Category: Places

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Free Verse at Conway Hall

Up to London yesterday for the The Poetry Book & Magazine Fair aka Free Verse, at a new time of year (February rather than September) and back at Conway Hall.

Recently I’ve been plagued by headaches so after getting off the train I decided what I needed was a nice fresh(?) air walk across London from Victoria to Holburn.  It’s almost a straight line if you don’t mind the crowds – Buckingham Palace, Piccadilly Circus,  Shaftesbury Avenue – but of course I tried to be clever by diving down side streets and avoiding tourists or shoppers. This always means a few poor decisions and at least another ten minutes to the journey. But it’s often serendipitous. On Savile Row I passed a blue plaque announcing ‘The Beatles played their last concert on the roof of this building’. A few streets later I came across Marshall Street Baths, a 1930s building now restored and reopened as a public leisure centre in a most unexpected location in Soho. I remember visiting it when I was working for Nike in the 1990s, to assess its suitability as a venue for a fitness event. In the end we went with Seymour Leisure Centre in Marylebone, another historic old ‘baths’ (of the type mostly disappeared from our towns) now brought into the 21st century.

I love walking around London and discovering quirky, lost or almost lost sites. Author Paul Talling’s ‘Derelict London’ walks are a must if you’re into this sort of thing and within striking distance of the city. I’ve been on a few of them – but you have to book months ahead, as they fill up within minutes of his posting them online. Subscribe to his email alerts and you’re given a day’s warning so you can be ready on the dot of 9am to hit ‘buy tickets’. Paul’s site is fascinating and labyrinthine, but you can sign up for his emails here if you’re interested the walks.

You may wonder what this has got to do with poetry, but in fact it segues very neatly into a little pamphlet from Tamar Yoseloff’s Hercules Editions that I picked up yesterday, called Formerly. It was the first pamphlet from the press, and a collaboration with photographer Vici Macdonald. Vici’s photos of London’s derelict buildings, ghost adverts and Victorian boozers were the prompts for Tammy’s sonnets. Doorstep sellers, ‘Sweeney’-style low life, barmaids and the dead are some of the voices in these poems, as the poet imagines the people inhabiting these nearly-gone and semi-lost places.  It’s accompanied by a pull-out guide describing the locations, and Vici’s and Tammy’s accompanying notes. Fascinating. I admit I’m a sucker for attractive packaging and Hercules specialise in gorgeous covers – fab fonts, spot varnish and gold leaf abound! The press’s latest publication is Martyn Crucefix’s Cargo of Limbs, which I also bought and am looking forward to reading.

Here’s my haul from yesterday:

Books from Free Verse the poetry book fair

During the afternoon I was helping Jeremy Page on the Frogmore Press table, now becoming a bit of a tradition. Next to us was Andy Croft of Smokestack, with whom I had some fascinating conversations about the ethos behind his press, communist poets, mutual friends such as Peter Raynard, and the like. I covered for his table when both he and Jeremy were on a break, and managed to sell two books and two copies of the Frogmore Papers. I’m not sure I did so well the rest of the afternoon but it was a flying start!

As ever, the Fair was as great chance to catch up, meet for the first time or just wave ‘hello’ to lots of lovely poets including Abigail Parry, Carrie Etter, Susannah Hart, Briony Bax, Tamar Yoseloff, Jess Mookherjee, Sarah James, Jinny Fisher, Liz Bahs, Joolz & Hilaire, Rishi Dastidar and Davina Prince. If I’ve left anyone out I do apologise. It was also nice to chat with people generally while on the Frogmore table, including some people who turned out to be non-poets but just come in to browse and check it out. Which was fantastic. It was quite a crush all day, but I did feel it was the friendliest Free Verse I’d been to so far. Huge thanks to the Poetry Society for their organisation of the event.

I’d like to give a shout to Jeremy Dixon of Hazard Press and his intricately-made books. At a past Fair I’d bought three of his ‘micro books’, this time my eye was drawn to pocket-sized pamphlet called Caught by a Wave, which opens out into two concertinas featuring found black and white photos and overprinted with words that repeat and overspill (rather like waves I guess). Some of the print is overlaid in blue foil. Jeremy explained that he tries not to buy new material but to use what he has already collected. Each booklet featured sightly different paper stock or colour of cover. I have number 21 of 40. A collector’s item! I was also sorely tempted by My Nineties Madonna Scrapbook, but that will have to wait for a future fair, if it’s not sold out.

caught-by-a-wave - Hazard Press

Conway Hall is an iconic building, home of the Ethical Society and venue for all kinds of events. Yesterday the Main Hall was crammed with poetry people and books, but the balcony provided a quiet place to take time out. Also a good place to take pictures.

conwayhall-stairway

Free Verse 2020

Free Verse Poetry Book Fair 2020

When the Fair ended, I was due to meet a friend for supper in Crystal Palace, that’s deepest South London to those not in the know. I was supposed to walk to City Thameslink station, but took a wrong turning somehow and ended up walking all the way to Blackfriars and catching a train from there. So it was definitely a ‘see London’ day yesterday.

I actually bought two copies of Formerly by Tamar Yoseloff and Vici Macdonald and to celebrate a lovely day at Free Verse I’d like to give one away to one of my blog readers. Just leave me a note in the comments telling me why you’d like it, and if there’s more than one I’ll put the names in a hat and draw a winner.

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Music, art, poetry launch and a party

It’s February. It’s rainy and windy. What better reason for arty distractions?

On Wednesday we slipped over to Chichester to see The Sixteen perform Handel’s Acis & Galatea in the cathedral.

The next day we visited the Pallant House Gallery to see an exhibition of work by 20th century artist Jessica Dismorr and several of her (female) contemporaries. I confess I hadn’t heard of her before, but enjoyed learning more about her life and seeing some of her art, which certainly developed over her lifetime, from this:

to more abstract work such as this, one of a series of pieces entitled ‘Related Forms’:

In a neighbouring room was an exhibition of work by Jann Haworth, mostly billed as ‘pop art’ and ‘soft sculpture, which was great fun. One of the pieces got me thinking about a poem, although I’m not generally into ekphrastic stuff. On the way in, visitors had been invited to think of a person who was their own female hero and to draw her face onto a card. The resulting display was strangely moving.

The Pallant House Gallery is housed mostly in a modern extension to an original Georgian house, although you pass seamlessly from one to the other when viewing exhibitions. Having started in the new section I was struck particularly by the different smells when walking into the rooms of the old house. A smell of old building, yet each room was different. The impressive stairway and hall of the old building is also used as an exhibition space, currently Wall Pomp by Pablo Bronstein which I loved – I want massive graphics like this in our flat!

pallant house stairway

That evening I was in Brighton for the launch of the first collection by poet friend Sarah Windebank, Memories of a Swedish Grandmother, together with five other books in the new series from Spotlight, which bills itself as a collaboration between Creative Futures, Myriad Editions and New Writing South. I’m so pleased for Sarah – it’s a super collection and I was privileged to hear several of the poems when she brought them to Brighton Stanza for workshopping. I also really enjoyed the reading by Jacqueline Haskell, a poet I wasn’t familiar with, and I came away with her book Stroking Cerberus.

Myriad Launch

myriad launch

Yesterday was the third of six choral workshop days that Nick and I are organising in Lewes and Eastbourne, and despite the threat of bad weather everyone showed up and we had a fine day learning one the six Bach Motets. The workshop days are great fun and high energy but take some organising. Three more to go. Following that, Nick went off to conduct a concert and I took myself to Brighton to Peter Kenny‘s birthday party and a right good knees up among poet and non-poet friends. Sadly I had to leave unfashionably early, but I slept very well last night.

Looks like the storm is abating – I hope you’re staying dry and well.

 

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Working from (a temporary) home

I’m currently working each morning from a little B&B room in a farmhouse in Pembrokeshire, while Nick is here playing the organ for St David’s Cathedral. Apart from occasionally getting up in the night and bashing into furniture it’s all very pleasant. A cockerel and a swarm of hens outside. Peaceful countryside views. We’ve had some lovely walks along the coast, and a boat trip over to Skomer island. Our hosts are accommodating and don’t seem to mind me holing up here a lot of the time, even though it probably seems a bit odd. Our flat and garden are being taken care of at home, so I’m trying not to worry about the tomatoes, or dwell on the heatwave we’re missing…

The timing is a bit weird as we’re shortly off for a ‘proper’ holiday, and so I’m finding there’s rather a lot to fit in beforehand. One big (but unpaid!) job is to get the quarterly magazines submissions windows list up to date for mailing out on or around September 1st. So far I’ve been through the spreadsheet and updated all that I can from the magazine websites and/or Twitter feed: new URLs, new subs windows info, changes to guidelines, publication schedules and whatever. I’ll emailed eleven magazine editors to ask them to clarify (eg when websites show a July submissions deadline, that sort of thing). Have heard back from one so far, but hopefully by the end of next week… It looks like there are at least half a dozen new publications to add. And some windows closing on August 31st or early September, so I’ll let everyone know that on an email prior to the end of the month.

If you’re not on the email list for this and would like to be, just let me know (robin at robinhoughtonpoetry.co.uk) and I’ll add you.

Meanwhile, I’m reviewing my manuscript for Live Canon, as some of the poems have changed a little. And I’m trying to keep up with (but enjoying) Live Canon’s August Treasure Hunt.

On the submissions front I’ve had three poems rejected by Prole (they have such a fast turnaround, which never ceases to amaze me) and two accepted by Stand, which I’m very pleased about as I’ve never had anything published there, and it’s a great mag (and I like the shape/ format too).

By the way – Prole has a pamphlet competition on at the moment but it closes on 31 August, so hurry if you fancy entering,

I was hoping to make this week a bit of a mini-retreat, but so far I’ve only managed to start one new poem. I’ve been reading as well, but I haven’t quite had the time I imagined I’d have.

Anyway here are a few photos to give you the feel of the place…

Pembrokeshire coast

welsh pony

Little Haven, Pembrokeshire

St David's Cathedral

St David's Cathedral interior (Nave)

 

 

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London Undercurrents at Clapham Bookshop

Joolz Sparkes and Hilaire have been collaborating on London Undercurrents for a number of years and I was delighted when it was published by Holland Park Press earlier this year. I wasn’t able to make the launch dates and have keeping an eye on when they would be reading again. I’ve heard both Joolz and Hilaire read some of these poems before and have always enjoyed them. So when I saw they were reading at Clapham Bookshop last night, I hot-footed it up.

London Undercurrents is ‘the hidden histories of London’s unsung heroines, north and south of the river’. Some of the women depicted are real people, others imagined but based on factual histories of particular jobs, workplaces and locations. The book is organised in thematic sections, each introduced by ‘fragments’ from North and South.

I’m looking forward to reading it – it’s coming with me on my reading/writing break next week. But for now, here’s Hilaire reading ‘At 65, Miss Lancaster is still at the wheel’:

Joolz & Hilaire with London Undercurrents
Joolz Sparkes & Hilaire

 

 

 

 

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Poems, schmoems. Couple acceptances, a bit of rejection but hey.

Well hello! I am feeling epic. Not because I’ve suddenly won some dough or got a call from Faber. No!

Health update (feel free to skip!)

You may recall my moaning on about my bad back or whatever. It seems to be something else entirely that’s been sapping me of energy and slowly seizing up my joints to the point of what felt like Permanent Old Ladydom, the mystery has I think been solved. It looks like I have a condition with the important-sounding name of Polymyalgia Rheumatica, which nobody is supposed to get before they hit at least 70 apparently. So for various reasons I don’t fit the profile, except that my brother has also had it, and if he hadn’t said ‘your symptoms sound just like mine’, I would never have been diagnosed. So THANK YOU that bro of mine. The key facts for me to take in are 1) no-one knows what causes it (funny how that’s often the case when it’s a condition mostly affecting women) 2) there is no cure  and 3) one can only wait for it to go into remission, which takes at least 2 years.

But the good news is that there’s a drug that suppresses the symptoms, and for once in my life I have given in Big Time to Big Pharma. Within hours of taking the magic pills I felt about 20 years younger. I am honestly not exaggerating. I am Lazarus. I can function again, and it feels like I’ve got a second chance at life – more so even than after having cancer. So here I am taking a long-term, systemic drug after always saying I never would. I accept there may be side effects but I will manage them. I’m sleeping right through the night. I’m starting to write again. It’s even kicked me and Nick into a new resolve to eat low-carb and take better care of ourselves. So all good.

Quick submissions summary

Poems currently out, to magazines: 11, competitions: just the Bridport (ha) and two pamphlets. One of the pamphlets was ‘long listed’ by Live Canon.

Three more poems rejected by Shearsman, two pamphlets sunk without trace in competitions.

Three poems accepted by Morphrog, one ‘highly commended’ in the Ver Poets comp.

Recent readings

No full readings lately but I did go to the launch of Magma 74 last week and read my ‘hospitality management’ poem. It was a really good night – great to hear many of the poems read, and a chance to catch up with several poet friends including Jayne Stanton, Alison Brackenbury and Hilaire (who read very calmly from London Undercurrents at only five minutes’ notice!), say hello to others who I know either slightly or met for the first time, such as Maura Dooley, Carole Bromley and Stuart Charlesworth, as well as editors Pauline Sewards and Benedict Newbery (a fellow Live Canon longlistee). The venue in Exmouth Market was fun – with a very high but tiny stage. Here are a few pics, not sure who took the medley of pics that appeared on Twitter:

Readers at the launch of Magma 74

 

Here are Benedict and Pauline doing the intros (a bit fuzzy, sorry):

Launch of Magma 74

Two days later I took a wee trip to St Albans, just north of London outside the M25, and it was actually a very easy journey by train  as there was no need to change in London. I was a bit ashamed I’d never been there before, as I like visiting cathedrals and cathedral cities where there’s often a lovely historic vibe.

I was there for the Ver Poets competition readings, so I got to read my HC poem ‘Next best thing’ and hear all the winning poems, some of which were read by the poets themselves. It was a lovely surprise to see Peter Raynard there, as I hadn’t realised St Albans is actually his manor.

Adjudicator Kathryn Maris gave a really thoughtful and kind introduction. At the end, a cheque was presented to a lady from the OLLIE Foundation, a charity that provides funding for suicide prevention skills training for any individual or community that wants it. I wasn’t aware that proceeds from the competition were given to charity in this way, and was impressed. Personally, I think if this was made more explicit in the promo material it may encourage even more entries.

I don’t have any pics of the event but I’m looking forward to reading The Book of Jobs, Kathryn Maris’s first full collection, a copy of which I picked up while I was there.

Oh and here are a couple of photos I took of the Abbey:

St Albans Abbey

st-albans-abbey

 

 

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Estuary English

Estuary by Rachel Lichtenstein

It seems as if class and regional differences are very much to the fore at the moment. No surprise there I suppose, nor the increased discussion of accent as a status marker. When I was growing up my mother was at pains to correct her children’s accents so that we didn’t pick up ‘lazy’ habits, such as glottal stops instead of T at the end of a word like ‘hat’, or saying (shudder!) ‘tomorrer’ or ‘sumfingk’. By lazy of course she meant working class, particularly Cockney, and it was all tied up with her aspirations for us. Her reasoning was that Cockney-sounding females didn’t become (or marry!) doctors or teachers. Similarly, she didn’t want me to learn shorthand typing (as she had) because she felt I’d then be ‘stuck’ in secretarial jobs. But whether I learned to type or not (I didn’t), her main concern was that I should be ‘well-spoken’, because such an accent would mark me as middle class, with all the social and economic advantages she believed that would bring.

It’s funny how things change. These days communications advisers tell people in the public eye to tone down a public-school accent in order to sound ‘friendlier’ or ‘one of the people’. It’s not just accent of course – it’s also the avoidance of Latin sayings or words like ‘hence’ or ‘thus’.) Hence (oops!) the rise and rise of ‘Estuary English’. Actually it’s generally known to linguists as ‘Southeastern Regional Standard’ or ‘London Regional Standard’, since ‘Estuary English’ has been used too often as a mild slur.

This preamble is by way of introducing a wonderful book by Rachel Lichtenstein, Estuary (Penguin 2017). When I picked this up I realised right away how little I knew about the Thames Estuary, its history, communities, traffic and commerce, even its geography. Considering I grew up not so far from the Thames at Greenwich, I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t have pinpointed on a map any of the place names downriver, even the historic ones – Tilbury, Gravesend, Canvey Island. I didn’t even realise Southend was in the estuary at all, imagining it to be much further around the Essex coast. Now I’m as much of an Estuary girl as I am a Londoner, certainly by my accent (which in its unselfconscious state is a bit rough around the edges whilst still being ‘well spoken’ enough to satisfy my mum. Sometimes it slips though…) And I find the mysteries of the sea compelling, particularly when it’s as well-written as this.  (I remember devouring Adam Nicolson’s Sea Room some years ago… highly recommended.)

Lichtenstein takes us on a number of journeys, both on the water and into the region’s many communities. We learn how difficult it is to navigate the treacherous shifting sandbanks, how the area has changed and is changing still with the decline of old industries like cockling and the building of the gargantuan London Gateway container port. There are ‘more shipwrecks per square foot than anywhere else along the UK coastline […] over six hundred known wrecks in the main shipping channel alone’, and the remains of plenty more, from as far back as the Bronze Age.

The book is entrancing with its vocabulary of boats, fishing and coastal communities. At times it read like a foreign language to a landlubber like me who doesn’t know a mizzen from a Genoa (although there is a glossary to help.) But it doesn’t detract from the drama, quite the opposite. And in places it feels like poetry.

Thames estuary sea forts - credit A London Inheritance

We turned the engine off for a while and circled the fort in silence, listening to the gentle sound of the boat cutting through the water, the creaking of the shrouds, the ensign flapping at the stern, the rattle of the boom and the occasional lonely call of a seagull, and then, in the distance, the great boom of guns being tested on Foulness Island.[…] A coastguard border-control ship came towards us, moving quickly through the water. Seawater splashed up over the bow; the wash made us lurch violently from side to side. There was another big explosion over at Foulness: a great cloud of black smoke rose over the Essex coastline.  (Estuary, Chapter 26, ‘Barrow Deep’)

The above photo is from a fascinating blog about mid to late-twentieth century life in London, A London Inheritance.

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Back from Ireland

River Lee, Cork

The rest of my week at the Cork Poetry Festival was brilliant – I want to say that right away as a few people were worried about me after my last blog post – thank you so much for the messages of support/understanding!

I think it took me a day or two to tune into what I’ll call the shape or thread of the place I found myself in. It’s a funny thing to try to make sense of. Finding myself walking a route between venues and remembering it from the day before, thinking ‘oh yes, I noticed that shop yesterday’ and ‘ah, that’s an interesting detail I’m discovering today’. Going down to breakfast and knowing what food there is but trying something different. Getting the feel of each venue and whether to arrive 15 minutes before the start or 5. Realising I do find it hard to concentrate after 10pm and not beating myself up for missing an event if I was too tired. Starting not only to understand the cadences of Cork, and the vernacular of the event in general, but enjoying it too. It was wonderful to meet up with Grainne Tobin, down from Northern Ireland, quick to take me under her wing and a mine of knowledge, ideas and energy. And speaking of energy, I was also lucky to spend time in the company of Abigail Parry: frighteningly talented, generous, modest, funny and one of the hardcore crowd still going strong at 3am on Saturday morning.

And the poetry of course! I heard poets reading in Irish (Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill and Ailbhe Ni Ghearbhuigh), and in Chinese (Jidi Majia) – nothing I’ve experienced before and it felt such a privilege to be there. Both Friday and Saturday nights were corkers: Jonathan Edwards read alongside Abigail Parry, followed by Sasha Dugdale with Theo Dorgan, who stood in for Karen McCarthy Woolf. The third session that night featured Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill and David Harsent who read a series of poems with no titles, and he asked people not to look at him ‘so you don’t know when the next poem is going to begin.’ It created a kind of meditative atmosphere. Saturday night was a sell-out, with Kim Addonizio (btw I think this is the coolest poet webpage photo I’ve ever seen) and Kathryn Maris proving to be an inspired pairing, followed by Leanne O’Sullivan introducing Billy Collins, former US poet laureate and such a pro – his timing and deadpan delivery were perfect, here’s an example.

I’m sorry I seem to have reduced so many fine readings to more or less a list of names. I deliberately didn’t take notes, and now almost a week later it feels like a decade ago. It was an inspirational week for me; I did some good writing while I was there, had some eye-opening conversations and felt I’d glimpsed something of the country/culture in a way that rarely happens when you’re simply a tourist.

I also want to say a huge thank you to the Munster Literature Centre, organisers of the festival, particularly Director Patrick Cotter and Administrator James O’Leary, who appeared to work non-stop and always with an air of calm. Despite a number of readers dropping out through illness, everything was so well organised and on a human-friendly scale. Recommended!

Billy Collins reading at Cork Poetry Festival
Billy Collins

 

A furtive photo taken from the Farmgate Cafe in the English Market…

 

Abigail Parry & Robin Houghton
With Abigail Parry

 

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Home again, and deadlines approaching

Clare Shaw interviews Carrie Etter at Poetry Swindon Festival
Clare Shaw interviews Carrie Etter at Poetry Swindon Festival

The Swindon Poetry Festival over, I’m now catching up with stuff, looking at my book purchases (actually there are a couple of books I still need to buy, not being able to do so because I ran out of cash. Note to self: always take a thick wodge of CASH to poetry events as that will invariably be the only method of payment AND you can be sure there won’t be a cash machine within a mile. Judi Sutherland kindly drove me around the roundabouts of Swindon on Sunday morning as we tried to a) follow the directions given by people in the hotel and petrol station and b) find a cash machine that actually worked.

You can read all my Swindon Festival posts here if you’re interested –  including some audio recordings.

Anyhow, next week is the Needlewriters on Thursday 18th in Lewes which I’m looking forward to very much, then there are a few poetry competition deadlines coming up, such as the Troubadour and the National. Each year I feel less and less optimistic about entering competitions, there seem to be so many brilliant ‘up and coming’ poets on the scene, plus very experienced/successful/professional poets entering (and winning) comps, and who can blame them if the prize money is good? But still. I must remind myself that there is at least an element of luck. And it’s good to support the Poetry Society, Coffee-House Poetry and the many shoestring organisations who rely on income from competitions to stay afloat.

Most importantly I need to finish the ‘how to get published in magazines’ book, before people go off the boil about it. I’ve really enjoyed gathering comments and advice from magazine editors which I think will make very interesting reading. Just when you think it’s all been said, I guess it hasn’t!

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And so to the Tent Palace…

… of the Delicious Air. This will be the venue from tomorrow until Monday for the Poetry Swindon Festival (or is that the Swindon Poetry Festival? It seems to go by both names – part of its mystery!) I’m looking forward to being the “blogger in residence” for this year’s festival, which is still a true indie – none of the mainstream publishers appear to have discovered it yet – and I’m expecting a good sprinkling of Hilda Sheehan pixie-dust over events.

So, that tent. There’s a lot to unpack here: Tent. Palace. Delicious Air.

Tent: I’m not a great one for camping, and marquees bring up thoughts of wobbly floors, rain pattering on canvas and draughts. Then again, I’ve been in some posh tents in my time – the Charleston Festival tent has always involved potted plants, standard lamps and a range of soft furnishings in Bloomsbury prints, although sadly only on stage.

Palace: only slightly anxious about this one. I don’t have a ball gown or a tiara, but in these Harry-n-Meghan days jeans are probably OK. And thick woollies, of course (palaces are only slightly less draughty than tents).

Delicious Air: hmmm. Could be an ironic reference to a local farmer doing his muck-spreading, or possibly a nearby sewage works. Or maybe it refers to the fresh semi-outdoors ambience (must take woollies!!!). I just hope there are no vases of scented lilies.

But naturally I’ve done my research, and I see it’s a quote from Richard Jefferies’ The Open Air. The festival takes place at the Richard Jefferies Museum (his birthplace) at Coate. I hadn’t heard of Jefferies until I went to the 2014 Swindon Poetry Festival. The Wikipedia entry tells me he’s known for his nature writing, and another little detail jumped out at me – that he lived for a short while in Eltham, in South East London, where I grew up. Small world indeed.

I’ll be blogging about the festival events – workshops I’m going to, readings, the odd interview and maybe even some gossip – at the Festival Chronicle, so please do head on over there if you’d like to read all about it. I’m also hoping to fit in the odd nap (I can’t do the late nights like I used to!), a bit of in-room yoga, and I’ve heard there’s a swimming pool which I’m very happy about. I may well blog a bit here too, let’s see how it goes.

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Forward Prizes, Poetry Book Fair – big poetry week

Free Verse Poetry Book Fair 2018

It’s a good thing it’s pouring with rain today as I have every excuse to stay indoors, write, bake bread and plan this week’s garden tasks. I don’t know about my fellow poets but I’m all for a bit of quiet reflective time after the excitement of the Forward Prizes on Tuesday and then Free Verse the Poetry Book Fair yesterday.

It was my first visit to the Forward Prize readings, at the suggestion of Sarah Barnsley who was cockahoop when Abigail Parry got shortlisted for Best First Collection. They are friends and colleagues at Goldsmith’s, and Abi read with the Telltale poets and also contributed a fine poem to our TRUTHS anthology earlier in the year. Needless to say we cheered her on, and although she missed out on the prize (awarded to Phoebe Power for Shrines of Upper Austria (Carcanet) Abigail gave a confident and fluid reading from her collection Jinx (Bloodaxe). Interestingly this prize is sponsored by the Felix Dennis Trust. You may not know this, but Felix Dennis was an extraordinary person – a publisher, poet, philanthropist and amazing planter of trees – over a million in his lifetime, and many more still to come. When he died in 2014 he left £150 million of his fortune to carry on the planting of a 30,000 acre forest of native English trees not far from Shakespeare’s Stratford. What a guy.

I really enjoyed the evening, especially hearing Tracey K Smith, Danez Smith (eventual winner of the Prize for Best Collection, and an electric performer of his work which clearly has page-appeal not just stage-appeal), Shivanee Ramlochan, Fiona Benson and Liz Berry, who won the Best Single Poem prize.

A bit of schmoozing in the foyer but as usual with evening events in London you’re always on a knife-edge of anticipation as to whether you’re going to make it home without incident, Southern Rail being so unreliable. So we didn’t linger. But then I knew the Poetry Book Fair would be a more leisurely occasion for catching up with poet folk.

So to yesterday, and the Poetry Book Fair (now actually the Poetry Book and Magazine Fair) in its new venue, the Senate House of the University of London. The Poetry Society have taken over the running of the event after its having been established over several years by Chrissy Williams and Joey Connolly. I think the organisational mind behind it this year was Julia Bird, and although I wasn’t able to get to any of the readings taking place during the day the whole thing seemed to run smoothly and attract a huge crowd. It was some sort of Heritage Open Day yesterday so the building was buzzing with visitors anyway – I wonder if a few non-poetry people came into the fair to see what it was about? I hope so – there must have been getting on for a hundred exhibitors/vendors with so much on offer.

At the Poetry Book fair 2018

I was helping to ‘person’ the Frogmore Press half-table, giving publisher Jeremy Page a few breaks. I think I sold one book. Sorry Jeremy! In my defence I can only say that I was next to Joanne Clement of Butcher’s Dog magazine, who turned out to be sales supremo. Respect to that woman!

This is maybe the first year I’ve felt at home at the Book Fair, maybe because I felt I knew more people – and I liked the addition of magazines. I had a chance to catch up with Robert Harper (Bare Fiction), Peter Raynard (Proletarian Poetry and Culture Matters), Tamar Yoseloff (Hercules Editions – I was excited to snap up number 12 of 300 copies of The Practical Visionary by Chris McCabe and Sophie Herxheimer) and Jane Commane (Under the Radar/Nine Arches).  Also lovely to meet Claire Walker of Atrium Poetry and  poet Clare Crowther, who co-edits Long Poem Magazine and who I had a long conversation with before we sort of realised who each other were – typical of these events where it’s noisy, everyone seems to be out of context and it’s not always easy to join up the dots quickly enough, brief ‘hellos’ with Richard Skinner, Jess Mookherjee, Sarah James, Brian Docherty, Mike Sims, Jill Abram, Mike Bartholomew-Briggs & Nancy Mattson…. I think I was a bit lightheaded by the time I spoke with Carrie Etter, as I was on the point of leaving, although hopefully she didn’t think I’d been too long down the pub (I didn’t get there at all, honest!)

I’m a real sucker for beautiful books, pamphlets, bookmarks or anything made of paper, frankly. Yes I know that sounds a bit superficial. But I had a budget, so couldn’t buy every lovely object. I had very nice conversations with publishers I’d not come across before, and it’s great to support them if possible, for example the lovely folk from Boatwhistle Books. Besides, buying books on spec is fun – you never know what you’re going to like, so why not take a punt? One can always pass copies on to friends if you decide it hasn’t earned a place on your bookshelf.

Is it me, or is there often a slightly surreal element to these events? It’s the people-watching thing of course – so these are the people who read/write poetry! Then Jeremy told me we were in the very room where Keeley Hawes as the Home Secretary got murdered in Bodyguard. (Or did she???) Even more mysterious was the odd waft of mothballs as I steered through the hubbub of poetry-browsers. Could it have been emanating from clothing (“It’s the Poetry Book fair luv – I’ll just get my jacket out of mothballs”) or from the books themselves (“here’s that 30 year-old box of copies from the loft – let’s sell them as ‘vintage’ editions”)…?? Anyway, by 4pm someone was resorting to market-stall tactics, yelling GET YER SONNETS HERE! and when Jeremy offered me the chance to slope off I confess I did so. But not without a good haul of new reading and a warm poetry-shaped glow – just what I needed to negotiate the train journey home.