Category: Poems

Books/

A bit of a rave about Sam Willetts

New Light for the Old Dark

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

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

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

New Light for the Old Dark

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

Loved this:

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

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

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

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

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

Loved this too:

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

(‘On Hanway Street with Persian Ali’)

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

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

Angst/

Anatomy of a rejection

Rejection

Rejection

It was a long time coming (4 months) but Under the Radar finally emailed me a standard ‘not this time’ (or possibly ever?) note the other day, which prompted me (of course) to look at the offending poems to see if there’s mileage in sending them out again as is, or whether they merit reviewing.

I don’t know about you, but I sometimes look at poems when they’re sent back and think ‘well they were rubbish anyway’, but that might be psychological – especially when it’s hard copies in the post and they look like they’re untouched by human hands and probably went straight into the SAE within mllliseconds (as opposed to read, re-read and ummed and ahhed over) – isn’t it silly the games we play with ourselves?

This time, I’m not yet sure which ones I shall re-submit, so I won’t post the actual poems here, but I thought it would be interesting to do a little ‘hard looking’ at each one and share the process with you.

1) The first was one I was quite pleased with, even after workshopping in a Brendan Cleary session some while back. I did make some changes though, and my possibly ‘too clever’ syllabic scheme (which was supposed to tie in with the theme but perhaps required too much obscure knowledge of South American dance styles) maybe sank in its own merengue. But I think the premise is good, so I will persist with this one, perhaps send straight back out elsewhere.

2) Poem number two has been knocking about for a while and is based on a dream sequence that seemed fun at the time but I know the old ‘dream sequence’ thing is a bit of cliche. There’s a lot here I still like, but perhaps it’s a bit over-egging one decent idea, like an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, until you kind of see what’s coming. I do tend to go for cute endings and must curb the tendency for it to be too pat. This poem was first started about 18 months ago – it’s done the rounds and gone through various iterations. So maybe needs resting.

3) Quite a recent one this, and I think it was the best of the bunch. I don’t think I’ve tried it anywhere else. It’s in my favourite form, couplets, but I wonder if there’s just too much going on and  it needs simplifying. Again, I still like the premise, it’s unusual. So worth looking at the language and eliminating the extra weight, I think. Must not Try Too Hard.

4) Last but (not?) least: this one was always risky – a nursery-rhyme theme in Shakespearean sonnet form – can you say ‘rejection waiting to happen’? Actually though I think it only needs a small amount of close attention to make it decent. There are a couple of dodgy lines where the form shouts out and that’s not good. But a lot of good things. So not worth giving up on yet.

As always, I’ll keep you posted if any of these find a home elsewhere, with or without revisions!

Cartoon credit: http://billanddavescocktailhour.com/

Poems/

Guest post: Dickman & Gray at the Poetry Cafe

Matthew Dickman & Ann Gray

Jo Grigg was at the Poetry cafe on Thursday for what sounds like an exciting evening! Many thanks to Jo for this guest post.

Matthew Dickman & Ann Gray

London’s Poetry café on a May evening, it feels like February. Then poet Ann Gray describes ‘a pale lake pulling at the throat of May’ and I think ‘yesss’. Reading her poem ‘Joy’ recently, commended in the National Poetry Comp 2010, was enough to bring me to her reading. The first two lines of ‘Joy’ go:

‘When I let the chickens out, I hurl mixed corn

in a golden arc across the frosted ground.’

It’s a ‘mother’ poem, among other things:

‘… A mother is a precious thing. I know that

now I’m sure to lose her……’

She reads a selection including a couple of poems based on her time as a nurse in a children’s’ cancer unit, something she rarely writes about. I liked both ‘her’ as performer and ‘her’ as wordsmith – the images, turns of phrase, along with some heavy subject matter, left me wanting more.

She’d travelled from Cornwall to introduce the (relatively) young American Matthew Dickman, telling us how, after reading his poem describing grief as a purple gorilla (did I hear right?) they began a correspondence five years ago and have only now met. It turns out to be a good combo; he’s funny, rude, perceptive. (He sends three spare pamphlets flying into the audience – did I hear ‘ouch!’ behind me?) Some of his poems felt a bit longwinded but where they hit home – such as a piece about his brother who committed suicide – they were powerful.

Ann writes lists (two poems listing flower names, one of what’s for breakfast at a Broadstairs B&B), Matthew says fxxx and asks how many in the audience are fellow drug users. Both of them throw things. As Ann Gray tells us in her poem of introduction, Matthew has ‘a widescreen cinema’ in his head. I’m not sure I’d go to all his movies but am glad I was at the UK premiere of this one. I’d go hear her any time.

Matthew Dickman, ‘an extraordinary young American from Portland, Oregon, who is fast being recognised as one of the most important and original new American voices. http://www.matthewdickmanpoetry.com

Ann Gray is co-organiser of the Bodmin Moor Poetry Festival, which is on at the moment. You can read her poem ‘Joy’ on the Poetry Society website.

 

Photo of Matthew Dickman from www.matthewdickmanpoetry.com

Photo of Ann Gray from www.poetrysociety.org.uk

 

Poems/

Two poems by Rebecca Varley-Winter

Mount Caburn to Lewes

Ah, nature. We’re very lucky in Lewes to be nestled into the South Downs, with beautiful views of rolling hills round every corner. With that in mind here’s something nice for the weekend. A lovely poem in Obsessed with Pipework called ‘Clouds’ caught my attention and I tracked down the poet, Rebecca Varley-Winter, who kindly agreed to let me reproduce ‘Clouds’ and ‘Hill’ on this blog, for your delectation. Don’t say I don’t spoil you.

Clouds

I am not godly
but when they move like this
on a hill I’ve seen daily
and walked over antlike
and, wreathing, make of its reaches
a land never travelled,
deep in mist, so softly distant
that in the apple gold light
it condenses to a myth
or figment of the ground,
shifting, departing already –
by water and earth
I bow down, I bow down.

 
Hill

Home being this hill,
lover’s hip,
day lengthening on it,
stretching a shape
where thought drapes,
the shade of this place –
without this hip bone
shoulderblade twist,
a grass wisp
tuned to the gold shift
on a known shape, heavy,
what would I be? Swift
the wind could pass
straight through my heart
without shelter, at last

Both ‘Clouds’ and ‘Hill’ first published in Obsessed with Pipework 62.

About Rebecca Varley-Winter:
I’ve been writing poems for ten years. ‘Clouds’ and ‘Hill’ were both inspired by a shapely hill near where I grew up on the Isle of Wight, and a lot of my poetry is rooted in that landscape. Lately I divide my time between London and Cambridge, where I’m working on a PhD on modernist poetry; I also make enthusiastic noises about music at www.forfolkssake.com. It’s good to share, so here are the names of some young poets I admire: Ollie Evans, Amy De’Ath, Helen Mort, Sarah Howe, Scott Annett, Justin Katko, Mendoza, Laura Kilbride, Holly Pester, Jessica Pujol, Nat Raha, Matthew Gregory, Kate Tempest.

Image: ‘Mount Caburn to Lewes’ by Sue Haseltine

audio/

New poem on Ink, Sweat & Tears

Clunch

Very nice of Helen Ivory to take ‘Left’, for Ink, Sweat & Tears. It’s the closest thing to a love poem I’ve written, I think. Whether it was appreciated as such (by the person it’s about) it’s hard to say! It’s a poem I workshopped at our regular Mimi Khalvati group here in Lewes. I seem to recall Mimi describing it as ‘bonkers’ – tee hee.

Here’s the audio if you’d like to hear it:

Inspiration/

From the Poetry Archive: Thom Gunn

Thom Gunn

Thom Gunn

I’m having a very self-indulgent morning. I was hoping to listen to an episode or two of ‘Poetry Please‘ but for some reason all the episodes from 2012 -2013 listed at the BBC iplayer site are ‘not currently available’.  So then I moved onto the Poetry Archive for inspiration.  I’m sorry to say I was a little bit disappointed with the Elizabeth Bishop recordings. Much as I love her work I wasn’t grabbed by her delivery of the few (quite long) poems on offer here. Perhaps I ought to learn some stamina.

But Thom Gunn was another matter – I haven’t read anything by him since schooldays but I’m now motivated to seek him out, having read and listened to the two poems recorded  here – Moly, and Considering the Snail. Many things about both these poems really appeal to me, and I love his delivery in a british-american hybrid accent (I’m avoiding the rather sleazy word ‘transatlantic’.) Worth a listen.

Competitions/

Super excited

excited baby

… to actually make it onto a prizewinners list (The New Writer Poetry Prize 2012). The poem in question was one that had been through eight drafts over several months, and I’d workshopped it with two different groups. The content and form changed considerably as I yo-yo-ed back and forth. I’m quite keen to do a little case study on this, show how it started out, what changed and why and the feedback along the way. But I can’t do that until after it’s been published in July. So that’s for later. In the meantime thank you so much for all the lovely congrats on twitter and email.

Of course, I have pledged to treat both imposters just the same (success and failure) and so I’m reminded that being selected is as much about the personal taste of the judges*, the competition you’re up against, whether there’s an R in the month, etc. On that subject, I enjoyed this very nice post by Rachael Dunlop about how losing is not the same as failing.

So, onward! Also announced this week was the result of the Poetry Business 2012 Book & Pamphlet Competition – now that’s a shortlist I need to set my sights on! Great to see one of the 1st stage winners is Emma Danes, I’ve been following her progress and enjoying her poetry for a while. Nice one, Emma.

*I realise that may have sounded a bit rude – of course I’m extremely flattered to have won, and proud that the judge was Pascale Petit 

Poems/

Poem-a-day, Days 3 – 4

Emily Dickinson poem

Dear Reader

For a minute I thought I was struggling already, but the Guardian came to the rescue, or rather whoever it was who posted a link on Facebook to this article, about stealing a line from an existing poem and using it as the basis for something of your own. 

I had Emily Dickinson on my mind after my last post, so picked up my Everyman Pocket Dickinson and had a skim through. But then I struggled with all that iambic tetrameter – Within my Garden rides a Bird … A Chilly Peace infests the Grass, etc …it sucks you into dumdidum rhymes before you can help yourself, it’s like trying not to look at a road accident as you drive past. BUT, dear reader, I found a lovely line. And used it – not sure how lovely the rest of the poem is but I’ll return to it another time.

And then, since tomorrow is my wedding anniversary and sequestering myself away to write would be too rude, I even wrote tomorrow’s poem today! I am ahead of myself – hurrah!

Yours smugly,

Poetgal

PS best wishes for the weekend 🙂

Close readings/

Poems we read and talked about last night

The Caxton Arms

There may only have been four of us at the Stanza reading group last night but we had plenty to talk about. The poems we looked at were ‘Reprimands’ by Michael Donaghy, ‘Calcium’ by Deryn Rees Jones, ‘Substance & Shadow by John Hewitt and ‘A gift’ by Don Paterson. So America, Wales, ireland and Scotland all represented.

Michael Donaghy is a poet I’d heard of but hadn’t read before, and a bit of digging revealed more about him. A group of his former students at Birkbeck College and City University, London formed ‘The King’s Poets’ a decade ago, and one of their number (Lucy Ingrams) recently took 2nd place in the Magma Poetry Competition I believe. There’s a bit of trivia for you.

Meanwhile the mission was on to rescue Deryn Rees Jones from the mixed impression she gave at the TS Eliot readings (the poem she read included the word ‘dog’ 594 times, or thereabouts.) We all enjoyed ‘Calcium’ I think, and managed to interpret it in many different ways,with increasing vehemence!

I think perhaps John Hewitt’s ‘Substance and Shadow’ was my favourite poem of the night, despite the unpromising title – how many times are we told in workshops to avoid abstract subjects? In fact there was little that was abstract about the poem. Like ‘Reprimands’ it followed a fairly strict form of iambic pentameter with an abab type rhyme scheme. (Although there were noticeably deliberate breaks with this in the Donaghy poem). I want to call ‘Substance and Shadow’ a sonnet, and maybe it is – 16 lines followed by 8 lines – not a Shakespearean sonnet, but another type? Please put me right if I’m showing my ignorance.

Don Paterson’s ‘A Gift’ was the one I brought, from his 2003 collection ‘Landing Light’. It’s actually not my favourite in the book, but I chose it for technical reasons not worth going into. It has a mysterious, almost biblical quality about it (nice link with the Donaghy poem here). I love the way Paterson works with form; in this collection there is everything from sonnets to prose poems to ballads. And always very clever.