Reading, and an acoustic set from auralcandy which went down particularly well. Stephen Payne and I read after the break (great to hear his set – Stephen was picked by Smith’s Knoll for mentoring and publication, so clearly a fine poet) and the evening finished with a two-piece called Wave Dance, playing what my sister-in-law confidently knew to be surfer hippy music (from her cheesecloth and VW Campervan days) which I really enjoyed, especially the fascinating array of percussion instruments, ranging from a hotel desk bell to vintage Fairy Liquid bottles filled with rice.
Top: Robin, Hilda Sheehan, Jadine Eagle. Bottom: Anna May Laugher, Stephen Payne, The Core
I think the four poets each offered something quite different, and mixing it up with music was really fun. Plus, my non-poet guests said they’d had a great time and hadn’t been scared off by anything too hardcore, so that was gratifying. A success all round!
My only reservation about the evening was there not being any alcohol available (The Core is a juice bar) – even though the atmosphere was chilled, people were very friendly and the juices got good reviews. Personally I don’t drink before I read (could’ve killed for a glass of Chardonnay afterwards though), but I appreciate an audience that’s, shall we say, a little loosened up – perhaps that’s churlish of me? Sadly I missed the post-event drink in the pub, as we had to get back to Newbury, but next time hopefully!
Forthcoming readings in the pipeline: September at the Crypt in Seaford as part of the annual Seaford Live festival, and October in Tunbridge Wells (possibly the 24th – to be confirmed).
On the train to the Poetry Review launch the other week I looked through the magazine to remind myself of the poems which I’d enjoyed on first reading, or that I remembered (not always the same thing of course).
Consequently I found myself re-reading Claire Crowther, Sam Willetts and Jean Sprackland, checking their biographies in the back (why are these always so compelling? Or is it just me that finds them so? I know some mags are firmly of the ‘no biogs’ camp and it always makes me feel a bit cheated as I love to know a bit about the writers).
One of the evening’s readers at Keats House was in fact Sam Willetts, who read all three of his PR poems, two short and one long. I’ll own up now to a rather skittish habit I have of reading short poems before long ones. Superficial? In need of instant gratification? Miniscule attention span? I don’t know. But ‘Stone’ and ‘The Bemusement Arcade’ hooked me in enough to make me want to read the longer ‘Caravaggio’. It’s one of those poems you start reading and think that any minute you’re going to stop, but you keep reading. Like watching something horrific on TV, looking away, but not actually changing channel. It’s the story of an incident that took place when the writer was twelve. Not a pleasant story – you almost want to wash your hands after reading it – and yet it reeks of so much ‘impossible truth’, both for the boy at the time and later as an adult ‘Why will all this leave me so angry? What will I have lost?’
After the reading I bought a copy of Willetts’ collection ‘New Light for the Old Dark’ (Cape) which was shortlisted for the T S Eliot Prize in 2010. So I’ve obviously come a little late to the party on this one. But there’s so much I really love about these poems: lively language that almost winks at you, cinematic effects (I mean that in a good way!), a strong sense of place and the ability to switch calmly to interior moments of great intensity.
Loved this:
Near night’s end on Dover Docks
the Channel meets the wall in white high fives (‘Home’)
And in ‘Trick’ , the ‘unexceptional mystery’ of the death of a parent is told with a mixture of detatchedness and tenderness, a sad litany of un-things (‘Dad’s untoothed mouth gawps’) and
His new state exposes the stark child of him
and un-sons me.
There’s a beautiful delicacy about so much of this writing. Even the triolet form is brought to bear with great effect on the tale of an apparent suicide:
She thought that she might breathe the river
breathe the river and never rise (‘Thames Triolet’)
Loved this too:
One police car slides by, and another
slow and self-announcing as a pair of swans.
(‘On Hanway Street with Persian Ali’)
Sorry this isn’t a proper review, just a snapshot. Perhaps I need to go on a ‘how to write a review’ course.
Last week I met up with poet friend Lynne to go to the Poetry Review launch at Keats House museum in Hampstead. I admit I’d not visited Keats House before (although I’ve been to the one in Rome), and I don’t think I’ve ever been to that part of Hampstead either. I grew up in South London and north of the river was (and still is in a way) a foreign country.
As soon as you get off the train at Hampstead Heath it feels like you’re in a rather well-heeled and gorgeous place. Must be something to do with the street name plates being white-on-black, like in Oxford.
Wouldn’t you want to live here?
Keats House apparently used to be two dwellings made to look from the outside like one. Young John was separated from Fanny Brawne merely by a load-bearing wall.
The Poetry Review Launch was a warm affair and very sociable, Lynne and I even got snapped by the paparazzi.
I met some lovely people, including Shanta Acharya, London poet Tessa Lang and recent Pighog Pamphlet winner Kate White, but didn’t really do any schmoozing. I almost introduced myself to Maurice Riordan, but then what would I have said to him? I actually don’t have a great track record of this sort of thing. Plus I’d had two three glasses of wine by this point and we all know what happens when things get a bit lairy.
Highlight of the evening for me was hearing Sam Willetts read – more about him in a later blog post.
Anyway, I was so delighted with the place I persuaded my husband that we had to have a day out to Hampstead and Highgate the very next week. As luck would have it, we chose Tuesday and it POURED with rain. Here I am slightly less happy, in Highgate Cemetery.
I’m feeling a bit how he looks.
We took the guided tour of Highgate Cemetery West and learned about the Victorian fashion for draped vases, sleeping angels, Egyptian themed monuments and body snatching. There are 53,000 graves, mostly falling down as the undergrowth slowly reclaims it all. In the drizzle I can only liken it to being in a jungle, or perhaps Angkor Wat – but colder and quieter.
People are still being buried at Highgate, but not as many as in its heyday (thirty a day wasn’t uncommon apparently.) One of its newest residents is Alexander Litvinenko, whose grave we were asked not to photograph.
I’d like to go back to the Cemetery on a drier day. Not sure if anyone offers writing workshops there but it fired up all sorts of weird ideas in me.
We decided not to walk up onto Hampstead Heath – another time! – but at least we visited Keats House properly and ended up playing Scrabble and drying off at The Wells (fab food by the way.)
Last but not least – did you know Hampstead has its very own Flatiron Building?
… for Criccieth. I’m all set for the residential course at Ty Newydd in October with Carol Ann Duffy and Gillian Clarke. So it now feels like I’m actually going. I’m reading CAD’s ‘Rapture’ and GC’s ‘Recipe for Water’ at the moment and feeling buoyed up at the statement on the Ty Newydd course description saying “there will be ample time devoted to one-to-one tutorials” – whoa. I think Arvon only offer one short tutorial during the week. So that sounds very promising. Meanwhile I’ve been looking up all the other participants and there are some very experienced poets, so I’m looking forward to a challenging and fruitful week.
On the subject of courses, I’m very grateful to Josephine Corcoran for flagging this up on Facebook – a free online course from the University of Pennsylvania on American poetry which is just what I need. I’ve signed up for it, although not sure I’ll have the time to do the written work – but even just to watch the video discussions and learn in a passive way I think will be great.
