It was a lovely evening at the Poetry Cafe last night – and a very high standard of readings I felt – there was music too: I don’t normally go for bits of singing inserted into poetry, but Tom Cunliffe gave a riveting performance including just that. It set the atmosphere alight.
It was nice to encounter again Katherine Gallagher who I met earlier in the month when we were both reading at the Lamb Festival. Katherine brought her own brand of anecdote and self-deprecating charm to the business of introducing the Palmers Green poets, while I struggled to haul myself out of a sofa in an elegant fashion each time I got up to introduce ours. Paul McGrane did a great job of organising the whole thing and adjusting the mic stand seemingly for every reader, we were all such different heights. In the Palmers Green camp I particularly enjoyed Joan Michelson‘s reading – I’d come across Joan’s name a lot but we hadn’t actually met before – and Judith Willetts.
Our Brighton Stanza poets were wonderful, of course – but then I would say that! Big thanks to Tom Cunliffe, Antony Mair, Peter Kenny, Ponnie Dudley and Marion Tracy for coming along and to our supporters on the night. And to Peter especially for paying for the cab that got us to Victoria in time for me to catch the 21.47 home, in time to join Nick in the pub after his students had performed their last concert of the year, a glass of wine and the balmy stroll home at midnight. Happy days.
It’s all been a bit hectic lately, but I thought I’d just check in with updates on a few things.
Readings – On Wednesday I’m at the Poetry Cafe with 5 other Brighton-ish based poets, talking on Palmers Green in a Stanza Bonanza. I’m wondering how little clothing I can get away with, given the typical ambience of the Poetry Cafe basement even in February (think Brazilian rainforest). From 7pm – come and support us if you dare!
Workshops – the amazing Hilda Sheehan has pulled off a right royal coup – she’s only been and got Don Share to come and give a workshop in Swindon in October – blimey! His fan club has got its antenna up and the Share-heads are already whooping it up on Facebook. I am so there – although of course I already have my autographed copy of Union – yeah, baby!
Found poem – Not strictly ‘found’ in that sense, but it recently came to my attention that a poem I sent to poetsonline.org has appeared on their website. It was in response to one of their periodic prompts, this one being Emily Dickinson’s first lines. Naturally I thought of ‘Poem beginning with a line by Emily Dickinson’, a little number I had written for the 2013 Brighton Stanza Anthology. So nice to see it given an online home.
Submissions – nowt happening on that front, alas, although I think I’ve written a couple of good poems this year. They’re either sat in someone’s slush/pending/unread pile, or underneath 5,736,204 competition entries somewhere, or stuck in the wrong box in a sorting office, never to surface until one day in 2196 when they might make it into a museum of curios. Who knows?
Um, no, I’m not referring to my previous post which generated a large amount of correspondence – although none of it in the comments, funnily enough! – mostly sympathetic. No indeed, but more an excuse to use one of my favourite lines from Shakespeare. The tenuous link is to the Vanguard Readings which take place at The Bear on Camberwell New Road (geddit??), and which I finally got to last night after many months of ticking the ‘Maybe’ box on the Facebook invitations.
My friend Lucy is that rare creature – a poetry supporter but not a poet. We once turned up casually late at the Betsey Trotwood, then caused a minor scene, so this time we were determined to get a seat and behave ourselves. As it happened we were the first in the room, something I seem to be making a habit of lately.
James Wood & David OgunmuyiwaMartin Malone & Joanna Walsh
It was a great night with plenty of variety and a fair bit of refreshingly non-toe-curling sex (in the poetry). I’ve never quite cracked the poetry sex thing – I think I have a fear of it either sliding into farce a la Frankie Howerd, or else someone coming across some steamy verse when I’m in my dotage and thinking eeeuw!you mean that old lady wrote this? As Lucy put it, it’s the tattoo thing. How will it look when you’re ninety? Hmm…anyway, I digress.
The monthly Vanguard Readings are run very efficiently by the charming and unflappable Richard Skinner and generally feature a mix of poetry and prose. The formula is six readers, three before the break, three after, each reader getting ten minutes or so. It’s free to attend and last night there were about 40 people in the audience, but judging from photos on the FB page it can sometimes be standing room only. No open mic, and even with the vagaries of Southern Rail and the notorious ‘black hole’ of no trains to Lewes between 9.47 and 10.47 I was home by midnight. Result!
I’m sure I’ll be there again in November to hear an all-poet line up, including the wonderful Josephine Corcoran reading from her forthcoming tall-lighthouse pamphlet. You can keep up with what’s on via the Vanguard Readings Facebook Page.
In the interests of giving the magazine an airing in different parts of the country, The Interpreter’s House editor Martin Malone came down to the south coast yesterday to launch issue number 56.
It was a very different event to the last one. Firstly, the Redroaster Coffee House is less intimate than the Albion Beatnik Bookstore in Oxford. The event was also by suggestion of Pighog Press, who run their regular events there. As a result, the evening felt a little bit shoe-horned into the Pighog format, with their usual entrance prices and a large number of open mic readers. With an hour of open-mic to fit in, we didn’t get enough of Martin Malone’s lovely compering skills, there was less time for the kind of relaxed banter we had at the Oxford event, and I didn’t come away with a strong feeling about The Interpreter’s House as a magazine. And as usual it went over time, which is tricky for the out-of-towners with trains and buses to catch.
All of this is a shame, as many of the contributors had come a long way to read – Robert Harper from Shrewsbury, for example. Robert is the Stanza rep in his area and also editor of Bare Fiction, a new magazine of poetry and prose. There were lots of friends in the audience and there were some very enjoyable readings. I always like to hear poet friend Charlotte Gann (LOVE her poem ‘Next Door’ in the magazine) – she doesn’t do many readings so catch her when you can. It was also great to meet (and hear read) Paul McGrane and Richard Skinner, both of whom I’ve had a fairly long internet acquaintance with but never actually met. Incidentally, although several of the open mic readers were excellent, a few could have done with reading these tips from Paul on open mic readings!)
It was brilliant to have The Interpreter’s House come here for a local launch and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves so maybe I’m a lone grump in the wilderness (go on, you can tell me!), but I do think the star of any magazine launch ideally needs to be the magazine and its featured contributors. After the Oxford launch, I had a much better idea about the ethos, history and personality of The Interpreter’s House, and was moved to subscribe. I hope last night’s attendees felt that way, because that would be a real result.
It rained. Part of the building had fallen off. The bar was heaving with Carphone Warehouse partygoers. But The Rialto launch last night was a small haven of poetry peace amidst the chaos.
Although I got there indecently early (I had the silly idea that it was starting at 6.30) Fiona Moore made me very welcome and I was soon joined by Sarah Rudston, Nancy Campbell and Davina (D A) Prince, all contributors to this issue. There was plenty of chat about publishing, Stanzas, workshopping and the like. Michael Mackmin arrived with a huge bag of magazines and pamphlets. We had readings from five poets including Fleur Adcock and Stephen Watts, and although I had to leave soon after the readings and speeches to get a 9pm train, the room was still full and animated.
Jennifer Wong & Michael Mackmin
I found it a really nice and non-intimidating event. As well as a launch (the first time The Rialto has had one in London) it was also a celebration of the Assistant Editor programme as Abigail Parry and Fiona Moore ended their ‘apprenticeship’ which they had clearly enjoyed. I was also thrilled to finally introduce myself to Michael Mackmin after my last aborted attempt!
I’ve talked before with poet friends about how The Rialto just seems to have a particular appeal in a way that other magazines, however brilliant, don’t quite have. Is it the production values – the size, spaciousness, paper, typefaces, beautiful covers? Is it the personable and down to earth editorials? The submissions guidelines that manage to be firm without being school-masterish or snitty? The twenty-pound note that falls from the envelope when you’ve had a poem accepted for publication? The poetry itself? What we usually agree on is that it’s Michael Mackmin’s personality and particular style that seem to be the key. The Assistant Editor programme has been interesting. I was slightly disappointed with issue 79, I can’t say for sure why but it felt like the range of poetry featured had narrowed. What I’ve read so far of issue 80 I’ve really enjoyed. Fresh eyes and fresh ideas are surely a good thing for any long-running project, but as long as Michael is still around it’s unlikely The Rialto will undergo any major overhaul. And would anyone want that anyway?
I picked up a copy of Paul Muldoon’s Horse Latitudes. Paul read at the Charleston Festival a couple of weeks ago and I regret not seeing him. He’s a poet I’ve not read so this was my ‘canon’ purchase. Then I spotted Josh Ekroy’s new collection, Ways to Build a Roadblock. His is a name I know well from magazines, so I was intrigued enough to buy a copy, much to the pleasure of the chap on the till. Later on at The Rialto event I was impressed by Michael Mackmin’s talking up of ‘A bad influence girl’, Janet Rogerson’s pamphlet, so that was my third purchase. So lots more lovely reading.
A small section of the poetry shelves at the London Review Bookshop – with Jenny Lewis’s Taking Mesopotamia getting pride of place
Submissions: ‘Send us some poems!’ said Fiona Moore as I left. When I told her I already had some out to The Rialto, sent in February, she looked puzzled. ‘You should have heard by now.’ Oh no – the words I dread – alarm bells ring, has it happened again, did my precious submission not arrive? Am I the only one this happens to on a regular basis? Lost poems, poems accepted for a magazine but then left out, poems accepted then same poems rejected by the same magazine… my submissions seem to be dogged by problems. Almost wishing for a short, sharp rejection instead of facing another nails-down-the-blackboard ‘black hole’ scenario. We’ll see.
