Places – Page 3 – Robin Houghton

Blog/ 21/06/201821/06/2018

Notes on a poetry residential at Garsdale

I’m back from an inspirational week at the Garsdale Retreat, on a poetry residential course that deserved to be full but wasn’t – if you’ve ever done an Arvon week then I recommend you go to Garsdale for a change. Although the selfish part of me doesn’t want anyone else to discover it, I of course want it to be wildly successful. It’s run by partners Hamish and Rebecca, who realised a dream by relocating to the Yorkshire Dales (although strictly speaking they are just into Cumbria) from Hertfordshire. The Retreat has only been open a year but I predict its courses will very soon be oversubscribed. Kim Moore has been a tutor there and has blogged about it too.

On our week, just four of us had Ian Duhig to ourselves, plus a very absorbing evening reading from Hannah Lowe, food to die for, very comfortable accommodation and a gorgeous location. Lambs baaa-ed me to sleep each night and I witnessed the joy of Jackpot the bull being introduced to a field of cows. I saw my first-ever red squirrel. And one day we were even treated to the sight of a steam train passing. We were guests at a cello & piano recital and one evening did a lot of shouting and laughing over a ‘literary game’ that Hamish has clearly got very good at. Plus – oh yes! I wrote, read, thought about, listened to and discussed a lot of poetry.

Ian Duhig has an encyclopedic knowledge of literature, history, myth & legend, politics, the environment and much more. (He’s also hilariously down-to-earth.) Tapping into him was rather like releasing a fireman’s hose (nothing lewd intended in this simile!) and many times I found myself giving up trying to write down references or understand everything and just let his talk flow over me. It felt like the way you pick up bits of a foreign language by going to a country and sitting in a cafe where you overhear conversations and the background talk of a TV or radio. The tutorials with him were intense. I was already somewhat in awe. ‘The Lammas Hireling’ made a huge impression on me when I first read it, and, dear God, he’s won the National twice. Now, in one-to-ones I’m aware I can be a bit difficult at times, so I was very grateful for his forbearance & generosity. I came away challenged and felt suitably kicked up the arse.

The fragmentary way of absorbing ideas and sounds ties in pretty well with the key theme of the week, which was how ‘nothing is wasted’ – digging up fragments, interrogating them, piecing things together, enjoying the connections but also the gaps. In this spirit of this, and since so much of what happens on a course stays between those who were there, in this blog post the narrative ends here.

In what follows I share a few of the phrases and ideas that stayed with me, along with some photos I took there which I hope give a feel of the experience.

“We live in descriptions of places not places” – Wallace Stevens – I tracked this down to a letter written to Henry Church in April 1945.

Untranslateable words, eg Dustsceawung (Old English) – meaning ‘viewing or contemplating dust in the spirit of all things turning to dust. Such contemplation may loosen the grip of worldly desires.’ Ha!

Walls, windows, doors. Idea of ‘the wall which is a door’ in Theology.

‘The ear drieth words as the mouth tastes the meat’ – Book of Job

The disappearing East Coast of England.

Does complex form make you think the poem is less sincere?

“A poem is a bridge that leads to itself” – Paul Muldoon

You don’t want the reader to think “this part of your work is based on an assumption that I don’t think you’ve challenged.”

“Taking the line for a walk” – Paul Klee.

Blog/ 21/12/2017

Launch of ‘Coast to Coast to Coast’ issue 2

I’m back from an (almost) flying trip to Liverpool, a city about 300 miles north of where I live, for a five minute poetry reading – crazy or what? Except I wasn’t the only ‘poetry tourist’ there, and no wonder, as we were there for the launch of no ordinary magazine.

Edited by Maria Isakova Bennett and Michael Brown, ‘Coast to Coast to Coast’ is a handmade journal and every one is unique. I’ve opened it up in the above photo so you can see the cover – Maria designs and creates the covers from tissue, tiny pieces of card, silk and tulle-type fabric and ribbon – each is hand-stitched and assembled. The cover theme for this issue is wintery and cool – the inner pages are printed on complementary paper (white with the whiter covers, cream for the creamer colour schemes). The whole look is so delicate and ethereal you almost don’t want to handle it! Having made my little ‘Foot Wear’ pamphlet (a lot fewer pages and with a printed cover) and knowing the time it took, I can only boggle at the labour that’s gone into the making of these journals (150 copies!)

A bit of Liverpool love

I want to digress here for a moment – first of all to say how much fun the journey was. Travelling by Virgin Pendolino train was What Train Travel Should Be Like. Down here on the South coast we endure Southern Rail: constant cancellations, delays, replacement buses every weekend, slow, uncomfortable journeys in ancient and filthy carriages, expensive and utterly unreliable. So getting on a train that leaves and arrives ON TIME, is quiet, clean and FAST… and, thanks to Advance ticket fares, cheap… I’d simply forgotten any of this was possible!

And Liverpool? There’s such an energy to the place. Its history is on show everywhere.

From inside the Liver Building in Liverpool — Looking out at the Ice Fair from inside the Liver Building

We stayed in the Ropewalks part of town which is basically warehouses mostly converted to flats, hotels, clubs, bars and yet more bars.

liverpool-ropewalks — Um, not actually where we stayed…

Liverpudlians take their entertainment (and shopping) seriously I think. Then there’s the Albert Dock, transformed beyond recognition since the 1980s and now home to the Tate Liverpool, the Maritime Museum and the striking Museum of Liverpool, which reminded me of the Zaha Hadid’s MAXXI Centre for Contemporary Arts in Rome – separated at birth?

Museum of Liverpool and Maxxi Rome — Museum of Liverpool and (bottom right) MAXXI Rome – some similarity, surely?

padlocks by the side of the Mersey in Liverpool — ‘Love locks’ on the chain fence by the side of the Mersey

Back to the launch …

Within the same complex as the Museum of Liverpool is the Open Eye Gallery, a gallery of contemporary photography where the launch for ‘Coast to Coast to Coast’ took place on Tuesday evening. Writer-in-residence Pauline Rowe, who also has a poem in the magazine, co-hosted the event and introduced the current exhibition which we were invited to browse.

It was wonderful to hear readings from poets I knew of but had never met, and some I didn’t know of. I had a great chat with Charles Lauder Jr, and finally got to meet the great Fogginzo himself, John Foggin – naturally I was quick to remind him how he pipped me out of five hundred quid in the Plough competition a couple of years ago, but hey!

robin houghton & johnfoggin — Robin meets the great Fogginzo

I was sorry not to talk with Michael Brown, Maria’s co-editor, who I’ve since discovered with a little research is a fine poet (Roy Marshall has a good interview with him here on his blog) but perhaps our paths will cross again.

With so much good stuff in the magazine it’s hard to pick out the highlights. I loved David Coldwell’s ‘Winter’s Indifference’ and Martin Bewick’s ‘Ways’. In the magazine I enjoyed moving contributions from Suzannah V. Evans and Pippa Little, as well as a funny prose poem from Paul Stephenson. Maria and Michael were thrilled to have had a submission from John Glenday, testament to how well the first edition of the magazine had been received, no doubt. His poem opens the magazine and Maria read it on the night.

Giveaway

So that was my great pre-Christmas adventure. My copy of the magazine is number 15, but I also bought number 55 which is equally beautiful, and I’d like to give it to one of my blog readers. If you’d like to have it, let me know in the comments and I’ll put all names into a hat and draw a winner. The only criterion I ask for is that you’ve posted a comment here over the last year, or that you’ve let me know in some other way that you read the blog. You know who you are! I’ll be doing the draw in a week or so.

Coast to Coast to Coast issue 2 — This beautiful magazine (on the right) could be yours!

Blog/ 20/09/2017

To Liverpool, 28 drafts later

It’s wonderful how software like Illustrator allows non-designers like me a chance to play around with layout, typefaces and graphic design. I really value how digital has made good quality print projects possible for amateur creatives. We can all be publishers now. Producing your own zine, poster, wall art or whatever is cheap and easy.

Perhaps this is what gives the handmade or hand finished object extra appeal. I haven’t seen the magazine Coast to Coast to Coast yet – it’s only on its second edition – but when I came across a tweet asking for submissions, and read about it being hand stitched , I knew I wanted it – and to be in it, if possible. The magazine editors are Maria Isakova Bennett and Michael Brown. I knew Maria’s name from her poetry, but she is also a fine artist, and the magazine is designed to be a work of art, a beautiful artefact in itself. (Fuselit, edited by Kirsten Irving and Jon Stone, is another handmade, limited edition magazine which I have a few copies of, and they are small things of great wonder.)

When Maria emailed to say they had accepted my submission I was excited for several reasons – firstly obviously to have a poem in the magazine and alongside the work of many fine poets, secondly because this particular poem has been in development for A Very Long Time, and lastly because the launch event is at the Open Eye Gallery in Liverpool, it means I get a good reason to go visit.

“The greatest team in Europe…”

When I was a teenager I worshipped Liverpool FC. My girlfriends and I were happy talking about Kevin Keegan all day. I never saw my team play at home, because a journey to Liverpool was inconceivable – at that time I lived in London and I’d never been north of Derby. But I recorded each season’s match results religiously in my diary, an early version of which also bizarrely contained a ‘Club News’ section, written up in my best fourteen-year-old’s sports journalist style, even though no-one read it but me!

Although I’ve only been twice to Liverpool, the thought of going up there in December to hear some lovely poetry, in an art gallery, to stay the night in the city and to take away a handmade piece of art fills me with a ridiculous amount of joy. Ironically I don’t follow football any more.

So what about the 28 drafts?

The poem features a fur, or an alleged fur – depending on how you read it (perhaps it was always destined to appear in a tactile/textile magazine?) Anyway, the first draft was in 2011, and looking at the computer folder I see it has had 28 drafts and six different titles over the last seven years. This has to be a record for me. I know I workshopped it at least three times, each time resulting in my thinking it rubbish and putting it away. I submitted it several times in the early days, but stopped over the years as I lost confidence in it. But I couldn’t give up on it entirely. This year I got it out again for more redrafting. It felt much better – as if I’d had to grow into the poem. And now it’s finally found a home, and I’m absurdly grateful.

Hurrah for the handmade and the labours of love!

Blog/ 23/07/2017

Ty Newydd and the ‘retired hobbyists’ – a few thoughts

Members of the poetry world are aghast at a recently published ‘Independent Review of Support for Publishing and Literature in Wales’. It’s a long document (over 200 pages) but there’s one section in which Ty Newydd, the National Writing Centre of Wales, comes under fire for being allegedly out of touch with its market and being in need of better leadership.

I heard about it after John Foggin tweeted a link to Kim Moore’s blog post in which she defends Ty Newydd, both from a personal standpoint and generally. It’s a great post, if you haven’t already seen it. I wanted to just add my own thoughts, but I won’t go into all the details as Kim covers it all and argues her points with passion. There’s also a link to the report in Kim’s post.

The gist of the offending sections is that Ty Newydd, in running creative writing residential courses, is catering to people with no literary ambition and probably no talent, and what’s more nobody ‘in the digital age’ wants these kinds of courses anyway.

I couldn’t help feeling that quite a few things in the report were under-researched and ill-informed. Glossing over details, using loaded phrases such as ‘retired hobbyists’, inserting lazy generalisations…not what one would expect from an ‘independent’ inquiry.

Of course I bristled at the phrase ‘retired hobbyists’ for all the predictable reasons, and the statement that nobody wants these kinds of courses especially ‘in the digital age’ was, for me, at best a non sequitur and at worst a comment that can only be born of ignorance.

There were a lot of other things that struck me as strange. For example, apart from Seren being listed as one of the consultees, I saw no other mentions of Wales-based indy presses or literary magazines. I also got the feeling that it was considered fine to fund individuals (to finish a book, for example, although – oddly, given the report’s emphasis on publishing books as a meaningful outcome – no mention of books having to be published as a result of the funding) but CW courses are somehow beyond the pale.

I’ve only been to one course at Ty Newydd, the Carol Ann Duffy/Gillian Clarke residential, but it had a huge effect on me. Yes, it had its pros and cons, but I benefited enormously from the experience. It was in 2013 (photo above) and funded by the Hamish Canham prize money – I blogged about it here in fact.

And lastly, to answer the accusation in the report that ‘probably no-one goes on to publish a book’, on the course with me that week in 2013 were David Borrott (Porthole, smith | doorstop 2015), Anja Konig (Advice for an Only Child, Flipped Eye 2015), Ruby Turok-Squire (The Phantom Fundamental, Lapwing 2017), Ben Rogers (Mackerel Salad, Emma Press 2016), Jenny Lewis (already a poet with a number of published books at the time of the course and since then Taking Mesopotamia was published by Carcanet in 2014), Ian Humphreys (who went on to win the Hamish Canham prize and was selected for the Complete Works III in 2016, Lizzie Fincham (Green Figs & Blue Jazz, Cinnamon 2016) and, well, myself – in fact the course led me directly to starting Telltale Press, which has published first pamphlets by five poets, which also adds to the book count. So if books are what impress you, dear report-writers, put that in your digital inkwell and smoke it.

Blog/ 04/06/2017

Recipe for Water

Yes that probably sounds familiar, being the title of the 2009 collection by Gillian Clarke. I’ve been thinking a lot about water lately, and flow – great rivers, the mouths of rivers and the place where they become sea. Just riding the ideas at the moment and not rushing it. As Clarke puts it, ‘The sea turns its pages, speaking in tongues’ (‘First Words’)

I’ve been thumbing through some lovely watery poems. This, from Lynne Hjelmgaard’s A Boat Called Annalise: ‘We are in the Ocean’s mouth, / territory unknown’ (‘Night Watch’). Or this, by Philip Gross:

Scroll up the chattering, brief brilliances
and long abradings, sweeping up of everything

that we let slip, the murk-dynamics
that we might mistake for memory.

(‘Reeling in the River’, from A Fold in the River.)

It’s been just over a year since we moved into our flat which is only a few minutes’ walk from the sea (well, not an ocean but the English Channel), and it’s starting to seep into me. Last week we took a trip to the other end of Great Britain, the northernmost tip of Scotland, and stayed in a room that seemed to teeter over the beach and watch over the North Sea beyond.

On the last day we managed to fit in a trip to Loch Ness. But a highlight for me was crossing the Cromarty Firth on a ferry with only room for one car (ours). Like a sort of river taxi! The river here is full of decommissioned oil rigs which have a sort of bleak beauty.

Angst/ 03/04/2017

Eyewear Anthology launch & a scary flashback

Eyewear - Best New British and Irish Poets anthology

This one is dedicated to my good friend Lucy, who often comes with me to London poetry readings. I’ve taken her to standing-room only upstairs rooms in Victorian pubs, damp basements that turn into saunas in the summer, corners of (yet more) pubs where poets compete with the steady traffic to/from the gents, drunk hilarity from the bar and piped music. She listens, she smiles, she pays her way, she never asks ‘is it nearly over yet?’ and she never complains. And whenever I invite her, she comes along, cheerful as ever! Thank you, Lucy!

Yesterday she and I were at the launch event for Eyewear’s ‘Best New British and Irish Poets 2017’ anthology, at the Windmill in Brixton. I’m very grateful to have a poem in such an anthology, and in such good company. Luke Kennard, thank you for picking it up – I didn’t feel able to elbow my way in to your entourage yesterday to say so, so I’m saying it here. I also want to thank Charles Johnson who originally published the poem in ‘Obsessed with Pipework’.

The Windmill is apparently a legendary music venue – award-winning, longstanding etc. But it had a very strange effect on me. The instructions to find it were to ‘walk along Blenheim Gardens until you think you’ve missed it’ – and I can sort of see why. The road is quiet and residential. The Windmill is slightly set back, and has the appearance of a social club or a school games hut, quite the opposite of the gentrified gastropub one expects in these well-connected, used-to-be-gritty parts of South London. The first thing we noticed was a huge barking/drooling dog on the roof, presumably the one the landlord sends in when punters are reluctant to leave at night.

When I walked inside, I had the most weird sense of deja-vu, or rather being transported back in time to the early eighties, or even earlier. I was hit by a sudden smell – it was as if People Had Been Smoking in there – you know, like in the old days! And no-one had opened any windows since 1986. But wait! I don’t think there were any windows.

The place was dark and deserted but for a chap behind the bar. He was friendly, and sold us two very reasonably priced glasses of wine. I resisted the urge to ask for half a lager & lime, telling myself this is not Lewisham in 1978, I am not a teenager but I was drowning in flashbacks to school discos, freezing cold bus stops, dingy pubs with sticky floors and the acrid taste of snogs with boys who smoked and drank bitter. I tried to laugh it off, thinking it was because I’m currently loving my box set of The Sweeney (“fags, slags, jags and blags”), with all its wonderful shabby London locations and dialogue.

Things got going though, and after sitting outside in the sun for a while we made our way back in for the start and found it packed. Yes, standing room only – although we did find seats at the back for a while, until someone came to ‘fix the air conditioning’ above our heads and we had to move. We heard readings from Eyewear poets, from Luke Kennard (who was the selector for the anthology) and also from contributors, including Jayne Stanton down from the Midlands and Telltale’s own Jess Mookherjee. Todd Swift, Eyewear publisher and compere, was very entertaining and saw us through not one but two power cuts when the fuses went. And Jill Abram was there, at one point working the desk and getting the mic in order – she’s clearly a multi-talented woman.

When it came to my turn to read, I had the usual struggle with the lighting/reading glasses etc, and then when I started speaking I heard this rough-sounding Sarf London accent ricocheting round the room – is that me? I have no idea what was happening, unless it was the trauma of the flashback-stuff and being so close to where I grew up – plus The Sweeney – but I was channelling Denis Waterman (“Ere Guv, isn’t this the boozer where you nicked Fat Charlie in that blag?”) Anyway, I couldn’t do anything about it – if I’d have smartened up my vowels halfway through then it would have sounded weird – like I was putting on a posh poetry voice or something. And I wasn’t imagining this – I mentioned it to Lucy as I sat down and she confirmed it. Ugh! Is there no end to the stressful situations we put ourselves through??!

By that point I was too embarrassed to risk introducing myself to Luke K. So I left feeling rather sheepish about it all. We couldn’t stay to the end as I had to get back to Eastbourne, so I felt a bit guilty about that too. But hey, it was a lovely sunny day. And on the way home I picked up an email to say I’d had a poem accepted for Magma. So that cheered me up. I didn’t watch any of The Sweeney when I got home though.

Blog/ 27/01/2017

Slam Dunk at the Printworks in Hastings

Last night I took the train (yes! there and back! and only slight delays!) to Hastings to Slam Dunk, a regular poetry night at the Printworks, where Hastings Stanza rep Antony Mair was doing a set.

Although it’s not far away, Hastings is still a bit of an unknown quantity for me, but it has an unmistakeably youthful and creative vibe that’s irresistible. There’s an edge to it too – and my first challenge was to find the way in, which turned out to be down a dark alley and without any external signs…a cross between a speakeasy and some sort of squatters’ den – ha! (The experience reminded me of a ‘foreigners only’ bar in Rome about 30 years ago where you had to know the correct (unmarked) door to knock on, and someone slid open the hatch to check you were a) not Italian and b) not male. Men were allowed but only in the company of a woman, and in the proportion one-man-one-woman. I don’t think Rome was ready for any other relationship possibilities in those days. It sounds bizarre but for me as an eighteen-year-old alone in a foreign country it was a ‘safe place’ away from the pests that followed a girl everywhere.)

Anyway, I was rescued by Judith who appeared at what I took for the emergency exit. The room turned out to be one of those cavernous industrial spaces taken over by artists and the hipster crowd – girders/concrete/crittal windows/bar made of chipboard/Edison lightbulbs etc – and buzzing with energy. The Hastings Stanza poets were there in force to support Antony – a few of us for the first time – and in fact the intrepid Roz Balp took part in the open mic with a high degree of panache (that’s her in the featured pic -trust me!)

The format was that open-mic-ers each read one poem, and there was a time limit (two or three minutes – I missed the introduction so not sure) – and after each reader the audience got to give them marks out of ten, with deductions if they went over time. Somebody then did a quick calculation and came up with a number – I couldn’t work out the formula, but there was much cheering as ’24!’ or ’26!’ were announced. Another knockout round followed, with an eventual winner, then a generous break, then the first headliner poet (the previous month’s slam winner – in this case, Antony), then ANOTHER headliner…. and all over by 10pm.

I’m not a huge fan of open mics, but I thought the format worked well, discouraging the bores who only want to go on and on, and keeping the audience engaged with a bit of friendly competition and banter. People paid attention but there wasn’t the reverential hush of your typical poetry reading – the bar was busy and we were kept entertained with blasts from the Dyson hand dryer in the loos behind our table.

The audience was mostly young, creative types, but all ages seemed to be represented – quite a few people even older than me! Several of the readers were young men with beards, fabulously long hair, or both, most of them reminding Steph of her first husband. We had plenty of anti-Trump rhetoric, relationship angst and a surreal poem from Brian Docherty which appeared to be about aliens taking hostage a bloke who tells them Winston Churchill is dead, all taking place on the set of The Only Way is Essex. I may have got that completely wrong, but entertaining as always is Brian. The average age of the poets was significantly lowered by the presence of 15-year-old Ruby, who made it to the read-off with her excellently angry and witty poems. Such confidence! She would have known how to handle those groping Italians back in the 80s.

Antony presented another fine set, although at one point he had to call for the ‘live open fire’ projection to be turned off, in case he had an epileptic fit. It was a teensy bit of a shame though, as the room seemed decidedly chilly once we were no longer looking at the flickering flames.

Final poet of the night was headliner Sally Jenkinson, who was a new name to me – as she said herself it’s great to visit a part of the country you don’t know and to come across new people. In Sally’s case she’s from Doncaster, but has been living in Brighton a couple of years. She gave a strong reading and I liked her style. It’s not easy to go last and she kept us listening to the end.

Then I only had to wait ten minutes for The Train, which actually took me home, and my dear husband surprised me by meeting me at the station. Top night out!

Blog/ 25/07/2016

At the South Downs Poetry Festival

Robin & Jess at South Downs Poetry Festival

When Tim Dawes came to Lewes just a few months ago to talk about his plans for a South Downs Poetry Festival, I admit I was sceptical about whether it could be done in such a short timeframe. But hats off to him, the event happened and from what I can tell, it was a super success.

After a poetry bike ride taking in the length of the South Downs, plus numerous readings and workshops throughout the area, things culminated in a day-long event in Petersfield on Saturday, which I was very pleased to be a part of.

I was there with fellow Telltale Poet Jess Mookherjee, flying the Telltale flag, socialising with fellow publishers/poets and taking in readings and workshops where possible. Being a new festival, it was on a small scale – which made it actually all the more fun. With smallness comes intimacy – everyone was relaxed, poets and organisers accessible, and there was time and space to really talk to people. And we brought cookies – free edibles are always a magnet!

The sun was blazing outside, which made the short walk between venues all the better – although screams of delight from the next-door lido almost made me wish I’d brought my cossie. I even had an enjoyable drive there and back – 80 miles each way through some of Sussex’s loveliest towns, and the A272 was oddly free of horse boxes, cycle races and traction engines. Result! And let’s not forget a memorable warm-up breakfast at the Apothecary Cafe with Jess – we were ON FIRE with ideas by the time we were setting up our stand.

But I digress! The business of the day was of course poetry – Jess and I managed to catch the prize-winning readings of the Havant Poetry Competition, judged by Stephanie Norgate and won by former Brighton Stanza member Anna Kisby with a fine prose poem. Now based in Devon, Anna is a very talented poet who tends to quietly win a lot stuff and deserves a big audience.

During the day there were workshops going on, and readings and performances into the evening. I enjoyed meeting and/or catching up with lots of friendly faces and lovely poet friends including Lucy Cotterill, Hilda Sheehan (sorry we never got to chat properly, Hilda!), Frances White, Hugh Dunkerley, Wendy Klein and Andrew McMillan – whose workshop I managed to get along to and so glad I did – I’ll be posting a full report on this shortly. It was also nice to meet and chat with Alwyn Marriage, who is doing an amazing job running Oversteps Books single-handledly.

My one annoyance was coming out with a phone that I hadn’t charged up properly – a dead phone, DUH! So no photos of our stand (the one above is thanks to the good peeps of Winchester Poetry Festival, taken before we all moved into the much cosier foyer), no pics of the readers, no pics of our superior breakfast, no selfie with Andrew McMillan – tragic!

But despite the lack of pics, it was still a fantastic day. We’re already looking forward to next year’s festival.

Blog/ 29/06/2016

Some poetry readings etc in next two weeks…

Just a quick shout out for some poetry readings & events coming up in the next couple of weeks … we’re always being told how people turn to poetry in times of trouble, so perhaps we need to start promoting poetry readings as an antidote to brexit woes. I already foresee a tranche of poems on brexit-related themes starting to appear in magazines from the autumn… But let’s not wish the summer away. I’m trying to see the sunshine through those dark trees.

Anyway, starting with this evening, 29th June – I’m pleased and proud to have been invited by Abegail Morley to be a guest reader at the launch of her Nine Arches collection, The Skin Diary, alongside Jeremy Page and Mara Bergman. It’s taking place at The Pitcher & Piano in Tunbridge Wells at 7pm – free entry!

Tomorrow evening 30th June I’m in Eastbourne talking to the New Eastbourne Writers about best ways to use Twitter, and hopefully launching the follow up to my ‘How to Use Twitter’ ebook. (I know, not a reading as such but a writers’ event. If you happen to be based in this area and are looking for a writers’ group to join then do come along.)

Next Thursday 7th June at 7pm it’s Telltale Press & Friends at the Poetry Cafe in London – readers are Sarah Barnsley, Siegfried Baber, NEW Telltale poet Jess Mookherjee – more on her very soon – and special guest John McCullough who will be reading from his new collection Spacecraft (Penned in the Margins). These events are always fantastic so do come and meet the Telltales if you can.

On Friday 8th July at 7.45pm at The Writers’ Place in Brighton I’m excited to be reading at ‘New Writing South presents’ alongside Michaela Ridgway and Akila Richards. Tickets are £6 and there’s also an open mic.

And then on Saturday 9th July at 6pm I’ll be joining fellow members of the Hastings Poetry Stanza in the The Bookkeeper bookshop in St Leonards, for an eight-hander reading billed as ‘Beside the Seaside’. It’s part of the St Leonards Festival, the poetry elements of which have been co-ordinated by our intrepid and resourceful leader, Antony Mair.

Blog/ 10/03/2016

Readings, talks, good poetry stuff on the horizon

Last Thursday I was at Roehampton University where I’d been invited by Principal Lecturer Louise Tondeur to talk to her Creative Writing students about Telltale Press, collaborative working, the importance of submitting work to magazines, marketing your work/yourself, that sort of thing. I get a bit scared when faced by a room of people (mostly) under 21 – I find it impossible to tell if they’re interested or even listening. I suppose all my teaching experience has been with adults who are uninhibited about showing enthusiasm or appreciation, asking questions, and engaging fully. And yet the general feedback afterwards was great, and several people wanted to talk to me individually. I was even invited to the students’ showcase event to hear their work. Once again I was reminded of my great admiration for our overworked and underpaid teachers and lecturers.

Monday: to the Troubadour. Anne-Marie Fyfe’s Coffee House Poetry nights at the Troubadour are always well attended. On Monday it was standing room only, and I was lucky to get a seat. The nice thing about everyone squashing up together is you always meet new people, which is great if you go on your own. The room heaves with published poets. Plus there’s always some kind of surprise guest in the audience – or the rumour of one. It all adds to the mystique. The season finale nights are long, with over 60 poets each reading a poem. I haven’t yet made it to the end, only because I have to get the second-to-last train home (the last being over an hour later). But I always enjoy the night. It has to be the most successful poetry night in London… unless you know differently?

Last night: Hastings Stanza. One of the fun things about having relocated to Eastbourne is discovering parts of Sussex I’d never much explored before. I’ve yet to really spend time in Hastings, but it’s less than half an hour on the train and pootling over to the Stanza evenings is a pleasure.

I’ve mentioned before how Antony Mair runs the group with such an air of organised calm. And there’s always something interesting coming up – Antony and Jill Fricker are currently collaborating with local choirs on a project to mark the anniversary of the Battle of Hastings, and last night Jill brought along a lovely poem about Harold’s widow identifying him after the battle by his tattoos. Meanwhile Antony had been to a Live Canon workshop day and subsequently been invited to contribute to an anthology of responses to Shakespeare’s sonnets (another anniversary). He was kind enough to get me invited too, so more about this in another post.

The Hastings Stanza poets are taking part in a World Poetry Day event in Eastbourne on March 21st and a Stanza Bonanza in London in April. All good stuff.

Spring is definitely here – there are lots of readings coming up (more in another post) and next week I’m looking forward to the launch of Lynne Hjelmgaard’s collection A Boat Called Annalise (Seren). Having heard many of the poems in the workshop stage it will be fascinating – plus lovely to see Lynne’s poetry being celebrated. She’s a good friend and mentor, generous and modest about her writing.

Category: Places

A bit of Liverpool love

Back to the launch …

Giveaway

“The greatest team in Europe…”

So what about the 28 drafts?