Month: October 2018

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Home again, and deadlines approaching

Clare Shaw interviews Carrie Etter at Poetry Swindon Festival
Clare Shaw interviews Carrie Etter at Poetry Swindon Festival

The Swindon Poetry Festival over, I’m now catching up with stuff, looking at my book purchases (actually there are a couple of books I still need to buy, not being able to do so because I ran out of cash. Note to self: always take a thick wodge of CASH to poetry events as that will invariably be the only method of payment AND you can be sure there won’t be a cash machine within a mile. Judi Sutherland kindly drove me around the roundabouts of Swindon on Sunday morning as we tried to a) follow the directions given by people in the hotel and petrol station and b) find a cash machine that actually worked.

You can read all my Swindon Festival posts here if you’re interested –  including some audio recordings.

Anyhow, next week is the Needlewriters on Thursday 18th in Lewes which I’m looking forward to very much, then there are a few poetry competition deadlines coming up, such as the Troubadour and the National. Each year I feel less and less optimistic about entering competitions, there seem to be so many brilliant ‘up and coming’ poets on the scene, plus very experienced/successful/professional poets entering (and winning) comps, and who can blame them if the prize money is good? But still. I must remind myself that there is at least an element of luck. And it’s good to support the Poetry Society, Coffee-House Poetry and the many shoestring organisations who rely on income from competitions to stay afloat.

Most importantly I need to finish the ‘how to get published in magazines’ book, before people go off the boil about it. I’ve really enjoyed gathering comments and advice from magazine editors which I think will make very interesting reading. Just when you think it’s all been said, I guess it hasn’t!

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An aside from Swindon

Clare Shaw reading at Swindon Poetry Festival

Although I’m currently officially blogging the Poetry Swindon Festival over at Festival Chronicle, this is my own blog so I thought I’d put any personal asides on here. You know me, don’t you?

On Friday morning some us were lucky enough to be in workshops with either Clare Shaw or Kim Moore. I was with the former. We did a fair bit of free writing, which I’m not sure I’m doing right as my ‘stream of consciousness’ writing is invariably as prosaic as it comes.  When asked to describe a fish, my piece went a bit like this “The fish lives a small pond and often tries to hide under a lily pad although I can still see its tail waving.” Whereas my fellow poets will typically produce “the fish’s silvery backbone strokes the water’s surface like a reflexion of the moon skittering across my lonely eye” which is sightly intimidating. Is it just me?

Now I want to say a few words about Clare Shaw, who I’d not met before, but was curious about after Sarah Dixon the day before had announced herself to be a Clare Shaw Fangirl. When Ms Shaw entered the room there was an undoubted frisson. I immediately thought of James Bond, but then no, more Doctor Who. Forget Jodie Whittaker, Clare Shaw for Doctor. She probably is a doctor for all I know. Anyway: rangy, no-nonsense and a great voice. Clare reminded me a bit of Jeanette Winterson, but taller. The kind of woman who makes me almost forget I’m straight. In Clare’s workshop, Clare’s in control – “Feel free to ignore me (if you dare…)” but she’s playful too. Selima Hill urges us to ‘go naked into the shower of truth’ – “which I’d like to do,” says Clare, “but I’m not inviting you to picture that – I just did! Stop it! Really intrusive!”

At the evening readings even Hilda seemed unable to say Clare’s name without dropping her voice an octave, at one point announcing there was only one copy of Clare’s book Flood left to buy – then proceeded to rub the said book briskly over her chest in a way that only the hilarious Hilda can get away with, before telling the audience the price had gone up twenty quid. Stop it! Inappropriate!!

Notice I’m not saying anything about Clare’s poetry or her reading here, but I’m putting all that in the official report. Speaking of which, l’d better get back to business.

Here’s the link to my report of Friday night’s readings from Clare Shaw, Kim Moore and Wayne Holloway Smith, including audio recording of Clare and Kim reading a couple of poems.

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And so to the Tent Palace…

… of the Delicious Air. This will be the venue from tomorrow until Monday for the Poetry Swindon Festival (or is that the Swindon Poetry Festival? It seems to go by both names – part of its mystery!) I’m looking forward to being the “blogger in residence” for this year’s festival, which is still a true indie – none of the mainstream publishers appear to have discovered it yet – and I’m expecting a good sprinkling of Hilda Sheehan pixie-dust over events.

So, that tent. There’s a lot to unpack here: Tent. Palace. Delicious Air.

Tent: I’m not a great one for camping, and marquees bring up thoughts of wobbly floors, rain pattering on canvas and draughts. Then again, I’ve been in some posh tents in my time – the Charleston Festival tent has always involved potted plants, standard lamps and a range of soft furnishings in Bloomsbury prints, although sadly only on stage.

Palace: only slightly anxious about this one. I don’t have a ball gown or a tiara, but in these Harry-n-Meghan days jeans are probably OK. And thick woollies, of course (palaces are only slightly less draughty than tents).

Delicious Air: hmmm. Could be an ironic reference to a local farmer doing his muck-spreading, or possibly a nearby sewage works. Or maybe it refers to the fresh semi-outdoors ambience (must take woollies!!!). I just hope there are no vases of scented lilies.

But naturally I’ve done my research, and I see it’s a quote from Richard Jefferies’ The Open Air. The festival takes place at the Richard Jefferies Museum (his birthplace) at Coate. I hadn’t heard of Jefferies until I went to the 2014 Swindon Poetry Festival. The Wikipedia entry tells me he’s known for his nature writing, and another little detail jumped out at me – that he lived for a short while in Eltham, in South East London, where I grew up. Small world indeed.

I’ll be blogging about the festival events – workshops I’m going to, readings, the odd interview and maybe even some gossip – at the Festival Chronicle, so please do head on over there if you’d like to read all about it. I’m also hoping to fit in the odd nap (I can’t do the late nights like I used to!), a bit of in-room yoga, and I’ve heard there’s a swimming pool which I’m very happy about. I may well blog a bit here too, let’s see how it goes.