Category: Readings

Events/

Launch of The Interpreter’s House 56

The Interpreter's House 56

In the interests of giving the magazine an airing in different parts of the country, The Interpreter’s House editor Martin Malone came down to the south coast yesterday to launch issue number 56.

It was a very different event to the last one. Firstly, the Redroaster Coffee House is less intimate than the Albion Beatnik Bookstore in Oxford. The event was also by suggestion of Pighog Press, who run their regular events there. As a result, the evening felt a little bit shoe-horned into the Pighog format, with their usual entrance prices and a large number of open mic readers. With an hour of open-mic to fit in, we didn’t get enough of Martin Malone’s lovely compering skills, there was less time for the kind of relaxed banter we had at the Oxford event, and I didn’t come away with a strong feeling about The Interpreter’s House as a magazine. And as usual it went over time, which is tricky for the out-of-towners with trains and buses to catch.

All of this is a shame, as many of the contributors had come a long way to read – Robert Harper from Shrewsbury, for example. Robert is the Stanza rep in his area and also editor of Bare Fiction, a new magazine of poetry and prose. There were lots of friends in the audience and there were some very enjoyable readings. I always like to hear poet friend Charlotte Gann  (LOVE her poem ‘Next Door’ in the magazine) – she doesn’t do many readings so catch her when you can. It was also great to meet (and hear read) Paul McGrane and Richard Skinner, both of whom I’ve had a fairly long internet acquaintance with but never actually met. Incidentally, although several of the open mic readers were excellent, a few could have done with reading these tips from Paul on open mic readings!)

It was brilliant to have The Interpreter’s House come here for a local launch and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves so maybe I’m a lone grump in the wilderness (go on, you can tell me!), but I do think the star of any magazine launch ideally needs to be the magazine and its featured contributors. After the Oxford launch, I had a much better idea about the ethos, history and personality of The Interpreter’s House, and was moved to subscribe. I hope last night’s attendees felt that way, because that would be a real result.

Books/

Launch of The Rialto 80

It rained. Part of the building had fallen off. The bar was heaving with Carphone Warehouse partygoers. But The Rialto launch last night was a small haven of poetry peace amidst the chaos.

Although I got there indecently early (I had the silly idea that it was starting at 6.30) Fiona Moore made me very welcome and I was soon joined by Sarah Rudston, Nancy Campbell and Davina (D A) Prince, all contributors to this issue. There was plenty of chat about publishing, Stanzas, workshopping and the like. Michael Mackmin arrived with a huge bag of magazines and pamphlets. We had readings from five poets including Fleur Adcock and Stephen Watts, and although I had to leave soon after the readings and speeches to get a 9pm train, the room was still full and animated.

Jennifer Wong & Michael Mackmin at The Rialto 80 launch
Jennifer Wong & Michael Mackmin

I found it a really nice and non-intimidating event. As well as a launch (the first time The Rialto has had one in London) it was also a celebration of the Assistant Editor programme as Abigail Parry and Fiona Moore ended their ‘apprenticeship’ which they had clearly enjoyed. I was also thrilled to finally introduce myself to Michael Mackmin after my last aborted attempt!

I’ve talked before with poet friends about how The Rialto just seems to have a particular appeal in a way that other magazines, however brilliant, don’t quite have. Is it the production values – the size, spaciousness, paper, typefaces, beautiful covers? Is it the personable and down to earth editorials? The submissions guidelines that manage to be firm without being school-masterish or snitty? The twenty-pound note that falls from the envelope when you’ve had a poem accepted for publication? The poetry itself? What we usually agree on is that it’s Michael Mackmin’s personality and particular style that seem to be the key. The Assistant Editor programme has been interesting. I was slightly disappointed with issue 79, I can’t say for sure why but it felt like the range of poetry featured had narrowed. What I’ve read so far of issue 80 I’ve really enjoyed. Fresh eyes and fresh ideas are surely a good thing for any long-running project, but as long as Michael is still around it’s unlikely The Rialto will undergo any major overhaul. And would anyone want that anyway?

Latest acquisitions: Earlier in the day I had been at the London Review Bookshop round the corner from the British Museum. The downstairs room is a lovely space with an acre of poetry – and whose book should I spot but Jenny Lewis’s Taking Mesopotamia. Jenny was on the Ty Newydd course last October and this is her new collection from Carcanet.

I picked up a copy of Paul Muldoon’s Horse Latitudes. Paul read at the Charleston Festival a couple of weeks ago and I regret not seeing him. He’s a poet I’ve not read so this was my ‘canon’ purchase. Then I spotted Josh Ekroy’s new collection, Ways to Build a Roadblock. His is a name I know well from magazines, so I was intrigued enough to buy a copy, much to the pleasure of the chap on the till. Later on at The Rialto event I was impressed by Michael Mackmin’s talking up of ‘A bad influence girl’, Janet Rogerson’s pamphlet, so that was my third purchase. So lots more lovely reading.

Poetry books at the London Review Bookshop
A small section of the poetry shelves at the London Review Bookshop – with Jenny Lewis’s Taking Mesopotamia getting pride of place

Submissions: ‘Send us some poems!’ said Fiona Moore as I left. When I told her I already had some out to The Rialto, sent in February, she looked puzzled. ‘You should have heard by now.’ Oh no – the words I dread – alarm bells ring, has it happened again, did my precious submission not arrive? Am I the only one this happens to on a regular basis? Lost poems, poems accepted for a magazine but then left out, poems accepted then same poems rejected by the same magazine… my submissions seem to be dogged by problems. Almost wishing for a short, sharp rejection instead of facing another nails-down-the-blackboard ‘black hole’ scenario. We’ll see.

 

Events/

Submissions, forthcoming events, pamphlet sales etc

Lamb Festival 2014

Latest submissions news is …. no news. Or rather, another of my stupid cockups:  according to my records I’d made a submission to Lighthouse in early April, but then this week when I checked their website I noticed it said that submissions are always acknowledged with an email auto-responder. I couldn’t find one in my inbox, so then I wondered if I hadn’t submitted after all, and so sent three more (different) poems. But these weren’t acknowledged either, so now I’m wondering whether the first submission was received after all and now I’ve multiple-submitted – DUH.

Apart from that, I’ve been working on a pamphlet submission with I was hoping to send to Flarestack but their window closes on Saturday and I’m not sure what I’ve got is ready to send, so I may have to hold my horses on that one.

Meanwhile, thanks to a lovely feature on Rebecca Gethin’s blog I’ve had a little flurry of pamphlet sales – thanks everyone! And on the subject of pamphlets, my Telltale Press venture has moved up a gear with a wonderful poet joining as our new Associate Editor – to be announced on the Telltale blog imminently! Exciting news! Plus the second Telltale pamphlet by the very talented Peter Kenny is almost on its way to the printers …

I’m gearing up for a busy week and two trips to London: on Monday I’m reading at the Lamb Festival in Edmonton, and on Wednesday it’s the first launch event for The Rialto – can’t miss that!

Next Thursday I’m helping with an evening of poetry by and for Jo Grigg, much-missed poet friend and Stanza rep. It’s shaping up into a joyous event which I’ve no doubt will be a wonderful tribute to Jo’s writing, her love of poetry and the affection we all felt for her.

Events/

Thomas, Plaice, Hurst reading in Hove

Siân Thomas, Stephen Plaice, Rebecca Hurst
Siân Thomas, Stephen Plaice, Rebecca Hurst

Yesterday was only the second sunny, (almost) balmy evening of the year, and I found myself (almost) beside the sea, amongst some magical works of art and listening to poetry at Cameron Contemporary Art Gallery in Hove.

It was strong reading from Siân Thomas, Stephen Plaice and Rebecca Hurst, and a super atmosphere thanks to the efforts of gallery owner Robin who played host. The building is a former garage, with floor to ceiling glass doors along the whole of its frontage, and we found ourselves sat sideways on to Second Avenue and the languorous comings and goings of curious pedestrians, even an Asda delivery van apparently pulling up to take a look. None of this detracted from the readings, far from it – in fact I made an interesting discovery – that outside visual stimulation actually enhances my listening. (It’s the background noise you often get in pubs and cafes I find distracting.)

Although I didn’t know any of the audience, both Siân and Rebecca are familiar to me from poetry events in Lewes and Sussex generally. Siân is currently Poet in Residence for the Ashdown Forest, which sounds particularly magical and Midsummer Night’s Dream-ish. She read a number of pieces from her pamphlet Ovid’s Echo, a collection inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses. I particularly enjoyed hearing her take on Medusa’s story. All the poets were great at introducing and setting the scene a little (but not too much) – I made a mental note to become better at that. It’s treading that fine line between too much of ‘this poem is about…’ and yet giving enough clues for the listener to enjoy the nuances of a piece.

Rebecca writes, teaches and is also a talented illustrator, as you can see from her website. She was telling me that she’s hoping to start a creative writing PhD soon, which will take her away from the area and from her job at Glyndebourne. Rebecca has such a wonderful speaking voice. Her poems had poignancy and energy, a compelling combination. And speaking of Glyndebourne, the third reader, Stephen Plaice, is well known for his opera libretti, as well as poetry and a career’s worth of writing credentials for stage and screen. Stephen has had two collections published, and he read some powerful pieces from one of them, Over the Rollers.

Ah, lovely to come away feeling inspired. I’m hoping to be back at the Gallery again soon, maybe to take part in a reading, as Siân was telling me she’s hoping to organise more events there. And who knows, maybe we’ve found a great venue for the Telltale Press launch?

 

Events/

Granta Japan launch

Granta 127 Japan in Brighton
Lucy North, Yukiko Motoya and Asa Yoneda

A fascinating evening yesterday in Brighton at New Writing South for the launch of the latest issue of Granta magazine issue 127, Japan, published simultaneously in English and Japanese. Two of the contributors, Yukiko Motoya and Hiromi Kawakami, read extracts of their work in Japanese, and their translators then read the same passages in English.

I know absolutely no Japanese but there was something beautiful and magical about hearing it spoken, words running over you like music, for the listener to make of it whatever they wished. Yukiko read from a mysterious short story called ‘The Dogs’, and when questioned about the open ending she admitted she didn’t necessarily know what the story really meant. She also talked about her writing process as being rather like two rivers – one herself, her life, and the other the writing (or ‘the muse’ I suppose); the rivers sometimes flowed very close to each other, and that was the time when she was able to cross over into the writing, to step into it, but at other times, the ‘writing river’ was a long way away from her. I really liked this description, it made complete sense in that writing poetry feels like that too. And the idea that you can’t force the rivers together, but when the moment is there, you have to recognise it and grab it.

Hiromi read from her essay ‘Blue Moon’, about her experience of reading haiku in Moscow, a very moving piece, and this then set the discussion going about the issues (or not) of translation, and whether ‘all translation is mistranslation.’

Not only was everything being translated during the evening, but we had questions from the floor in Japanese also. By the end of it I couldn’t wait to get my hands on a copy and re-ignite my lapsed Granta subscription. The cover is beautiful:

Granta 127 Japan

… and if you think there’s something slightly other-worldly about the image of the mountain, you’re right – it’s actually made of tin foil. Not everything is what it seems, eh?

Books/

A very Lewes launch: Janet Sutherland & Jeremy Page

Janet Sutherland and Jeremy Page
Janet Sutherland and Jeremy Page launching their new books in Lewes.

Somehow I managed to arrive too late for a seat at the Elephant & Castle yesterday evening (despite having a commute of approximately 30 seconds) but really enjoyed the atmosphere in the packed function room. Poets galore were joined by friends and neighbours for the joint launch of Bone Monkey by Janet Sutherland published by Shearsman and Closing Time by Jeremy Page, published by Pindrop Press.

Bone Monkey and Closing Time

The poets were introduced briefly by Maria Jastrzębska (Janet) and Jo Hemmant (Jeremy). I’m fortunate enough to be in a workshopping group with both Maria and Janet and am always so grateful both for their feedback on my own work but also for the opportunity to hear and see what they’re working on. Consequently, a few of the poems in Bone Monkey are familiar to me – I also heard Janet read from the book at the Needlewriters earlier in April, and I almost always appreciate a poem more for having heard it read more than once. Jeremy is the publisher of the Frogmore Press / Frogmore Papers, going now for 31 years, and he’s been kind enough to publish a couple of my poems in the magazine and the anthology Poems from the Old Hill.  I’ve met Jo, who runs Pindrop Press, a few times, including when we read together at Tunbridge Wells library, an event organised by Abegail Morley, who was also there last night.

Candles, canapes, poetry and friends … great stuff. But alas, I had to make my apologies and leave before the end. I think I’m so fried with work at the moment. I haven’t had a chance yet to even open Closing Time, but I’m hoping to do so over the weekend when I may get some breathing/poetry space.

Books/

Quick Friday update – events, submissions etc

It’s been a thin year so far as regards writing, getting stuff out and accepted by magazines. I do have one excuse, which is that work has taken up a lot more of my time than usual these last 6 months. Not that I’m complaining, as my work and poetry interests continue to converge, slowly but surely. I now have ambitious plans for bringing all my activities under one virtual roof, combining blogs/websites/social outposts etc to create a united front. About time! Give me until the end of the year, though.

A quick what’s-been and will-be happening:

Last night I was at the Needlemakers in Lewes for the launch of Judith Kazantzis‘s new collection Sister Invention. It was a nice intimate affair with free-flowing prosecco. It’s a mighty book – hundreds of poems with (at first glance) a vast geographical and thematic span. I’m looking forward to delving into it.

Tomorrow – the New Writing South Publishing Industry Day at Brighton Library. I’m giving a short talk about ‘building a successful online writer presence’, after which we’re headed off to step-daughter’s 30th birthday party.

Next week, Janet Sutherland and Jeremy Page are holding a joint launch event for their respective new collections, Bone Monkey and Closing Time, and again just a few moments from my front door. How lucky am I?

I’ve had a few days off from writing about blogging, but it all kicks off again next week: book number two to begin, plus hundreds of image permissions to obtain… wish me luck.

June is looking interesting in terms of poetry events – I’ve been invited to read at the Lamb Festival in north London on June 2nd, then also that week we have a lovely event planned in memory of Jo Grigg, friend, poet and Brighton Stanza rep who died so suddenly year. Later in the month, Brighton Stanza are joining Palmers Green for a Stanza Bonanza at the Poetry Cafe. Always great fun, the only nail-biting bit being whether those of us living in the sticks manage to make the last train home.

Events/

Launch of The Interpreter’s House #55

Launch of The Interpreter's House 55

And so to Oxford, or the Albion Beatnik Bookstore in Jericho, to be precise. Martin Malone took over the editorship of The Interpreter’s House after the untimely death of Simon Curtis last year, and this is his second issue. I have to say, the production quality is great, I love the cover design, and it’s a cracking issue. It’s now on my ‘rotating subs’ list of magazines – I can’t subscribe to them all for ever, but I try to take 2 or 3 titles each year and then change my subs to another publication after a couple of years, which seems a fair way to do it.

It’s a generous move to introduce launch events for every issue – I wish more magazines would hold them! – but there’s a LOT of work involved, and that’s alongside having the small matter of a magazine to get done and out. With fifty-two contributors in this issue, and three issues a year… plus Martin has a new baby to cope with … well you can imagine.

I’ve had one poem in the magazine once before, when Simon was the editor, so I was thrilled to have another accepted by Martin for this issue, and even more excited to be able to read at the launch. Although there were 14 readers, the evening was beautifully paced – everyone stuck to the ‘two poem’ rule, there was plenty of time for Martin to introduce everyone, enjoy a bit of friendly banter and encourage people to mingle, drink and chat. Very relaxed and very warm. The evening ended with Merryn Williams, the IH’s first editor, reading her own poem from the magazine but also one by Simon Curtis, a fitting tribute.

For my part I was very pleased to meet Claire Dyer, whose name I knew straight away from having seen it in magazines, Stephen Bone, a Brighton Stanza member, and Helen Fletcher, who I hadn’t come across before but whose poem ‘The Drowned’ in IH 55 stood out for me, and she read a poem that had appeared in the Frogmore Papers 82 which I remembered seeing and enjoying at the time.

In the break, Martin Monahan came up to tell me he enjoyed reading my blog, which was a very nice surprise. I’m very grateful to everyone who takes the time to read this, whether or not they’re active in the Comments or ‘Likes’, and it’s always nice when someone introduces themselves and tells me what they get from it. In the second half, Martin read his witty ekphrastic poem ‘Fried eggs’. He’s widely published, including in such hardcore journals as PN Review (respect!) and clearly up and coming: watch for his name.

I didn’t win a mug in the raffle (boo!) but I did win a lovely mix tape (well, CD) – thanks, Martin! – which I listened to on the long drive home. It was the perfect soundtrack for that time of night, when the cones and ‘workers in road’ signs come out, and you’re sent on all kinds of strange diversions and motorways empty in a David Lynch moment. But that’s another story.

Competitions/

And the winner is …?

At the Royal Festival HallWe huddled, we looked out for friends or people we knew, we stood around holding our tiny £5 plastic glasses of wine. But mostly we sat and listened, as Ian McMillan instructed us, but with very little murmuring or whooping, as the T S Eliot Prize nominated poets in turn did the long walk to the podium. (On the way home with poet friends Julia and Charlotte, we decided that ‘the walk up’ must feel like an eternity.)

What happened (I apologise for the sketchiness, especially my accounts of the first half readers, I didn’t take notes so these are my impressions as I recall):

Daljit Nagra entertained us with a five-hander sort of ‘rehearsed reading’ of a chapter from the Ramayana. They used a nice chunk of the stage and kind of shook things up a bit.

Moniza Alvi followed on without blinking, as if headlining with a crew of readers pretending to be monkeys and buffalo was the most normal thing in the world. Her reading was quiet and understated.

Maurice Riordan admitted he was a bit nervous, and fiddled with the water bottle rather a lot. Nevertheless a little vulnerability can go a long way, and he warmed up.

Anne Carson was sadly indisposed, and for some reason a video link was beyond the capabilities of the RFH, so we had an apologetic Ruth Padel standing in. I didn’t envy her.

Last before the break was Michael Symmons Roberts, still my favourite to win even though he’s already cleaned up the gongs this year. Drysalter is top of my wishlist. Maybe I’ll wait for the next edition with the ‘Winner of the TS Eliot Prize’ strapline – tee hee.

Dannie Abse opened the second half and the audience clapped and ooohed as if no-one could believe he can still read so beautifully at his age…. reminded me of when people used to say of my mother ‘isn’t she MARVELLOUS’ when I told them how OLD she was, as if they were looking at the Dead Sea Scrolls. Of course, Dannie Abse IS marvellous… but that’s probably not relevant.

Helen Mort isn’t 90, quite the opposite (I leave you to work out what that is) and she took the stage by the scruff of its neck. Although her poem ‘Scab’ had left me unmoved on the page, the sincerity in her voice pulls you in. A good reading.

George Szirtes began with a list poem about colours, which I confess I struggled to concentrate on, but then it was quite warm in the hall, and middle of the second half is a difficult spot, as many people are starting to look at their watch and check the train times. Sorry George, I don’t think my account has done your reading justice.

Ah, Sinead Morrissey. Having never heard her read, I loved her accent and the way she performed virtually from memory. I confess I find poems to do with childbirth a major turn-off, but the one she ended with was compelling and moving, and seemed much shorter than it probably was (for me that’s a positive, in case you were wondering).

Robin Robertson appeared rather stern, like a tetchy headmaster – no hellos, just straight into a poem in that dour Scottish delivery, making Don Paterson sound like Daljit Nagra. But to his credit, he softened up and even drew a few laughs. A poet friend said afterwards she was won over by his choice of poems, going for the more personal.