Category: Books

A poem by Lynne Hjelmgaard

I first met Lynne Hjelmgaard at a Brighton Stanza meeting, and knew straight away she was a poet I wanted to hear more of and would enjoy workshopping with. Lynne has had an extraordinary, almost nomadic background – from New York via Denmark, Paris, Rome, London and the sea. The range of her experience and poetic wisdom is an inspiration to me, and I’m very pleased to have one of her poems on my blog.

The poem reproduced here is from A Boat Called Annelise, a sequence based on a period in Lynne’s life when she lived on a boat and sailed around the world. It’s beautiful and dreamlike, yet grounded in vivid, lived detail.

  
Because of the beauty of the ship herself

When we found her
it happened quickly,
when we left her
it felt like a divorce.

We had worked our way into Annalise:
the pungent smell of her deep shadowy bilge;
dawn-walks to showers
in mouldy leather shoes.

(Wet on the trip in
wet on the trip out.)

Annalise peeled away
layers of ourselves.
Old meandering patterns
shed like unwanted winter clothes.

We learned to care
for her bronze, steel and wood,
devotedly washed and rubbed
all her curves and corners.

Her decks cracked and creaked,
rigging throbbed and hummed,
sails fluttered and snapped,
hull pounded and leapt,

the booming sea-roar crouching to pounce,
until Annalise lifted her heavy rounded stern
in the very last unbalanced moment,
and reduced seawater to slush.

In harbour, ships’ wakes and rolls
rocked us sleepily secure,
water gurgled under her hull
like gentle, shaking bells.
We slept ’til she opened our ears
to all natural sounds.

Our ship made music.
Our ship was music.

 

Lynne Hjelmgaard‘s latest book, The Ring, was published with Shearsman Books in 2011. Her new sequence, A Boat Called Annalise, was a runner-up in the 2012 Poetry Wales Purple Moose Pamphlet Competition.

Anthology launch, plus Hilda Sheehan at Tunbridge Wells

A busy couple of days: Monday evening saw the launch of the Brighton Stanza anthology, a labour of love for editors Antony Mair, Miriam Patrick and Andie Davidson. Andie’s company, the Bramley Press, published the book and it looks excellent, though I say so myself. Twenty six poets are in the anthology, and nine of them read at the launch event at the Lord Nelson in Brighton.

The room was packed and we heard a good variety of poetry (performance, page, mystic), basically I think everyone had a good time. I had a nasty headache creep up towards the end of the first half which thankfully disappeared after I’d stuffed a bag of crisps. (This slightly did for my ‘fast’ day but what the heck.) What a lot of poetry love. The much-missed Jo Grigg would have been thrilled. I’m proud to be stepping into her shoes as Stanza Rep, but what a loss.

Then yesterday what should I see on Facebook but an alert that Hilda Sheehan was in Tunbridge Wells last night reading at the Kent & Sussex Poetry Soc. So how could I not hot-foot it along? I first met Hilda at a Swindon workshop, one of so many events and projects she organises and is involved in. The indefatigable Hilda has a lovely reading style and her poetry is clever, entertaining and just a tad surreal. You can’t help but get pulled into her orbit of warmth and goodwill.

Hilda Sheehan & Robin Houghton

Hilda read from her latest collection The Night My Sister Went to Hollywood (Cultured Llama) and shook up the good poets of Tunbridge Wells with her tales of hornets with men’s heads, loaves of bread slicing up women and seals living in the bath. Nice one!

A poem by Jenny Lewis

At Ty Newydd recently I was fortunate enough to be working alongside some wonderful poets, and with their permission I’ll be featuring some of them here.

The first is Jenny Lewis. I think Jenny was the most experienced of all of us, with many, many strings to her bow, and yet she wore her expertise with generosity and humility. Her comments were insightful and supportive and she produced some lovely work. It was very fitting that she won the competition set for us at the end of the week, with a very clever sestina. Jenny explained that it had been rejected by a certain poetry magazine, and so she’d rather lost faith in it (the poem that is), but Carol Ann Duffy wasn’t having any of that. “Who was the editor?” she barked.

Taking Mesopotamia

Anyway, I’m delighted that Jenny agreed to have a poem featured here. This is from her latest collection, Taking Mesopotamia (Oxford Poets/ Carcanet 2014). Of it, Bernard O’Donoghue writes: “Jenny Lewis’s quietly angry book is an account of the Iraq wars – mostly imposed from outside – of the past hundred years. Taking Mesopotamia – a brilliantly ironic title for our times – controls its anger through an accomplished and flexible technique in verse and prose. It is compulsory reading, even for those who don’t normally read poetry: an eloquent rejoinder to those who say poetry can’t, or shouldn’t, concern itself with public matters.”

Do visit Jenny’s website to get a feel for everything she’s up to, and for more details of her publications.

MOTHER

Childbirth was like being excavated:
my belly rose on whalebone wings,
pain soared about me like a bloodied angel:

then you were born

I saw you with my own eyes
I held you day and night:
you lay in my arms, a glowing pupa.

At Kut-al-Amara you were back-lit,
the moon pointed you out against the ridge –
when Turkish gunners stopped your spade

you fell slowly, shedding iridescence

each night in dreams I fail to catch you –
your bones the fragile quills of rescued fledglings
you placed by the stove for warmth

From Taking Mesopotamia (Oxford Poets/ Carcanet 2014) First published by The Oxonian Review, 2012.

Jenny LewisJenny Lewis
Jenny Lewis’s published works include When I Became an Amazon (Iron Press, 1996/ Bilingua, Russia 2002), Fathom (Oxford Poets/ Carcanet 2007) and After Gilgamesh (Mulfran Press, 2011) a verse drama for Pegasus Theatre, Oxford. Her forthcoming collection Taking Mesopotamia (March 2014, Oxford Poets/ Carcanet) expresses the revulsion and despair that ordinary people, especially women, feel towards war. She teaches poetry at Oxford University.

A day at the (Poetry Book) Fair

poetry book fair 2013

Having answered a call for volunteers on Facebook, I found myself yesterday at Conway Hall in London, donning a blue badge and helping out at the Free Verse: Poetry Book Fair.

Organised by Chrissy Williams and CB Editions, with a lot of help also from Joey Connolly, the Fair is in its third year and apparently bigger than ever. I wasn’t sure what to expect but it was quite a crush – and with something like 700 visitors through the door and 50 or so publishers present, I felt nervously close to the epicentre of the poetry world.

When it comes to events I quite enjoy having a job to do, because otherwise I tend to turn up, wander around, not dare to talk to anyone and leave with a sensation that everyone else knows each other and I don’t know anyone. Actually I still felt like I didn’t know anyone, even though I blatantly did – the ever-friendly Mike from the Poetry Society plus several poet friends including Hilda Sheehan, Marion Tracy and Harry Man. I had very nice chats with many of the publishers and by the end of the day had minded shop for Amy from Seren Books and Sophie from Inpress. I even sold a book for Inpress (thanks, Marion!) I introduced myself to Nell Nelson from HappenStance and discovered a poetry press in my own home town that I’d never heard of. Who’d have thunk it?

I nearly bought quite a lot of stuff but in the end restrained myself. On the Templar table I fell for Matt Bryden’s Night Porter, which has got me thinking seriously about how I might group up some of my poems around a distinct theme and enter them for the Iota Shots pamphlet comp.

Then I spent £3 on a set of 4 microbooks from Hazard Press, witty confections and utterly not what I ought to have been buying, but I couldn’t resist.

On the Roncadora Press table, artist Hugh Bryden told me about the processes involved in producing their beautiful publications, all hand-made. I was so, so tempted by Nest – the photo on their site does not do it justice, the whole thing is a wonderful work of art, and they were selling it for just £6. Blimey, that can hardly have paid for the paper.

Astrid Alben

After the publishers had packed up and left, everyone moved over to the pub for an evening of free readings. Although I didn’t stay for them all, I did catch an enjoyable short set from Astrid Alben, reading from her Arc collection Ai! Ai! Pianissimo (memorable or what?) and later on, with a whole army of young male fans in tow, Chris McCabe who read in tandem with Jeremy Reed from their Nine Arches Press publication Whitehall Jackals. Read his blog post about the making of it here. Sorry about the rather grainy pics by the way.

chris mccabe

Chris was the highlight of the evening for me. I loved his poetry and both he and Astrid were readers with real presence – something that’s hard to define and probably impossible to teach, but you kind of know it when you see it. All in all an enjoyable and inspirational day.

BlueGate Poets Anthology

Hilda Sheehan
Hilda Sheehan at the Swindon Festival of Literature

 

Swindon is a hotbed of poetry! I actually live 130 miles from there, but this year I’ve been drawn into its orbit and am very pleased to be a member of BlueGate Poets. Founded in 2008 by the extraordinary and indefatigable writer and arts event organiser Hilda Sheehan, BlueGate Poets hosts events, readings, workshops and open mics, and its membership has grown to fifty or so, from aspiring writers to published and award-winning.

It’s lovely to have a couple of my poems in BlueGate Poets latest online anthology  (check out also a previous anthology, Separate Ways, poems written on the Swindon Art Collection – some lovely gems there.)

Hilda’s first poetry collection The Night My Sister Went to Hollywood was published recently by Cultured Llama and she’ll be reading from it at the  Free Verse: Poetry Book Fair in London this weekend. I’ll be there making tea or something, so hoping to catch with Hilda and other poet friends – let me know if you’re going too!

A bit of a rave about Sam Willetts

On the train to the Poetry Review launch the other week  I looked through the magazine to remind myself of the poems which I’d enjoyed on first reading, or that I remembered (not always the same thing of course).

Consequently I found myself re-reading Claire Crowther, Sam Willetts and Jean Sprackland, checking their biographies in the back (why are these always so compelling? Or is it just me that finds them so? I know some mags are firmly of the ‘no biogs’ camp and it always makes me feel a bit cheated as I love to know a bit about the writers).

One of the evening’s readers at Keats House was in fact Sam Willetts, who read all three of his PR poems, two short and one long. I’ll own up now to a rather skittish habit I have of reading short poems before long ones. Superficial? In need of instant gratification? Miniscule attention span? I don’t know. But ‘Stone’ and ‘The Bemusement Arcade’ hooked me in enough to make me want to read the longer ‘Caravaggio’. It’s one of those poems you start reading and think that any minute you’re going to stop, but you keep reading. Like watching something horrific on TV, looking away, but not actually changing channel. It’s the story of an incident that took place when the writer was twelve. Not a pleasant story –  you almost want to wash your hands after reading it –  and yet it reeks of so much ‘impossible truth’, both for the boy at the time and later as an adult ‘Why will all this leave me so angry? What will I have lost?’

New Light for the Old Dark

After the reading I bought a copy of Willetts’ collection ‘New Light for the Old Dark’ (Cape) which was shortlisted for the T S Eliot Prize in 2010. So I’ve obviously come a little late to the party on this one. But there’s so much I really love about these poems: lively language that almost winks at you, cinematic effects (I mean that in a good way!), a strong sense of place and the ability to switch calmly to interior moments of great intensity.

Loved this:

Near night’s end on Dover Docks
the Channel meets the wall in white high fives (‘Home’)

And in ‘Trick’ , the ‘unexceptional mystery’ of the death of a parent is told with a mixture of detatchedness and tenderness, a sad litany of un-things (‘Dad’s untoothed mouth gawps’) and

His new state exposes the stark child of him
and un-sons me.

There’s a beautiful delicacy about so much of this writing. Even the triolet form is brought to bear with great effect on the tale of an apparent suicide:

She thought that she might breathe the river
breathe the river and never rise (‘Thames Triolet’)

Loved this too:

One police car slides by, and another
slow and self-announcing as a pair of swans.

(‘On Hanway Street with Persian Ali’)

Sorry this isn’t a proper review, just a snapshot. Perhaps I need to go on a ‘how to write a review’ course.

Proper reviews etc: Kate Kellaway  in the Guardian, Steven Knight in the Independent,  Susanna Rustin interview in the Guardian.

I mislaid my poetic mojo in a Ghent hostel

Poetry mags and books

Having been away for four days ‘helping’ with a college trip to Belgium (my husband was the tour leader – his A level students) I’m finding it hard to get back to poetry.

I suppose it’s partly because I’m having to catch up with work as well, and not having a proper night’s sleep the whole time we were away (teenagers don’t go to sleep before 2am, so nor can anyone else in a Youth Hostel where there are no carpets and the doors all slam).

Although they were (for the most part) very nice people, I just found the whole being-around-40-teenagers utterly exhausting and a tad depressing. Their energy saps mine, their zest for life deadens my creativity. I’m amazed at how so many writers are able to combine a teaching career with writing – and yet it’s such a common combination, whether it’s by choice or necessity.

OK, I realise I’m probably being over-dramatic here, after all I think a foreign trip is tiring even for the full time teachers, because you’re never off-duty, not for a moment.

Anyway, I think I now have an even higher respect for my husband and his colleagues for everything they bring and give to teaching. I just know I don’t have that kind of generosity in me!

But on a more positive note… lots to look forward to, not least of all some much-needed sunshine!

The answer to a creativity deadzone for me is to read, and read good stuff. I’ve still to explore the new Poetry Review and Magma which arrived a week or so ago, plus I’m reading Abegail Morley’s Snow Child and Ben Parker’s The Escape Artists, so I’ll be talking about those soon on the blog.

Poetry readings coming up: Hilda Sheehan has very kindly invited me to read at the Blue Gate Poets meeting on 8th August in Swindon, and I’m currently talking with the organisers of the Shoreham Wordfest about putting on a poetry night where I hope to be reading alongside some lovely poet friends. Then come October there are exciting plans for a reading with Abegail Morley and Emer Gillespie – will keep you posted.

Unaccustomed as I am

(So sorry about the weird asterisks etc in the following – just that last time I mentioned the B word I got immediately spam-commented and spam-followed by some decidedly un-poetic peeps.)

It’s been quite a busy week, easier to do it in reverse order – yesterday and Friday I was in London at the BritMums conference, speaking about b* logging (actually about b* log design, which really got my  imposter syndrome alarm bells ringing. Bad enough presenting at a conference where I felt like an alien already – being about 20 25 years older than the average attendee and 100% less maternal.) That doesn’t mean I wasn’t delighted to speak there of course, and all the people I met were lovely. The event certainly had a friendly, supportive vibe. But nonetheless I was a teensy bit out of my comfort zone.  Plus, the Waterstones stand at the show didn’t even have my book for sale – claiming they couldn’t get hold of it, even though the publisher pointed them to reserve stock for them to access. Even though I’m not on a royalties deal, it didn’t look good that my book wasn’t there. GRRRRR. ( I really liked the venue by the way – The Brewery, in the city – a great change from the terrible Hilton-type identikit conferences.)

Britmums Live weekend in London
From The Brewery to Catford precinct – two sides to London

Staying overnight in London did mean having the chance to see one of my good friends from schooldays and stay in her lovely big quiet house just a stone’s throw from where we went to school. It’s an area of south east London which as a teenager I never had much time for, but funny how going back there all I see are wide roads, leafy parks, a greengrocer on every corner and PLENTIFUL public transport links. *Sigh*

Last Monday I was in Tonbridge giving a talk on .. yes … the B word .. to a group of writers. The group is a newly formed ‘hub’, or outpost of New Writing South. The group included quite a few poets, including the lovely Abegail Morley – always nice to see a friendly face or two at these things! I was ready to feature Abe’s fab blog The Poetry Shed  plus a whole host of others in my talk, but was thwarted by the Great Firewall of Kent County Council. Oh yes. Internet access? No problem – you just can’t bring up any actual websites, especially anything to do with poetry. There might be some LANGUAGE I suppose. So the talk about b* logging took place without visual reference to any actual b* logs. It kind of reminded me of the time I had to take an exercise-to-music class and my tape machine broke down. (In case you’re wondering, I just counted out loud. A lot.)

On the submissions front I’ve been sending off quite a few bits and bobs – some more hopeful/speculative than anything, but I seem to have written a good amount of stuff the last couple of months and although I’ve not had the chance to workshop any of it I’m just going with my gut instinct about what is and isn’t good enough to send out. So either way, the second half of the year should be eventful. I sent some poems to Under the Radar back in March, so I’m hoping to hear from them soon (?) – I’ll let you know, whether yay or nay. And then there’s that bit of good news I had about a month ago and it STILL hasn’t been made public and I’m getting REALLY itchy about it (or maybe that’s that the humungous mosquito bites I sustained the other day.)

That’s all for now – thanks for reading and I hope you have a super week.

Getting poetry out there

Charles n Di mugAs I sit down with a cup of tea in my favourite mug (pictured above – just an excuse to feature it, really! I inherited it from my mum, it used to be one of pair but the other got broken, and I’m so attached to this one I dread anything happening to it. It’s not as if I’m a raving royalist but I love the kitsch of it, so wonderfully lacking in irony, plus there’s just something touching about this reminder of Charles and Di in their youth, before all that stuff happened…) erm, where was I?

Anyway, I was just thinking about my fellow book group members who I’ll be seeing tonight, and how popular book groups seem to be, and why more people don’t read poetry .. the  perennial question! I was also thinking of a conversation I had earlier this week with Margaret Wilmot about her new pamphlet, published by the highly respected Michael Laskey at Smith’s Knoll, and the challenge of distribution and sales. I was also thinking of a blog post I read yesterday at Rack Press Poetry about Amazon listing pamphlets as ‘unavailable’ when they actually are (but not from Amazon).

There is so much intelligent debate around the issue of how to get more people reading and buying poetry. I enjoyed this recent post by Judi Sutherland, for example, and her ideas of what she would do if she were the ‘marketing manager for UK Poetry plc’.

Of course, the distribution issue is classic chicken-and-egg. Bookshops won’t stock poetry from publishers or authors they’ve never heard of – not just because they fear they won’t sell (they can always send them back) but because the valuable retail space they would occupy is more profitably allocated to yet more copies of the latest E L James or whatever. So bookshop browsers never come across any poetry books, don’t know even the names of any poets and therefore are never going to ask for poetry or poets.

I know this argument well, from my experience in the sports industry. In the 1990s, UK sports retailers were notoriously male-sport-oriented. Independent stores in particular were owned and managed by men. They refused to stock a decent range of women’s sports shoes, their argument being that ‘women won’t pay more than £30 for a paid of trainers’ or even that ‘women buy kids trainers because they go up to their size and are cheaper.’ It didn’t seem to occur to them that women were only buying those products because they had no choice, and didn’t know what else was available. Retailers wouldn’t take the risk, didn’t understand what female customers wanted and didn’t care about the product except in terms of SKUs (stock keeping units) and getting the highest turnover per-square-foot.

Getting retailers to stock women’s sports shoes took an awful lot of work: sales reps had to be educated and incentivised, demand had to be generated and demonstrated, point-of-sale material had to be funded together with other shared-risk schemes and special conditions, favours had to be called in. The manufacturer had to put their shoes on high-profile female athletes and use them in advertising. All before retailers would take a chance on women’s shoes. And we’re not talking about a tiny shoe manufacturer that the retailer had never heard of. This was Nike. (You may think things aren’t much different today but trust me, it’s better than it was.)

I don’t see how it can be any easier for a publishing niche such as poetry, especially considering the tragic state of retail in general right now. The excellent Inpress appears to do a great job on behalf of independent presses, getting poetry books into bookshops. But in general, retail does not take risks, and if I ever have a pamphlet to sell I won’t hold my breath for Waterstones or Foyles to stock it.

So can anything be done to stimulate demand? I think we have to devise more ways to get poetry onto the radar of what Judi Sutherland calls the ‘nearly theres’. I’ve always loved Poems on the Underground, for example. I’m not so keen on the watering down of poetry by harnessing it to something else ‘more popular’, such as bringing out a poet or two at a music festival. I worry that it may reinforce the association between poetry and song lyrics, when it would be nice to see them have an argument occasionally. But maybe that’s just me.

Perhaps all of us who are in a book group should introduce a volume of poetry when it’s our turn to choose, rather than a novel. Perhaps we can help get poetry into more public spaces – shop windows, noticeboards, on the backs of bar menus, on buses, on mugs. Perhaps we should think like old-style ‘interruption’ advertisers. A poetry short in place of one of those endless trailers before a film. How about some guerrilla poems left around town on tables or in shops – the knitters and crochet people do this very well! We need more (some!) poetry on TV – come on, film-makers, I can think of half a dozen ideas for a compelling poetry-themed programme.

OK my tea’s cold now, so rant over. Let me know your thoughts. Have we really tried everything? Is poetry destined to be forever a teeny drop in the publishing ocean?

Where my poetry pocket money has been going

June 3rd and I think I’ve already blown my poetry pocket money for this month.

First of all I’ve subscribed to Poetry London which I’ve been meaning to do for ages, and I asked to start with the Spring 13 issue, which has resulted in both Spring and Summer issues arriving within days of each other. A feast!

Today I was reading John Field’s brilliant review of Ben Parker’s first pamphlet ‘The Escape Artists‘ from tall-lighthouse, and couldn’t resist buying it, being only £4. You can’t even buy a glass of wine for that in London. (By the way, if you haven’t already, do read Adele Ward’s impassioned blog posts about how we MUST buy directly from small publishers.)

Then today I entered the Mslexia poetry comp for the first time, having told myself I needed to enter some competitions this year, but only big ones otherwise it gets horribly expensive. And yes, I have also entered the Bridport – well, a gal’s gotta try! I did have a go at the Mslexia Pamphlet comp last year, but more for the experience of trying to put a pamphlet together than any thoughts of glory – there was none, anyway.

Maybe I’m feeling a bit more confident at the moment having had some good news recently, but nothing I’m able to blab about here, at least for the time being – sorry!

My blog’s seen a flurry of new readers after the lovely Abegail Morley linked to Poetgal from her own blog, The Poetry Shed.  If you haven’t read her powerful collection “How to pour madness into a teacup’ I can certainly recommend it, I found myself reading it in one sitting.