Category: Inspiration

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The Reading List, week 3

Duffy, Larkin & Howe - the Reading LIst week 3

Things have gone a tad pear-shaped these last 2 weeks and I’ve managed to read only 3 books –but I have various excuses, ranging from (ahem!) work, getting ready for our holiday (imminent), selling our house (exchange of contracts WE HOPE imminent), flat-hunting for new flat to replace the one we had to pull out of, a weekend of singing at Westminster Abbey (magical) and arrival of first grandchild (born this morning).

The Bees – Carol Ann Duffy (Picador 2012)

I heard Carol Ann read from this collection when it was shortlisted for the T S Eliot prize. For me she’s a perfect Poet Laureate in that she manages to write poetry that has wide appeal – yet it’s not ‘popular’ in the sense of relentlessly lightweight, and not ‘accessible’ in the sense of there being no work for the reader to do. If there was one overall impression I had after reading this book it was the pleasure Carol Ann takes in the sounds of language – she’s bold with her use of assonance, alliteration and internal rhyme, the most obvious example probably being ‘Cockermouth and Workington’ – ‘No folk fled the flood, / no flags furled or spirits failed –/one brave soul felled.’  Seeded through the book are a number of poems about the poet’s mother, all very moving. Favourite poem: ‘Cold’.

Philip Larkin – High Windows (Faber, 1974)

This is where I show my ignorance (or innocence?) because I admit to being a Larkin virgin (unless you count having read the odd notorious excerpt). I spotted this slim volume, romped through the book and thoroughly enjoyed it, even the curmudgeonly stuff, and laughed in what were probably the wrong places. Here is a style that seems to sit somewhere between John Betjeman in his less twee moments and contemporary poets like Sam Riviere: idiomatic, conversational, multi-layered wit. Reading this collection feels a little like overhearing an unguarded conversation in the pub. ‘And however you bank your screw, the money you save / Won’t in the end by you more than a shave.’ (‘Money’). Favourite poem: ‘Vers de société’.

Sarah Howe – Loop of Jade (Chatto, 2015)

I bought this book on the basis of one short poem in the Guardian and I’m pleased I did. You know that feeling when you’re reading stuff by someone you’ve not encountered before, and you just know this is the Real Thing. I see Loop of Jade is on the Forward Prize shortlist and I’ve absolutely no doubt Sarah Howe will be all over the big poetry prizes in the future, on GCSE syllabi and more. It’s a big, lush book which had me intrigued from the off. I wasn’t convinced by the back cover blurb and the promise of ‘an exploration of self and place, of migration and inheritance’, which sounded a bit familiar. But to be fair it’s hard to describe the density of the language and the pull of so many intricate images, of contemporary China, memories of the poet, her mother and grandmother (‘half-finished bowls / of rice, the ivory Mah Jong tablets / clacking, like joints, swift and mechanical’ – ‘Crossing from Guangdong’), ancient stories and fantastic characters. There are prose poems, snippets of chinese, a meditation on a life model, a hot night in Arizona, a beautiful ekphrastic poem which should be used as reference in all workshops on the subject.

At the start of the book is a quote from Borges referring to ‘a certain Chinese encyclopedia entitled The Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge‘ which classifies animals into groups such as ‘sirens’, ‘frenzied’ and ‘drawn with a very fine camelhair brush’. These then form the basis for many of the poems in the collection. Super, super stuff.  Favourite poem at the moment (but hard to choose): ‘Woman in the garden’.

This post is the latest update to my ‘Reading List’ project begun in July 2015.

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‘Making Poetry Work’ at the Poetry Cafe

Kayo Chingonyi, Kirsten Irving, Clare Pollard at the Poetry Cafe

Yesterday evening I was at the Poetry Cafe for a Poetry Society/Society of Authors event called ‘Making Poetry Work’, billed as a discussion about the ‘business’ of poetry. Being a member of both organisations I felt drawn to it – plus of course I have an interest in the business of poetry in the shape of Telltale Press.

The blurb did say it was aimed at ’emerging’ writers and although I didn’t take that as meaning ‘young’ I think that probably was the intention. As it was, I was probably representative of the average age of the audience. There was a panel: Kayo Chingonyi, Kirsten Irving, Clare Pollard, Kate Potts and Emily Hasler of the Society of Authors.

The format was that Clare Pollard led the panel though a series of questions to do with getting published, how to make a living as a poet (or suitable day jobs to work in around it!) and typical poet career progressions. It was fun and lively, with a good size audience. Only late on did we get to business issues and although I was hoping for more discussion of the publishing business of poetry – readership, sales, distribution, margins and so forth – there wasn’t time and it probably wasn’t on the agenda anyway. It was interesting to hear the advice and opinions of the panellists, but at times I was itching for topics to be thrown open to the audience. I sensed there was quite a bit of knowledge and experience in the audience that would have enriched the conversation. But with a large agenda to cover the time was handled well.

After a chatty break we had brief readings from all the poet panellists and I really enjoyed that – it felt like a lovely antidote to all the ‘businessy’ stuff that gets me fired up (but not always in a good way). Powerful readings, especially from Kayo who I’ve not heard before.

It was great to encounter one or two familiar faces, including Hilaire – makes me realise I’m starting to make London poet friends and be part of something there. I was also very pleased to meet Kirsten Irving, whose magazine Fuselit was one of the first I sent off for when I was starting to write poetry, and I was transfixed by the amount of work and love that had gone into its production, including a little bag of sea creature fridge magnets that came with it. Kirsten said she didn’t often get face to face feedback and she seemed genuinely pleased. It reminded me how important it is to tell people when you’ve appreciated something they’ve done. And producing a poetry magazine has to be pretty thankless at the best of times. Thank a poetry editor today!

 

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The Reading List, week 2

The Reading LIst, week 2 - Poetgal

The weather has been so good lately it’s tempting to go out for a walk (or a pub lunch!) rather than read. But I’m enjoying the discipline – I find last thing at night and first thing in the morning are good times to read. This week I read through five more collections.

Hangman’s Acre – Janet Sutherland (Shearsman 2009)

I love the way this collection is shaped, framed by poems of love, separation and reunion. In between there are tender explorations of ageing, loss and grief. But there’s much more than that: Janet’s poetry of the South Downs, spirituality as seen through nature, the death of animals and a powerful rage against female genital mutilation. And more – such as the short ‘Bone Monkey’ sequence, a precursor to the more recent collection of that name. Janet’s poems are spare and precise, a joy to read over. Favourite poem: ‘A Walk with Five Dewponds’.

Crow – Ted Hughes (Faber 1972)

At school, we read half a dozen Ted Hughes poems and I memorised ‘Hawk Roosting’ for my A level English. Reading Hughes got me interested in writing poetry and I’ve always regarded him with awe. And yet reading Crow made it so obvious that I’ve only scratched a very small bit of the surface when it comes to his work. This was actually a two-day job, even without re-reading as I went along (one of my ‘reading list’ rules). What to say about Crow? A masterclass in extended metaphor. I would say ‘a roller coaster ride’ if that weren’t such a  stupid cliche – gruesome, comedic, horrifying, tender and raging, you could say it was all those things. Above all it challenged me, pushed me into things I didn’t like, made me want to put the book down, but just as strong was the urge to read on. I had a few nightmares. But it was worth it. Favourite poem: ‘Lovesong’.

Earthworks – Jacqueline Gabbitas (Stonewood Press, 2012)

More lovely poetry of nature, from close (and slightly spooky) encounters with creatures both dead and alive in forests, on hills and in the garden (‘Bird Buried’) to pagan celebrations, and everywhere the feel and smell of clay, soil, peat, coal and all that lies buried in the earth. There’s a touching memorial which appears to be to the poet’s mother (‘In principio’) and a couple of poems in some kind of dialect – which I struggled a bit with as I couldn’t ‘hear’ the voice, but no doubt would come to life in a reading. Many rich seams of meaning and experience to be uncovered in this short (and neatly packaged) collection. Favourite poem: ‘Bird Buried’.

Hugo Williams – Dear Room (Faber, 2006)

I think Hermione Lee in the cover blurb nicely sums up what I think of Hugo Williams – “.. a poet of such intimate charm, such grace and cunning, and such ordinary comical sadness”. I’ve dipped into this collection many times and it was easy to read it all through in one go. I know Williams’ work is regarded in some quarters as less than heavyweight. But personally I love the ‘accessible’ poems with their deadpan delivery and crushing irony, the small poems telling of big joy (eg ‘Pieces of Sky’) and even bigger melancholy (eg ‘The Cry’).  So much to love in this collection – OK it’s not Crow, but who says you can’t enjoy both chocolate and curly kale? Favourite poem: ‘All the Way Down.’

Kim Lasky – Petrol, Cyan, Electric (Smith/Doorstop 2013)

This pamphlet is a real gem which was shortlisted for the Michael Marks award in 2013 and I don’t know why it hasn’t had the sort of widespread publicity and acclaim that it deserves. The poems link seemingly diverse topics as the science of colour (‘Newton Sees the Seventh Colour’), early experiments in electricity, a mother’s gradual loss of speech and slow descent – ‘We are past the fact of muscle, flesh and nails.’ (‘As if the very air’) and the poet’s imagined meeting with her father in 1944. It really does get better with every reading because there is always something more to discover and enjoy. Favourite poem: ‘There are not enough words in the language.’

This post is the latest update to my ‘Reading List’ project begun in July 2015.

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The Reading List, week 1

The Reading List week1 - what I've been reading

In the first week of my ‘read a poetry book a day’ quest I actually managed five books rather than seven, but I think that’s a pretty good start. As promised here’s a very brief roundup of my impressions, and a few notes on how the process is going generally.

The books

How to Pour Madness into a Teacup – Abegail Morley (Cinnamon, 2009)

A tense, claustrophobic world with two just principal protagonists (‘she’ and ‘he) and a series of nightmarish scenarios where little is said or sayable –   ‘He reads her by her scars. / Does he remember writing them?’ (‘One Last Time’).  The many references to limbs, hands, skin, nails and lips – dragging, wiping, scraping swallowing and sewing – of words, or body parts, or tears – is intensely physical and I felt completely pulled in. The poems are uncomfortable, but compelling – like staring at something you’d really rather turn away from. Read as a sequence at one sitting. Favourite poem: ‘Her Turn’.

Otherwhere – Catherine Smith (Smith/Doorstop, 2012)

Like Abegail, Catherine is both a friend and a poet for whom I have enormous respect. It was she who inspired me start the ‘Reading List’ project, as I explained in my last blog post. So who better to pick up and read in my first week. Reading Otherwhere in one go is rather than gorging on one of those huge chocolate Easter Eggs (in the days when they were filled with yet more chocolate.) One more piece? Oh go on then. In an effort to categorise the themes and styles I started trying to group individual poems under headings…Surreal, Satire, Poignant, Erotic charge, Childhood memory, Ironic observation and Powerful but hard to classify, which I admit is a bit of a cop out. A rich and rollicking great read. Favourite poem: ‘Story’.

A Recipe for Water – Gillian Clarke (Carcanet, 2009)

By the time I picked up A Recipe for Water I was starting to realise how much I have actually read of the poetry books I possess. I feel as if I haven’t had time to read them properly, but even having dipped in and out, I’m still finding many poems familiar. This collection is full of the beautiful nature poetry I associate with Gillian Clarke, her affinity with the Welsh language and her Welsh heritage  – ”The sea turns its pages, speaking in tongues. / The stories are yours, and you are the story.’  – ‘First Words’. Favourite poem: ‘Kites’.

Brumaire and Later – Alasdair Paterson (Flarestack, 2010)

Ooh! I struggled a little here. A pamphlet, so short in length, but very dense. It’s in two halves and built around the premise of the French revolutionary calendar, ‘ in which not only every month but every day was re-named after familiar flora, fauna and work tools’. In the second half, the poems take on the same theme but extend it into post-revolutionary Russia. Not having any great handle on these undoubtedly historic events, I couldn’t quite crack the code. (I blame my French Revolution phobia on being force-fed A Tale of Two Cities when I was eleven.) But I liked the conceit of it, and it makes for some wonderful titles, from ‘Apple’ and ‘Goose’ to ‘Ear’ and ‘Holes’. Probably very entertaining to hear at a reading, with some background preamble.

Overwintering  -Pippa Little  (Carcanet, 2012)

I came across a poem by Pippa Little relatively recently and wanted to read more of her work. Pippa has a wide range of styles and registers, and many of the poems here are rooted in the Northumbrian landscape, its history and its characters. You could glance at the copious notes at the back and worry about what you’re getting into, but no need. The poems are perfectly enjoyable even if you don’t know what the odd word means or refers to (always a sign of good writing, in my book). It was easy to read through this collection in one go, and plenty that was memorable, such as ‘Beijing Flight, Thursday Morning’, ‘After Flooding’ and ‘Spending One Day with Patrick Kavanagh’. Favourite poem: ‘Axis’.

On the process:

To begin with it felt wrong to be reading poetry books as I would a novel – no re-reading or going back (or very little), just ploughing on. But there were unexpected benefits. First of all, when I got the end of a book, especially if I had read it through in one sitting, I found I had very good sense of the work, a big picture if you like, more wood than trees.

Secondly, there are sometimes extended or concurrent themes that may not be obvious when cherry picking or dipping in and out. A repeated word here and there, references between poems (intertextuality, I think that’s called?) and other nuances seem to ping out when you consume a whole book at once. You see many subtle and clever things that you might not otherwise.

It wasn’t easy at first, especially fighting my instinct to re-read when something wasn’t clear. I didn’t re-read until I’d got the end of the collection, and it paid off. On returning to individual poems they seemed so much clearer and familiar the second time around, more so than if I had spent half an hour doing a close reading of a single poem.

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The wonder of positive conversation

Pelham House

Yesterday I had an inspirational afternoon with the lovely Catherine Smith on the sunny terrace of Pelham House in Lewes. OK, so I’ve been a bit low this week what with the pending house move & lack of sleep for worrying about it. But I hardly have a bad life! I was reminded how crucial it is to spend time with friends and their different perspectives, different backgrounds, different cycles to their moods, just different lives. To get out and have conversations, to listen to the timbre of another voice, to be told something new, or see something differently.

I loved hearing Catherine talk about how she came to writing. And there in the conversation was something that set off a spark in my head. It was how she closed the gap between where she felt she was with poetry at the start of her Creative Writing MA, and where she realised she wanted to be. Her answer was simple: she read everything she could get her hands on.

The university allowed her to borrow 15 books a week, so she ‘devoured’ 15 poetry books a week. When she got through them, she went to other libraries. All this at the same time as condensing the MA into one year and bringing up two small children. This is what genuine drive looks like. A calling. I listened to this and thought about how I buy poetry books and then dip and pick at them, or sometimes have them there to read and never get around to it. How I don’t have any children or even elderly parents to worry about and the generous nature of my husband who allows me a free poetry rein. How I know in my heart I’ll never be a big-name poet but if I allow myself to think I’ve gone as far as I’m capable, then that indeed is as good as it will ever get.

At the end of a week in which I’ve gone into a mini meltdown of overwhelm, it’s probably really stupid of me to be setting myself yet more goals. But I feel inspired to follow Catherine’s lead and create a schedule for myself. I could start with the books on my shelf – if I read every poem I have in the house that would be a massive result! Part of me wants to make it into a ‘project’ and not only do the reading but create an online reading group and invite others to join me. But that would take me away from reading time! And I have enough damn projects on the go as it is, not all of which I’m managing to keep up…

When I took myself on a writing retreat it was easy to read a whole collection in a day (well, maybe not Michael Symmons Roberts’ Drysalter or the complete works of William Blake). So here’s the target: seven books a week, and no cheating by choosing just the slim volumes. Catherine suggested picking every fourth book on the shelf, or working through (roughly) in alphabetical order.

Of course, if anyone wants to join me and compare notes, that would be lovely! But I won’t turn it into a PROJECT, at least not unless it becomes A Thing. I can’t promise an in-depth review of every book, but I will report on what I’ve read in any one week. If life (or work, or a house move, or a holiday, or a good conversation) gets in the way, I will try not to beat myself up about it. This is not a competition, and as long as I’m reading, I’m not worrying so much about the writing …

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Poetry titles, aka the naming game

Earlier this week I had two tasks on the go: firstly to whip my pamphlet into shape before sending it off to the Mslexia comp (well, someone has to win it!) and secondly to have an initial read through of several hundred poems in my ‘guest co-selector’ role for a magazine.

It was interesting to do the jobs pretty much side-by-side: to put myself in the shoes of the submitter and the selector at the same time. Of course there are aspects to a pamphlet submission that don’t apply when sending off individual poems. I’ll probably talk more about putting the pamphlet together in another post. But one of the first things I realised as I made my way through the pile (and which made me look again at my pamphlet) was the importance of titles.

Contents page from Frank O Hara Selected
Can only Frank O’Hara get away with a poem entitled ‘Poetry’?

I don’t know about you but I often struggle with titles. I know there are many guidelines about this, and everyone has their preferences. I’ve often heard it said that the title is an opportunity: a first chance to get the reader’s attention. Personally, I have an aversion to those obviously attention-seeking titles you see on competition shortlists. So that leaves us with ‘try to be original, but not too cute.’

Sometimes I start with what I think is a great title, then work backwards and try to write a poem that fits. This rarely results in a fine poem, but is a fun exercise. Am I the only one with several pages of a notebook filled with (what I think are) great titles? I’ve also got a few magazine titles up my sleeve, which of course can be as bizarre as you like. And because there are so many small journals in existence, it’s hard to tell the real from the fictional, and does it really matter? Certainly not on social media where things often get blurred. Every now and then I’m tempted to poet to Facebook something like “Delighted to have had a poem selected for Builder’s Bum Magazine!” and wait for the likes and the congratulatory replies. I’ll put money on nobody saying “What the hell magazine is that??”

Magma 57 contents
Browsing the titles of poems in magazines can be interesting… this is a page from Magma 57

But seriously … as Don Paterson says, “The title is where you can put a clue as to what the poem is about. Once you stated that, don’t keep saying it.” Obviously I wouldn’t dream of messing with the DP, but this isn’t as easy as it sounds, is it? In my anxiety to avoid a boredom-inducing title I’m aware of sometimes being a tad too obscure. It’s as if the title and the poem used to be attached, but after all the edits there is now a huge gap between the two. Nevertheless, I like a title that makes you work. I saw this poem by Jack Underwood the other day and was so intrigued by the title I read right through to the end, something I confess I’m not always good at with long-ish poems, if I’m not gripped early on. Then I wanted to read it again.

I do think a title can make or break a poem, in the sense that a good poem can probably get away with a poor title, but a mediocre poem can rise if the title has been given some thought. I also think it’s a wasted opportunity to give a poem about a cat the title ‘My Cat’.

What do you think? Read any good titles lately? What goes through your mind when giving a poem a title?

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Coffee House Poetry at the Troubadour

Had a great evening yesterday at the Troubadour as Coffee House Poetry, Anne-Marie Fyfe’s fortnightly poetry readings, got underway for its summer season.

It’s a crazy scene –  the vibrancy, the quirkiness, the sheer number of people, Cahal Dallat’s virtuosic keyboard skills (yesterday the background medleys included opera classics and a rumbunctious dose of Mozart, all from memory). Moving amongst the crowd, Anne-Marie greets everyone and the whole place feels like a party. And who’s that sitting at the back? Oh, it’s Van Morrison and Jimmy Page, dropped by for a spot of poetry action. You can’t help but feel you’re on a film set. Love it!

Last night’s first half readers were Mark Huband, Scarlett Sabet, Will Burns & Miranda Peake, after which we had a brief musical interlude when Henry Fajemirokun played and sang a very nice Simon & Garfunkel number. Mark Huband’s background in journalism and travel writing informs his poetry – he read from his book ‘American Road’ and some extracts from a new long work. I loved the start of Scarlett Sabet’s set, a strong first poem full of promise. Towards the end she read some more performance-style poems which I find a bit harder to digest – I suppose I mean the repetition and relentless hard rhymes, which I find distract from the meaning and weaken the power of the words.  Miranda Peake admitted she was very nervous, which was a shame, because it dried out her voice – I suspect I would enjoy her poems on the page, they seemed accomplished.

I didn’t take notes, although I noticed a few people around me doing so. I wonder what they write? Maybe the names, for future reference, or perhaps an idea or two that needed capturing. I do sometimes find my mind wandering in a reading, but not in a bad way – it’s usually something I hear that takes seed or gives me a sudden angle on an old issue. As I’m writing now I’m remembering a couple of things I should have written down at the time. Oh well!  And the other thing I’m famously pants at is taking photos of well-lit readers in dark spaces. Which is why I only managed one, but the reader is so blanched out it could be anyone – although it is in fact Will Burns:

Will Burns Faber poet

The second half felt like the big-hitters, with Nigerian poet Inua Ellams (check out his beautiful and stylish website) full of warmth and humour getting things off to a cracking start, Tim Richardson – a big character with an even bigger following in the room, Roisin Tierney – authoritative presence & many Spanish food references and R.A. Villanueva, a vibrant American reader who I wish I could have paid more attention to, but I was a bit tired and thinking about my train at this point.

My favourite reading of the night was by Will Burns and I couldn’t wait to snap up a copy of his pamphlet. Something about his poetry made me sit up. There was nothing exotic about it, but it was extraordinary. The problem with writing about the extraordinary, whether it’s people, experiences, places, is that the writing has a lot to live up to. (See point 7 of Don Paterson’ tips). Plus there’s not always space for the reader. Whereas writing about the ordinary, in an extraordinary way, feels to me like the real work of poetry. It doesn’t just let me in, it reminds me there’s a reason to write and how much there is still to discover both in myself and in others.

On the home page of the website, a quote from Billy Collins declares that the Troubadour has “evolved over its 60 year history from a hidden-away beatnik coffee house to a world famous center for the performance of music and poetry.” Well, it still feels pretty beatnik to me, and nothing wrong with that.

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Can you get a poem out of it?

Courtroom dramaThis is question I’ve been asked (and have asked myself) every since I knew I would be doing jury service these two weeks. Having been given a day off tomorrow (a case finished today) I’ve been thinking about this. It could be an ideal opportunity to observe/experience something new, and comment on it in some interesting way. But in my heart I also know poems don’t really pop up like that, and it’s often the most mundane of encounters – an odd word, a small thing, not a big event – that leads to a poem.

And I know from experience that the really difficult subjects can take years to enter the mind in such as way as to suggest a poem.

I can’t pretend I wasn’t reluctant to do this particular public service, and I anticipated a lot of waiting around, being directed by endless rules and formalities and possibly many hours in a courtroom listening to less-than-scintillating cases. What I didn’t anticipate was quite how much it can get to you, listening to the minutiae of other people’s lives, the dreadful sadness of watching people completely crushed by what they’re going through – people who are total strangers, and yet you can’t help but care. It almost feels like you’re watching a play, because you’re sat there as passive as an audience, and yet this is real life – real people, real consequences.

Jurors aren’t allowed to talk about the cases. Not when they’re ongoing, and not ever. And that can be quite an emotional burden. Will I get a poem out of it? Maybe. But not yet. I could write about it, but I don’t think I’d be able to step back enough from it to craft it up.

Courtroom drama – big business for fiction, but is it a common theme in poetry I wonder?

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Reading from memory

Housman quote

Memorising poems has been much in the news lately. Classrooms recitals for children seem to be making a comeback. Julianne Moore’s character in ‘Still Alice’ is seen reciting Elizabeth Bishop’s ‘One Art’. For the last National Poetry Day theme of ‘Remembering’, Tony Mitton in the Guardian offered his top ten poems for children to learn from memory.

I was always impressed at how many lines of poetry my mother could still remember and recite, nearly 80 years after she learnt them in school. She told me her sister Ivy was better at it – ‘good at spouting’ was her term for it. I liked telling her when I was going to be ‘spouting’ at a poetry reading – although in honesty, I rarely spout, because I’ve never gone to the trouble of learning my own poems from memory, and I although I did learn poems for English exams at school (because we had to quote them) I don’t think I ever recited them, except to myself.

Ted Hughes’s ‘Hawk Roosting’ was one I learned back to front and upside down. In his introduction to By Heart – 101 Poems to Remember (Faber 1997), Hughes gives us an essay on the pleasure of memorising by using imagery and the visceral senses – age-old techniques which he claims were largely eradicated during the Protestantisation of England as being somehow ‘pagan’ or ‘catholic’, to be replaced by ‘rote learning’. I wonder if the loathing of rote learning is one of the factors behind the negative attitude of many people to poetry.

So what about today’s poets? Why are we not performing more of our work from memory? Of course I’m talking about ‘page’ poets here – whatever you think of the distinction, it exists. Perhaps the word ‘performing’ is a clue. Not all poets are performers, or wish to be. And reading without the prop of a book or a sheet of paper does mean answering some scary questions – what do I do with my hands? Where do I look? and not least of all What will happen if I forget the words?

Yesterday evening I had the pleasure of hosting Telltale Poets & Friends here in Lewes, in the warm glow of the (packed) upstairs room of the Lewes Arms, and the first reader was our own Peter Kenny. I’ve heard Peter read quite a few times now, and he has a natural presence and a voice that never fails to pull you in. Last night he gave an outing to a poem I’d not heard before, which he explained had been written thirty years ago or so. It was long, and he recited it from memory. Not just that, but it was a performance – not in the sense that it seemed choreographed or rehearsed, but more that it involved his whole body – in the reciting, in the meaning of the words, in the remembering. It felt powerful, and it seemed to draw in the audience, sharp as a laser. I’ve experienced this before – Cristina Navazo-Eguía Newton is mesmerising when she famously performs her work from memory.

So I’m now inspired to memorise one or two of my own (all pretty short) poems. I’ve a number of readings coming up, the first being Poetry in the House in London next week, at which I’m the first reader. Dare I set myself the goal of performing a poem from memory? Or perhaps start with a more modest goal  – having the book in hand in case I get into trouble, but not looking at it? Would that work? I’m not sure. I know when it comes to singing, I’m more able to sing confidently from memory if I don’t have the music available to fall back on.

I’m interested to know other people’s experiences of reciting or performing free verse from memory. Is it in your repertoire? Something you would like to do more, or no inclination? Do you enjoy or prefer it when poets read from memory?

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Poetry writing retreat at Standen

Back from a couple of days away at Standen, a National Trust house in the Sussex countryside about 45 minutes from where I live. The idea was for it to be a poetry reading & writing retreat, time away from the internet, work and house moving stuff. I love visiting Standen and it was a treat to be able to stay there, even if just for a short time. I’d like to take my husband there in the summer so we can have private picnics on the lawn after the massed general public has gone home.

I got there on Monday evening and thought I ought to have a plan for how to spend my time, but it didn’t really work out that way. I got up early on the first full day, intending to write – I’d brought a selection of books with me, so I started reading, and the reading took over. I got out Don Paterson’s Landing Light and resolved to read it all the way through – even the long poems which I admit I often avoid – and make notes. This was a really good thing to do as I discovered so many connections between poems and appreciated the ordering and the shape of the collection. Too often I dip in and out of collections and probably miss much of the interesting detail. I then started doing the same with Allison McVety’s Lighthouses, but got distracted (or actually inspired, to put it more positively) by an idea for a poem.

Another book I revisited was Strong Words, edited by W N Herbert and Matthew Hollis (Bloodaxe). It’s a marvellous resource, a collection of essays by ‘modern poets on modern poetry’. I just keep coming back to it, it’s so rich and there are so many poets represented it’s a lot to take in. This time I focused on three very different viewpoints from Eavan Boland, Edwin Morgan and U A Fanthorpe.

But you can’t stay at Standen without taking a tour around the house itself, or one of the many countryside walks from the door.

Standen Drawing Room
Not my digs alas – the Drawing Room at Standen
View from the Morris Apartment at Standen
Is it New England? No, Olde England – view from the holiday apartment at Standen

I was lucky with the weather, so I walked down to the Weirwood Reservoir yesterday and only encountered one other person en route. But I did hear a woodpecker, enjoyed the songs of chaffinches, robins and blackbirds and caught a glimpse of two deer in the trees.

standenwalk2 standenwalk1 Standen House, East Grinstead

Standen is an Arts & Crafts house, designed by Philip Webb and built in the last decade of the 19th century. Every aspect of the interior – architecture, layout, furniture and furnishings – is down to him and his Arts & Crafts colleagues (Morris, Voysey et al). Now although I’m partial to a bit of William Morris wallpaper, and once even had curtains made in one of his designs, on closer inspection I think I can say for sure that I would find it hard to live with on this scale. Standen is a family home, but there’s something rather austere about it, which seems slightly odd given the amount of decoration everywhere. It’s tightly controlled. The wallpaper and textile patterns are stylised. Some of the lamps are, quite honestly, ugly. The much-admired Webb fireplaces can verge on the brutalist. There is artisanship everywhere, but not a huge amount of art. Interesting to contrast this with, say, Charleston Farmhouse with its riotous hand-painted decoration to every surface. I realise we’re talking a slightly later period, and the owners of Standen (for all their interest in building a ‘contemporary’ house) were by no means bohemian.

Charleston Farmhouse, The Garden Room.
The Garden Room at Charleston in Sussex, home of artists Vanessa and Clive Bell and Duncan Grant from 1916

But back to my little retreat….the holiday apartment I stayed in is on the second floor, up the servants’ staircase, but nothing about it is poky. This is a grand amount of space and the walls, doors and fitted cupboards have a fine solidity about them. The bathroom is the size of a 21st century studio flat. I loved staying there – it was warm, quiet & private, I could look out on the comings and goings of workers and visitors.

The Morris Apartment at Standen - hallway

The Morris Apartment at Standen

The Morris Apartment at Standen

I did fondly imagine I would spend time in the main house, sitting in the conservatory or the Morning Room with my notebook, as if I owned the place, taking in the vibes of the house, its history and characters. But that’s for a longer stay. Although people staying in the apartment are free to visit the house during opening hours, and I’m sure no-one would have minded if I’d settled in one of the rooms, I think I would have been a curiosity, and detracted from people’s enjoyment of the atmosphere. I’m not sure how I would answer the questions about what I was doing there, or (worse) questions about the rooms and the place itself (although I might have had fun bluffing). I think I’d also end up writing about the visitors rather than the house. As it was, I worked very well upstairs in my lovely garret.

The second day was more productive, I got into my stride and ideas popped. I rummaged through some of the MANY old poems on my computer and selected a few to revive or rework. I did try going through all the others, archiving and even *shudder* deleting some, but soon became exhausted and had to take a nap. Although I was supposed to be internet-free, I did have my phone and kept up with emails and Twitter – which actually wasn’t all bad because a story I read about via a link posted on Twitter got me into a new poem. In the evening I was going up to London for a memorial event for Dannie Abse, so I had to venture out, but I knew I’d be leaving anyway the next day, so the retreat was kind of over then anyway. This morning when I left it was raining and I could hardly see the fields or the reservoir from my window.

The final takeaways – six new poems started, four old ones revived, some good quality reading and an interesting immersion (well, dip) into Arts & Crafts style. Now to see if I have anything worth sending out…