Month: December 2015

Submissions stats for 2015 – the good, the bad, etc

I know there’s nothing festive about submissions stats, but I haven’t shared any in a while so in case you’re interested here goes…

Recent acceptances/ currently forthcoming

One poem in Brittle Star, one in Ink, Sweat & Tears and two in Obsessed with Pipework. All due to appear sometime in Spring 2016. Big Love & Thanks to editors Jacqueline Gabbitas, Martin Parker, Helen Ivory and Charles Johnson. Just for fun, here are some facts about these four poems (they’re not necessarily in the same order as above):

Poem A – written Feb – April 2015, 2 drafts, first submission
Poem B – written July 2014 – Nov 2015, 5 drafts, 2 previous rejections
Poem C – written June 2014 – Nov 2015, 10 drafts, 1 previous rejection
Poem D – written August 2014 – Nov 2015, 6 drafts, 1 previous rejection

Poems currently out and waiting on

2 out for 85 days/12 weeks
6 out for 71 days/10 weeks
2 out for 53 days/8 weeks
2 out for 41 days/ 6 weeks
1 for 32 days / 5 weeks

I have about 5 more which I think are nearly ready to send. There are a few submissions windows closing soon – for example Bare Fiction (9th January) and Popshot (20th January), and others opening (The Interpreter’s House in February, for example.) January is also a good month for competitions – the Kent & Sussex (deadline 31 Jan, judge Anne-Marie Fyfe) and Magma (19 Jan, judge Daljit Nagra) are two that come to mind, although I’m not sure I’ve anything with comp-winning potential at the moment.

The year in numbers – rejections and all

Since the start of 2015 I’ve had a total of 44 poems rejected by magazines and 18 unsuccessful competition entries. On the positive side I’ve had 8 poems taken by magazines, 1 second place in a competition and one longlisting. In addition I had 2 (different) pamphlet submissions longlisted and work in 3 anthologies. This doesn’t make for a stellar year in terms of ‘hit rate’ but I was pleased to make a first appearance in both Brittle Star and Prole, and on the whole I’m cautiously optimistic about where it’s all going. More to the point I have two new projects bubbling under and I’m enjoying experimenting with my writing – inspiration has come from many different sources this year and I’ll be talking more about that probably in my next post.

I hope this is an interesting yardstick for anyone else in a similar position – people tend to be a bit coy about announcing how many rejections they’ve had, but I think that it’s actually more enlightening (and maybe encouraging?) than just hearing about the acceptances. I also can’t see any reason not to talk about rejections since if you’re sending out regularly then surely they’re a fact of life and nothing to be ashamed of.

Ah! I feel a lovely quiet, indoorsy sort of Christmas coming on – much as I’d love a walk along the seafront on Christmas day the forecast is RAIN RAIN RAIN with a side of GALES. So let’s see. Wishing you a peaceful and happy Christmas, and thanks so much for reading, commenting, sharing, recommending and supporting this blog. LOVE.X

 

Image credit – Bo’s Cafe Life

 

The Reading List, week 11 – Clare Best’s ‘Cell’

It seems my blog posts of ‘micro reviews’ have set some sort of trend – who’d have thought?  Anyway, I haven’t posted one for a couple of weeks as other aspects of LIFE have rather taken priority. The original idea to read a book a day was ambitious,  but the blogging of the reviews has proven to be the hardest bit, and something I haven’t always managed to find time for. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been reading.

Rather than waiting until I have the time to write three or more reviews at once, I think I’ll sometimes just get them out singly. So coming up soon – thoughts on Mark Doty’s  T S Eliot Prize-nominated Deep Lane (Cape) and Wendy Pratt’s pamphlet Lapstrake (Flarestack). But today I’ll focus on one pamphlet.

 

Cell –  Clare Best & Michaela Ridgway (Frogmore Press 2015)

An unusual pamphlet, both in physical form and concept. Clare Best’s award-winning sequence ‘Cell’ is in the voice of Christine Carpenter, a 14 year old girl who, in 1329, took a vow of  ‘solitary devotion’ and became an anchoress. Accompanying the sequence are a number of powerful pen and charcoal sketches of the human (female) form by Michaela Ridgway (herself an accomplished poet).

In the unfolding and re-folding of the single sheet, you create a box-like space which represents the cell in which the girl spent over 1,000 days. From there, following the sequence isn’t easy – each is numbered in Roman numerals, which took me a few moments to work out (come on then – CCCMLXXI? Quick!) Having been at the launch event, I know from Clare’s reading that the numerals represent the number of days since the girl’s incarceration. Otherwise that too would need some work on the part of the reader.

And that’s surely the point – reading ‘Cell’ was like following a set of clues, deciphering a horrible secret – in figuring out the folding and the ordering, observing the contortions of the figures, the smudged-out body parts that seem to overstuff their pages, even before reading we have to do a little work, but not very much in face of what we’re about to witness in the poems. We are primed to ‘solve’ the mystery. And a mystery it is, certainly to present-day readers, why a young girl would go willingly into such a contract.

Just one day, Mother, since you
kissed my brow, my cheeks and chin.
I must not love the window,
must protect my sinful heart. (II)

In reading Christine’s words and thoughts it’s hard not to be moved – not just by the pathos of the situation, but also the girl’s ongoing reflection in terms of her belief (having perhaps no other framework to cling to) even as she passes from excitement and determination to fear, pain and finally resignation.

Dreams like thoughts –
both sense and
nonsense. How shall I
bear the silence
of this place? (CCLXI)

The reader isn’t spared any details of the girl’s physical and mental deterioration ‘scalp alive with lice’, ‘shrunken gums’, and the nightmares (‘Lucifer, again. … he spreads me, enters like a fist’) but for me the story is told with intimate tenderness and without judgement. ‘Cell’ is a challenging read, moving and highly compelling. Both the artwork and Katy Mawhood’s ingenious pamphlet design corroborate the story and heighten the reader’s involvement – which is what genuine ‘multimedia’ should be about. Excellent job.

Cell, by Clare Best & Michaela Ridgway, Frogmore Press 2015

Should poems be read from memory?

I’ve only really started reading poems from memory this year, but rarely an entire set. I admire those poets who not only memorise long, often VERY long poems, but communicate them with panache and seeming ease.

But is reading from memory a requirement of a memorable reading? Does reading from memory always enhance the listener’s experience? Just how much extra work are you setting yourself – and is it worth it? What if the poet’s nervous enough already – isn’t it better for them (and the audience) to stick with reading it off the page?

I asked two poet friends (and experienced poem-memorisers) to get their views on it, and also asked myself the same questions.

Tony Gill, aka Gilli Bloodaxe, has performed in clubs, a crypt, a barge and at festivals little and big. His first collection Fin was published this year by Matador. Peter Kenny is a poet, playwright and serial collaborator, having worked with musicians and writers in all kinds of genres. His pamphlet ‘The Nightwork’ was published in 2014 by Telltale Press.

Peter Kenny
Peter Kenny

What makes you want to memorise poems – particular reasons?

Peter Kenny: I’m starting to memorise my poems and try to perform them from memory when I can. I write to communicate with people, and I think shuffling and hiding behind papers is obviously a barrier. It’s nice to give the audience eye contact and focus on bringing the poems to life rather than simply reading from a page. I don’t like readings where the poet seems to be talking to themselves.

Tony Gill: I think that when a poet (or anyone actually) stands and reads, there is a physical barrier (the book, a piece of paper) between them and their audience. The poet is saying “I’m reading this poem in this book”. Without the book, it’s a more natural communication, it frees you up to move around and wave your arms, you’re telling a story like a Viking at the fireside…

Robin Houghton: Reciting from memory really feels like you’re making a connection with the audience, but you do have to make eye contact. That business of ‘focus on a point above people’s heads’ is the worst advice ever given, I think. People have told me they hear more of the poem and take in the words more intensely when they’re being spoken to rather than read to.

Do you think it’s something all poets should try to do, or does some poetry not really ‘need’ to be delivered from memory?

TG: Yes!

PK: Interestingly, the reading I found most electrifying was actually not from memory at all: I saw RS Thomas when I was a student and he read from the page without giving the titles of his poems or introductions, but was utterly brilliant.

RH: Some poems work much better from memory. But I think a poet can still deliver effectively off the book, as long as s/he adds value somehow to the audience experience. This could be (for example) looking up and making frequent eye contact with listeners, or it could be animating the poem in a way the audience wouldn’t get just from reading it on the page.

How do you go about memorising poems – do you have a routine/schedule? How much time do you think it takes to learn a new poem?

PK: It takes me several days to learn a poem. I just stand in my kitchen and say the thing over and over for ten minutes for three or four days and I usually have it. Also when you are memorising something, if it is persistently unsayable, then something’s usually wrong with it.

TG: Some are easier than others – if there’s a structure, or if they rhyme. Once I’ve learnt it, I see if I can recite it over music, which is quite distracting. The amount of time depends on the length of the poem. But generally not that long.

RH: So far I’ve only memorised reasonably short poems. If the poem’s in stanzas then that helps: I do it one stanza at a time. (If it’s not then I might temporarily reorganise it so that it is!) Lots of repetition out loud (it helps if there’s no-one around). Remembering the links between each stanza is important – the last word/phrase of one and the first word/phrase of the next. Because once you start the stanza you’re off and running.
I try to ‘see’ the overall shape – the start, the build-up, the aside, the climax etc. It can take me a while, and several actual readings, until I’m secure.

Any top tips for a poet who’s never managed to read a poem from memory – how might they go about it?

TG: Just do it!

PK: My stepdaughter is an actress and she reminded me to have a few physical movements or body positions for different bits of the poem. Using your body as well as your brain to prompt the next bit seems to work quite well for me.

RH: The only other thing I would say is to practise, and in front of an audience. Practise at the low key/low risk readings where you have enough adrenaline to make it real, but no big deal if you stumble because you’re among friends. It will build your confidence for the bigger readings. I always remember the saying “an amateur practises until they get it right, a professional practises until they can’t get it wrong”. I still have a long way to go on that score!

Have you ever dried, and what’s your advice if that happens?

PK: I have dried completely at least twice but I’m fairly philosophical about it. You’re not in the middle of a play and putting everyone else off. When you make a mistake you feel like there’s a yawning chasm of time when you are giving the reading, but the audience might not even notice as much as you think.

RH: I had a near-miss once, but held it together, and quite recently I dried completely and had to reach for the book. I was annoyed at myself but you just have to laugh and not make a thing of it. The audience doesn’t want to see you distressed.

TG: Only when I’ve had a drink, which I never ever do before a reading.