Category: Angst

Angst/

An acceptance, a talk and workshop news

Pleasant Stores

Pleasant Stores

I haven’t had a poem accepted for a while so it was very nice to hear from Jeremy Page at The Frogmore Papers to say he’d like to take one for issue 82 in the autumn. Hurrah!

(I also had some other good news last week but more about that shortly.)

And now I’d like your thoughts please on a slightly sticky situation. I’m still rather on tenterhooks with Agenda, after a four month wait I thought I would email again to ask very gently if my poems were still being considered (it does say on the website to expect a 12-week wait, and subscribers -of which I am one- are allegedly given some priority in being dealt with, so I didn’t think it unreasonable to ask.) But would you believe it, apparently my (email) submission was never received, but editor Patricia McCarthy was apologetic and invited me to resubmit, which I did, asking for acknowledgement that they had been received. But I’ve heard nothing.

So here’s the issue:  do I assume my emails aren’t getting through, and just submit the poems elsewhere? (Email is now the only way to submit to Agenda.) Or do I wait, and for how long? I don’t really want to put these poems away for another 4 months. But I don’t want to put myself in the editor’s bad books by having to tell her the poems have gone elsewhere, if she does want them. I also don’t want to pester her with emails saying ‘can you please tell me you’ve got them’ or whatever. It’s a good magazine and I’ve had work in there before, so I don’t want to give up lightly.

Lordy! The etiquette of submissions. And is it very common for poems to go astray? It seems to have happened to me an inordinate number of times.

Meanwhile on the workshop front I enjoyed hosting Colin Bell’s poetry evening in Pleasant Stores round the corner from me in Lewes, although only 2 people turned up. So with Sara the cafe owner that made four of us. It’s not a workshopping group, but people are invited to bring either their own poetry or someone else’s. I took along a selection of mags and books and read poems by Lewes poet Janet Sutherland which everyone liked, and a couple from Sam Rivere’s 81 Austeries, which I love but I think they were a bit too challenging for those present. (Read the review by Ruth Padel in the Guardian.)

Then yesterday I was at Brighton Library giving a short talk for writers about ‘Building your social web presence’. It was part of  New Writing South‘s Publishing Industry Day which was well attended and I sat in on a couple of the other sessions, including one on Arts Council funding which was very interesting. I think I managed to sell a few tickets for the workshops I’m doing there next month and into May, so that’s good.

Angst/

Gut feeling

guts

Confession: my poem-a-day pledge has stuttered. I’ve actually been a bit ill, although there’s little evidence for it, and if I worked a 9 – 5 job I would have gone home happy on Friday evening and turned up fine this morning. So a weekend illness hardly seems to qualify. And yet on Saturday night I was pathetically praying ‘if there is a God, please help me now!’

I’m pretty certain I picked up a Norovirus, and despite the crippling headaches Thursday – Friday it only really got stuck in on Friday evening. But I was a textbook case – 2 days incubation, 2 days of grief and then you feel almost normal (except for my appetite, but I can afford to eat a bit less). If you haven’t experienced the full thrust of this gut-busting bug, all I can say is WASH YOUR HANDS, PEOPLE!

I don’t know if it’s a female thing (the advertisers seem to think so, going by all those ‘friendly bacteria’ ads during ‘This Morning’ or ‘Midsomer Murders’) but I do feel I have a special relationship with my digestive tract. You can’t talk about guts in polite company, and few people want to discuss the details of peristalsis or the production of chyme or whatever in even their own body, let alone others. And yet it’s right there at the centre of us, and its metaphoric links with creativity, freedom from the straightjacket of rational thought and so on are everyday shorthand – gut instinct, gut reaction, a feeling in the pit of the stomach, butterflies in the tummy, etc not to mention all the various uses of the word ‘sick’.

So call me cranky but I do feel some sort of spiritual connection with my guts. I’ve tried writing about it, but the few people I showed my efforts to were unconvinced this was ‘entertainment’. Perhaps the whole point is not to write about it, but to write with it.

I could now really fancy eating a Rich Tea biscuit, if I had one.

Angst/

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

Angst/

Submissions, the monstrous poet-ego, etc

to change art destroy ego

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?

Angst/

Needlewriters poets & that pesky CW MA

At the library of memories - Maria Jastrzebska

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!

Angst/

My recent poetry unsuccesses

Fortune cookie

Fortune cookie

True to my pledge to blog the UNsuccesses as well as the successes, here’s the latest news.

Firstly Magma – I’ve submitted there a couple of times previously and on both occasions was rejected pretty quickly. This sets a precendent – you assume that if you don’t hear quickly, that your poem is likely to have been shortlisted. However, with different editors for each issue, I guess they all have their different methods. In this case, decisions were sent out relatively late, and several of us who had been on tenterhooks all learned more or less at the same time that it was a ‘thanks but no thanks.’

Anyway, I haven’t held it against them (how could I? when it’s their loss!!) and have now subscribed to Magma, as it does look like an interesting and wide-ranging magazine. This subscription will be at the expense of Aesthetica, which I subscribed to for a year but realised that although it was intriguing for its coverage of art, it doesn’t actually feature poetry any more.

Which brings me to my next unsuccess, which came in the form of a standard rejection from PN Review. This wasn’t so much of a surprise, as PN Review is a very high brow mag indeed, and its rejection of my work only increases both my admiration of it and my determination to one day produce something worthy of its pages.

I’m now trying to decide whether to subscribe to PN Review, both as part of my general poetry education and in an attempt to mold something they would like. If I do, it has to be a straight swap with my Mslexia subscription, but that doesn’t expire until next summer. I feel like I’ve kind of moved on from Mslexia. Although I still enjoy browsing the directory of courses & competitions and dreaming about going on a writing retreat in Italy, I get frustrated at how little serious coverage is given to poetry. Plus, recent articles about social media and blogging have annoyed me in their simplification of the issues and regurgitation of same old advice. Not exactly cutting edge.

So there we are – I still have a few things out for consideration here and there, and I’ll let you know what happens. But for now I try to do what Kipling urged – to ‘meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two impostors just the same” – he he.

Angst/

Are anonymous submissions a good thing?

Masks

Masks

I came across this article recently, in Anon magazine, setting out the opinions of three writers as to whether anonymous submissions to magazines were a good idea.

I rather like Kathleen Jamie‘s conclusion, that actually by creating a so-called ‘level playing field’ for all poets, regardless of reputation, a magazine like Anon (championing the cause of anonymous submissions) is perpetuating the mistaken idea that there is some sort of conspiracy among well-known poets to keep everyone else out. She suggests the problem is not that the pages of poetry magazines are dominated by the same few names, far from it. But rather this:

No editor fears receiving a sub-standard poem by Seamus Heaney, if such a thing exists. What he fears, understandably, is receiving shed-loads of dreadful half-baked so-called ‘poetry’ accompanied by pages of testimonials, CVs and special pleading.

In other words, an anonymous submissions process doesn’t make it any easier to get poems accepted. If they’re mediocre, that’s the end of it. And big-name poets don’t submit to small magazines anyway. They don’t need to.

Plus, as Gerry Cambridge points out in the same article,

Unpublished poets are deluded if they believe they can’t get published because they’re not known names. After all, those known names were once unknowns, too.

and

… any editor of an individual cast of mind would like nothing more than to print the work of an unknown or little-known poet whose writing, in the editor’s opinion, is excellent – or even promising and individual in a way that marks it out from the majority

Anon isn’t the only magazine with an anonymous submissions process – South also insists on anonymity, as does Iota. Having had work in both, I’ve always wondered if I’ve been a beneficiary of the process. Then again I’ve also wondered if having an androgynous name also works in my favour. We can speculate on all these things and more, I suppose. (And to be honest I quite enjoy it – I find the intrigue, arguments and gossip an essential and entertaining part of the poetry scene – but then again I’m only really an amateur onlooker, so I can see how easy it is for me to say that, and how frustrating it is for others who hate the shenanigans and just want to get on with their writing.)

What do you think? Do aspiring/nascent writers benefit from anonymous submissions? Or is it insulting to editors to assume they are swayed by who the poet is rather than the quality of the individual poems?

 

Image credit: South Peace News

Angst/

Good news, and a few doubts

What a great week. An excellent Bonfire Night, President Obama re-elected, and then I get an email with the subject line ‘Congratulations from Poetry News‘ and find my ‘absent’ themed poem will be in the December edition. Ah, where would we be without small victories?  Because I admit I am STUPIDLY excited.

It’s my first proper effort at using spaces in a poem (instead of commas and my beloved dashes, which are a bit of a habit), something I have Catherine Smith to thank for as it was one of the things she got us doing on a Poetry School course I was on earlier this year.

So here’s to experimentation. But … I’m looking forward to ‘one day’ developing some sort of consistent style. Or is that like wanting to grow up too soon? Is it good to keep trying different things and going off on tangents? Poets I meet when workshopping are often working on bigger, over-arching projects or themes, and I sometimes wonder if I’ll never get to the stage of a publishable pamphlet unless I settle into writing a coherent body of poems, rather than blurting out isolated pieces that have nothing in common. What do you think?

Angst/

So this is what happens when I sit down to write

US strip mall

A free evening, and it’s a couple of hours until Downton Abbey (I’ll start watching it at 9, pause it at 9.01 so it starts recording, then start watching it at 9.15 and I can fast forward thru all the ad breaks – sorted!) So I think ‘I’ll dig out some old poem and give it a re-working’ – standard practice if I’m not inspired to write anything new.

Actually I’m a fan of recycling – I’m glad to have kept all the stuff I wrote pre-2009, which is when I tell myself I started taking poetry seriously (ie started READING poetry and realised I was on the Wrong Track) – even though the base material may be, well, base, sometimes there’s a kernel of something which can be dusted off and used. Somehow.

The poem I chanced upon is a little piece written ages ago when I was living in the US and a bit lonely and when I got some leave I used to take myself off on road trips. Ah yes! Cruising along the strip malls, perching my cardboard cup in the drinks holder and pretending I was a native. Surely I can summon up those memories no problem? Except I can’t. It was a while back, and I can’t even picture myself in a left hand drive automatic car, although it certainly happened.

I need to get into the mood – how about some American rock anthems? I used to LOVE singing along to them as I negotiated the I-5. A quick look on Amazon and I’m sampling ‘Babe’ by Styx (1979, their only number 1, apparently) and of course ‘Is this love?’ by Whitesnake. ‘China in your hand’ – ugh, that singer was so FLAT as she approached the chorus. But hang on, Amazon only gives you a few seconds of the song. I need to hear these in full – bring on YouTube. I’m listening to “Babe’ and reading the comments from people who met their first true love when this was playing. Then I remember a slightly embarrassing scene in a Florida piano bar when I sent a request to the players for ‘Babe’ and included the unnecessary details ‘English! Staying at the Hilton!’ on the request slip. Oh dear.

But back to the poem. Unfortunately by this time I am too far gone down the one-way street of lowbrow memories and general tackiness to be able to pull together anything of literary merit. And Downton is on in 20 minutes. Ho hum!