Thank you for being on my list, for buying my booklet A Guide to Getting Published in UK Poetry Magazines, and for your kind words of support. I’ve kept the spreadsheet going for several years now and try my best to make sure when I update it all the details are correct. I may not lay claim to having 400 mags on the list but it’s growing all the time and in my mind quality beats quantity. Thank you for your recommendations of new mags too. Poetry journals do rather come and go so your support in terms of subscriptions as well as submissions is much appreciated by hardworking editors!
Nothing wrong with distractions, and goodness I’m certainly welcoming them with open arms. But scroll down if you’re only here for the poetry stuff.
Distraction #1: Singing
A couple of weeks ago I was at Westminster Abbey with members of the Lewes Singers, for the fifth time, where we sang two evensongs in a spookily empty quire. We rather rattled around in there. But it was so fantastic to be able to sing again in one of our magnificent cathedrals. If you’re interested I’ve written a more detailed blog post about it here.
That’s my man! Nick rehearsing the Lewes Singers in Westminster Abbey
Distraction #2: London
A few days in London was a real tonic. And it’s still pretty quiet and tourist-free. We visited some more of the fascinating City churches, also the much-revamped Museum of the Home, and just enjoyed exploring London on foot.
We also went to the David Hockney exhibition at the Royal Academy, The Arrival of Spring. It’s two (or three?) rooms of the paintings Hockney did in France during Spring 2020, recording the same trees, plants and landscapes as they transitioned from bare and cold to full greenery and colour. I was quite taken aback – the colours are just indescribably beautiful, and the whole idea of Spring and how it always comes back, no matter what… I don’t know why but I started welling up and before I knew it I was standing in the middle of the room completely in tears. I’ve never had that kind of reaction to any art, so it rather took me aback. I guess the last 18 months have been harder than I thought.
David Hockney, The Coming of Spring number 209, 17th April 2020Gorgeous Huguenot houses in Fournier Street, SpitalfieldsThe Barbican, Brutalism at its best
Distraction #3: Gardening
Actually I’ve been taking less care of the garden recently other than deadheading, sitting looking at the wonderful hibiscus that only flowers for one week in the year, and picking tomatoes. These are mostly the variety ‘Romello’, and they’ve been so soft and sweet – highly recommended.
Tomatoes ‘Romello’The wonderful Hibiscus
And so to poetry…
I’ve had a few weeks of full-on Planet Poetry stuff, getting our new website up but mostly reading and preparing for interviews with (spoiler alert) Kim Addonizio, Martina Evans, Di Slaney and Sharon Black – you heard it here first! Series Two kicks off at the end of September. Subscribe in iTunes or Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts.
Recent poetry by Sharon Black and Di Slaney
I’ve also actually been writing some new poems – hurrah! – as well as receiving the odd rejection email, including one addressed to ‘Dear Francesca’ – ! Dear oh dear. Sorry about that Francesca – do you have my rejection email by any chance?
Last month Hastings Stanza had its first in-person meetup since – well – you can imagine – and I can report it felt quite momentous. Glorious in fact. And a few days ago I met up with my Telltale pals in a Brighton pub garden and downed many pints of beer, as well as being very loud and lairy. Sadly I don’t have their permission to share a photo here, though I am sorely tempted!
And finally, not poetry exactly but kind of – my bedside reading is currently A Length of Road by Robert Hamberger. It’s an utterly absorbing and very personal account of Rob’s walk in the footsteps of John Clare. It’s a meditation on Clare’s poetry, and also nature writing but mostly a beautiful and honest memoir, and perfect reading for the quiet night time journey down into sleep. It’s published by JM Originals. Definitely recommended.
Did I mention I’d signed up for some swimming lessons? I saw a poster for a six-week long (school holidays) once a week group course, at the place where I swim, and jumped in at it. It’s not that I can’t swim, but I want to swim with style. And I want to learn how to do flip turns. At the first session we split into beginners and improvers. We’re almost all of a certain age, while our young, bemused instructors tell us things like ‘children find it really easy to do this with their shoulders.’ Hmmm. Three of us have an instructor who sends us up and down lengths doing various drills while the others, with their own coach, tentatively launch themselves across widths. It feels quite hazardous – two shipping lanes with great potential for collision. I’ve only had two minor smashes, no-one hurt, although part of me always thinks rather uncharitably that the slower swimmers should look before setting off, as they have a shorter distance to cover! Anyway I’ve now invested in some prescription goggles, which should make it easier to see any impending obstacles, not to mention the instructor waving at me to GO, rather than having to yell R-O-O-O-B-I-I-N! from 25 metres away.
Before becoming self-conscious of all the things I’m doing wrong, I didn’t used to think about swimming when swimming, but I did sometimes think about poems. Some poets like to go walking. Personally I rarely get inspired when I’m out and about. And I have to say I don’t really write anything in my head while swimming, but being in the water is fraught with metaphorical energy, as are (for me and many others I suspect) swimming pools generally. I’ve had a ‘lido’ poem on the go for at least a decade, I think it’s currently out somewhere but I won’t be surprised if it comes back rejected again. Unlike ‘Lido’ by Alison McVety from her fine collection Lighthouses (Smith Doorstop) that sticks in my mind, the swimmer ‘left to plough on’ in the rain, ‘ten years gone and I’m still turning and swimming, turning and swimming’.
I’m now trying to remember various ‘not waving but drowning’ type poems, particularly one by a (currently living) poet whose brother downed… perhaps you can help me out? I think I read it in a magazine some time in the last ten years. I just did a search for ‘poem about a brother who drowned’ and it threw up an extraordinary list of results, all of the ’25+ Heartening Poems for a Deceased Brother’s Funeral’ variety. Funerals are probably the only time 99% of the population ever wants to encounter a poem, to be fair. Anyway, if I ever get to do a flip turn I’ll let you know.
Props
I’d like to give a big shout-out to Dave Bonta, poet, author and indefatigable blogger, whose longstanding blog Via Negativa I can whole heartedly recommend. I’m personally indebted to him for mentioning several of my blog posts in his weekly roundup, but more importantly for his careful curation skills – every week, he re-posts a few paragraphs from a dozen or so blogs. I’ve encountered many a new blogger/poet I’d never heard of, and many really interesting blogs thanks to Dave.
