What Ted said when asked ‘what does it mean’

Working horse in rain by Kevin PortoAfter my recent musings on answering the ‘what does it mean’ question, I was happy to come across this in the Letters of Ted Hughes:

To Lydia Clement and Alison George

29 July 1985

Dear Miss Clement and Miss George

Thank you for your letter. If I answered your question it might stop you worrying, but it would not help you. You know that when you answer a problem, you kill it. And it might be a fruitful problem.

Best wishes,

Ted Hughes

As 13-year old schoolgirls. Lydia Clement and Alison George had been reading TH’s story ‘The Rain Horse’ and had written to ask what the horse symbolised.

 

Photo by Kevin Porto

Poem-a-day, Days 3 – 4

Dear Reader

For a minute I thought I was struggling already, but the Guardian came to the rescue, or rather whoever it was who posted a link on Facebook to this article, about stealing a line from an existing poem and using it as the basis for something of your own. 

I had Emily Dickinson on my mind after my last post, so picked up my Everyman Pocket Dickinson and had a skim through. But then I struggled with all that iambic tetrameter – Within my Garden rides a Bird A Chilly Peace infests the Grass, etc …it sucks you into dumdidum rhymes before you can help yourself, it’s like trying not to look at a road accident as you drive past. BUT, dear reader, I found a lovely line. And used it – not sure how lovely the rest of the poem is but I’ll return to it another time.

And then, since tomorrow is my wedding anniversary and sequestering myself away to write would be too rude, I even wrote tomorrow’s poem today! I am ahead of myself – hurrah!

Yours smugly,

Poetgal

PS best wishes for the weekend 🙂

Setting myself a new challenge

Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson wrote 1,800 poems and died at 55.

 

After a chat with a wonderful poet friend yesterday I had a bit of a lightbulb moment (albeit over a couple of beers, funny that).

She told me of another poet who had just had a poem accepted by Poetry Review and was over the moon because she had been trying for ages. Trying for ages! And I haven’t tried once. Why not? Because I never feel I have anything good enough. Why not? Partly because I don’t write enough – not enough practice, not enough decent material, etc.

I’ve told myself this before but never done anything about it. So enough of the hand-wringing! I could just pootle along the same as I’ve been doing, sending off whatever I’ve managed to write and hoping for the best, getting the odd acceptance from a magazine, going to workshops and wanting success. Or I could actually work at it, put in the hours and quit thinking it’s going to magically happen.

So as a start, I’ve decided I’m going to write at least one poem every day. I won’t go back to work on a previous poem until I’ve written my day’s poem. I will do this at least until Easter, as a kind of Lenten promise. The idea is not to write just anything, but something – something that has at least the potential to become something good. I won’t pressure myself to send these poems off anywhere,  or worry about whether a theme is emerging or ‘could this go in a pamphlet’.

You might be reading this and thinking it’s no big deal, maybe you’re a prolific writer with hundreds of poems. But I’m not, so the thought of having written over 40 new poems by Easter is very exciting. Wish me luck. (By the way, I’ve written my poem for today. A sonnet – ha!)

PS Latest rejection news: Versal, a magazine I hadn’t heard of until I saw them on Facebook and thought I’d try something with them. They are an outfit who make a nominal charge for submitting – a hotly debated topic but actually one I am sympathetic towards. I’d rather pay a quid to a poetry magazine for taking the time to read my poems and respond, than to Royal Mail. And the response was not only quick, but very polite, along the lines of ‘please submit again’. I’m cynical enough to wonder if that’s a stock response to everyone, but if anyone from Versal is reading this, and it isn’t, then I apologise.

Picture credit: Emily Dickinson Museum

Poems we read and talked about last night

There may only have been four of us at the Stanza reading group last night but we had plenty to talk about. The poems we looked at were ‘Reprimands’ by Michael Donaghy, ‘Calcium’ by Deryn Rees Jones, ‘Substance & Shadow by John Hewitt and ‘A gift’ by Don Paterson. So America, Wales, ireland and Scotland all represented.

Michael Donaghy is a poet I’d heard of but hadn’t read before, and a bit of digging revealed more about him. A group of his former students at Birkbeck College and City University, London formed ‘The King’s Poets’ a decade ago, and one of their number (Lucy Ingrams) recently took 2nd place in the Magma Poetry Competition I believe. There’s a bit of trivia for you.

Meanwhile the mission was on to rescue Deryn Rees Jones from the mixed impression she gave at the TS Eliot readings (the poem she read included the word ‘dog’ 594 times, or thereabouts.) We all enjoyed ‘Calcium’ I think, and managed to interpret it in many different ways,with increasing vehemence!

I think perhaps John Hewitt’s ‘Substance and Shadow’ was my favourite poem of the night, despite the unpromising title – how many times are we told in workshops to avoid abstract subjects? In fact there was little that was abstract about the poem. Like ‘Reprimands’ it followed a fairly strict form of iambic pentameter with an abab type rhyme scheme. (Although there were noticeably deliberate breaks with this in the Donaghy poem). I want to call ‘Substance and Shadow’ a sonnet, and maybe it is – 16 lines followed by 8 lines – not a Shakespearean sonnet, but another type? Please put me right if I’m showing my ignorance.

Don Paterson’s ‘A Gift’ was the one I brought, from his 2003 collection ‘Landing Light’. It’s actually not my favourite in the book, but I chose it for technical reasons not worth going into. It has a mysterious, almost biblical quality about it (nice link with the Donaghy poem here). I love the way Paterson works with form; in this collection there is everything from sonnets to prose poems to ballads. And always very clever.

Submissions, the monstrous poet-ego, etc

Yesterday was one of those days when I felt I should have been working (ie paid work), but instead was faffing about with several poems all of which were nearly there or in the I’m not sure about these but I can’t stare at them any longer and I must just get them out pile.

As a consequence I sent three out to a publication I’ve not approached before, and sent one in to a competition. I really ought to make a note of all the odd £3, £5 or £10 fees, magazine subscriptions etc so that one day I can say “right! That’s £2,500 £5,000 I’ve spent so far on poetry, so now all I have to do to get it back is win the Bridport Prize.”

Then I reviewed what I had out, and for how long, and was interested to see that the end of each month seems to be when I get stuff out. One magazine has had my poems for three months or so, so it would be nice to hear from them. Other things are unlikely to emerge unscathed from the pipeline any time soon. I have a couple of pieces forthcoming but I’d like more ‘in the bank’. Does that sound ridiculous, like it’s all about the numbers or something? Probably. The monstrous poet-ego in me – perhaps if I’m honest about it it will be less monstrous. My other preoccupation now is that I have no theme, no voice. How on earth can I talk about getting a pamphlet together when all the poems are so random? Plus the more poetry I read the less sure I am about my own abilities to write the stuff.

Yikes. I started this post feeling pretty good about it all, so not sure what happened there! Anyway, good luck with the submissions game if you’re playing it too. I’ll let you know about any acceptances or rejections.

Oh – I almost forgot, South magazine published its latest ‘poets in the next edition’ list, and my name wasn’t on it. So I guess that counts as a passive rejection – rejection by non-inclusion – is that easier to take than the thin SAE on the mat? Actually I’ve decided not to submit there again – no, not because of sour grapes (I’ve had something in there in the past) but because I’m not sure my stuff is right for them. So perhaps that means I am getting a feel for my voice?

Notes from Mimi Khalvati workshop

workshop notes 26-1-13

Yesterday was the first of our monthly workshops with Mimi Khaltvati this year, and as usual I came away with plenty of new insights and reminders. Here are some of the things Mimi said which I jotted down, as usual I’ve tried to stick to ‘universal’ comments rather than those to do with specific poems. Hope you find it useful.

On form/shaping/editing: Test out different forms, don’t just plump for the first way you’ve written something, which may be a bunch of uneven-length stanzas. Is that really the best you can do? It can make a huge difference – for example triplets can be more musical, lighter than big blocks of ten lines or whatever.

On villanelles – they need “strenuous thought”. You have to think backwards. You need to have arrived at a transformation in the last two lines, their meaning needs to have changed even though the words haven’t.

On consistency of register – if you use contractions (I’m, he’s etc) sometimes but not always, that will seems wrong. Beware mixing up idiomatic and archaic phrases, especially if it’s done to fit a certain metre or rhyme scheme.

On rhyme – ‘if you choose the wrong word to rhyme then everything goes wrong!’

On specific references to things the reader may or may not be familiar with: “it’s courteous as a writer to assume the reader is one step ahead of you. It also makes for better writing.”

On developing a critical faculty – ask of other people’s writing (as a precursor to asking it of your own) ‘what is missing? what more could be done?’ “A fierce critical faculty is a wondrous gift.” Be prepared to think in larger terms rather than just tweaking.

On beautiful language – it’s not enough to just write beautifully. Too much beauty can be soporific. (Mimi admitted literally falling asleep at a reading by a prominent poet – I couldn’t possibly say who – because it was all too lovely “the melody, the evenness of the waves…”). So how can you break up it up? You need a counterpoint. Look at what you’ve written and move things about if necessary – a strong start to a line can serve as a stake, a prop holding things up. You may naturally write beautifully – but your best strength can also be your weakness.

On tricky links – you can make ‘leaps’ (I took this to mean the idea of moving between seemingly unrelated images or meanings) – leaps are good – but they need to be ‘clear leaps’. If something is in the way, confusing things, you need to get rid of that, clear the way.

On developing a ‘forensic’ eye for syntax – check for missing subjects or verbs that change tense, confused constructions, missing commas etc due to long sentences with sub-clauses over several stanzas. (For me, this is a bit like writing HTML – every time you open a bracket or start a new ‘declaration’ you have to close it, even if it’s hundreds of lines later, with all kinds of embedded instructions in between. If you get something wrong the whole thing falls apart.  But it’s so satisfying when you find the missing inverted commas or bracket!)

Needlewriters poets & that pesky CW MA

At the library of memories - Maria Jastrzebska

Wonderful evening at the Needlewriters in Lewes last night, with Maria Jastrzebska and Andrea Samuelson reading their poetry.

Both read very movingly. Maria’s new collection ‘At the Library of Memories’ is just out from Waterloo Press, and Maria gave it an intriguing introduction by saying the memories were not only hers, but those of her relatives and possibly even ours. This morning I opened the book at random and read and extraordinary poem called Telling Tales. No surprise then to read in in the credits that this particular piece was a prizewinner in the Troubadour competition a couple of years ago.

Sort-of disclosure: I have the great privilege of being in a Mimi Khalvati workshopping group with Maria (as well as a number of other very accomplished poets) and I have to say that as well as being a talented poet she is also an insightful and supportive and member of the group. Lucky moi.

I wasn’t familiar with Andrea Samuelson‘s work but it was a pleasure to meet her and hear her read from her new book ‘Cradle Song’, on the subject of the life of her Swedish great-grandmother and the similarities in their experiences.

Two poet friends let on that Andrea had done the same MA Creative Writing course just before them, and her work had been held up as a ‘model’. Ooer! I wonder if she knows?

On the subject of a Creative Writing MA, I am yet again looking at course descriptions and dreaming of applying to somewhere like Royal Holloway, commuting to London twice a week for heady tutorials with Andrew Motion or Jo Shapcott… what’s the matter with me? I haven’t got £6k in my pocket and I’m supposed to be earning money, not spending it on luxuries like this!  Plus, I seem to be forgetting that there’s the small matter of applying and getting accepted.

Talk me out of it, someone!

View from the top

Tee Dobinson & Robin Houghton at the Gherkin

Yesterday I had the pleasure of re-connecting with a former colleague and friend from my Nike days. I recruited Tee Dobinson as a Nike Fitness Athlete in around 1993, one of a team of 6 or so top fitness instructors/presenters to be ambassadors for the brand. We had a lot of fun and a few adventures!

If anyone embodies the ‘just do it’ Nike attitude then it’s Tee – she’s one of the most tenacious, determined and hard working people I know, but with a warmth and generosity not usually associated with ambition. She’s achieved so much it’s frightening! One of the many hats she now wears is that of the ‘Gherkin Guru’ – she’s the London Gherkin’s resident expert, on hand to intrigue and entertain visitors with her encyclopaedic knowledge of the building. So of course we met at the Gherkin, in the club on the 38th floor. The photo was taken on the top floor, the 39th, where the views over London are fantastic.

What is it about views from tall buildings? And London especially – I find all the little churches tucked in between huge office blocks very poignant, the glimpses of grey river snaking in and out, and after dark the winding roads of red tail-lights (“like jewellery!” said Tee) are just beautiful.

Lovely example from Ted Hughes’ letters

Letters of Ted Hughes edited by Christopher Reid

It is now 1974. At least, that’s how far I have got with Ted Hughes’ letters, through which I’m getting a stronger impression of him than I think I’ve ever got from another source. Perhaps that’s not surprising, as he valued his privacy. And in the letters, there’s a clear sense of his growing frustration at how journalists, commentators and Plath biographers were representing his life.

Weird to think that in 1974 (or thereabouts) I was slouching my way through Dr Upadhayay’s English lessons, reading ‘View of a Pig’ and not even giving a thought to who the poet was, assuming he was long dead rather than a man of forty-something very much in the land of the living and with a daughter the same age as me.

As you might expect in the book there are letters to friends, publishers, other writers and family, sometimes talking (or not talking) about the same events. From about 1971 these included letters to his children. In a particularly charming one of November 1973 Hughes wrote to his daughter Frieda at boarding school, giving her advice for an English project she’s clearly asked him about. It’s a wonderful letter, bursting with life, full of detailed advice, fun and enthusiasm. He tells her firstly to seek out a copy of PLUTARCH’S LIVES (his capitals, and underlined three times): “While telling about Antony, Plutarch tells all about Cleopatra. You must read that. It’s quite short. In the same book, there’s also a life of Julius Caesar, but in that Plutarch gives only a couple of paragraphs to Cleopatra. But you must read those 2 paragraphs.”

Then there are his tips for writing up her material as a play or screenplay: “break up the story into scenes. As many as you like. You can write the scenes as you like – as you go along – in any order – you can fit them together at the end. If you write it as a film you can add bits all over the place. Describe lilies on the Nile. Caesar shooting a hippopotamus etc.” By the time I’d finished this letter I was ready to go find ‘Plutarch’s Lives’ and write a play myself. It all sounded so brilliant.

Ten Voice Stanza tonight…

It’s been a few months in the planning, so Jo and I are hoping we’ve thought of everything – ha ha!

If you’re in the area, do come along to Ten Voice Stanza – doors 7.30, starting at 8pm, ten members of Brighton Poetry Stanza reading their work, plus open mic opportunities. It’s at the Redroaster Coffee House on St James’s St in Brighton, an established poetry venue and very friendly.

Other members of the group who aren’t reading (there isn’t time for more than ten) will be helping out on the door, selling pamphlets etc, so it’s been a real team effort. I do hope we get a good turnout – I have a feeling it may be packed. Hope so! It will give everyone a buzz.

At the T S Eliot prize readings on Sunday Jacob Polley said ‘the last poetry reading I gave I was on between the choir singers and the cake raffle’. Poetry audiences are nearly always small. So the prospect of an audience is a fine thing (although 2,000 people in the Festival Hall might make one a tad wobbly). Fingers crossed!