Tag: ty newydd

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In the land of RS Thomas

biography of RS Thomas

Back from a scorching hot week in North Wales, to which we took waterproofs, heavy duty walking boots and woollies, none of which we needed. Thankfully we also took shorts and sunscreen!

The Llyn peninsula is a long way to go, further than Land’s End (I looked it up!) but it was worth it. What a beautiful, unspoilt part of the British Isles. Here’s the view that greeted us at dawn, taken from the door of the cottage.

Tan y Bwlch cottage on the Llyn

It would make an excellent place for a writing retreat. Quiet, surrounded by nature and with a very poor phone signal.

While we were there I started reading Byron Rogers’ compelling life of RS Thomas, The Man who went into the West, which I’ve nearly finished. He was clearly a puzzling and contradictory man. Although I knew the name, I’ve never made an effort to read his work, which I’m a bit ashamed about now. Especially after Gillian Clarke, on a course at Ty Newydd, exhorted all of us to go away and read him. My podcasting poet pal Peter says he met RS when he was a student, and was struck by his presence.

At Aberdaron, in the little church where RS preached for some years, they’ve made a sort of shrine to him, with newspaper articles, copies of poems and other material. Lovely!

RS Thomas poem The Moon in Llyn

While we were there we walked from Aberdaron along the coastal path. It has more ups and downs than the Seven Sisters cliff walk here in Sussex, and very narrow in places. Here’s the view looking back to Aberdaron. You can just see the church graveyard creeping up the hill in the distance.View of Aberdaron

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

Robin at Ty Newydd

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.

 

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Seven questions for poets #5 – Ian Humphreys

Today’s poet ready for a grilling is Ian Humphreys. I met Ian on the Ty Newydd masterclass we did a couple of years ago. He and I were in a small working group with Lizzie Fincham – which basically meant we holed up in the library, trying to do our homework while comparing notes and reading lines to each other, amongst a lot of nervous swearing and diversionary hilarity. Since then Ian’s made serious progress – he completed an MA in Creative Writing at MMU, and it’s been wonderful to follow his success – most recently winning the Hamish Canham Prize and being selected for The Complete Works III.

1 – What was the last poetry book you read, that you would recommend?

Jutland by Selima Hill. Two books/sequences in one. Akin to a severed doll’s head: innocence and menace combined. Cleverly, the darkness here is more of an itch in the imagination than a telling. The imagery is surreal, playful and shockingly original. A poem can start off beaming with light and lightness, then turn on a pin to become suffocating and sinister. The collection also proves that really short poems can pack a punch.

2  – Philip Larkin and Dannie Abse are both alleged to have said they only wrote one or two decent poems a year. How is it for you?

My definition of ‘decent’ is constantly changing. I consider myself fairly new to poetry so what I thought a successful poem a year ago probably wouldn’t make the cut today. I suppose what I aim for these days is to produce one poem every two or three months I feel would hold its own in a good magazine.

3 – Do you enter poetry competitions?

Yes, not often, maybe three or four times a year. It was early success in a competition that persuaded me to take writing more seriously.

4 – If someone has never read any poetry, where would you suggest they start?

I would encourage them to subscribe to one or two literary magazines to get a feel of what’s happening right now. (And to support our magazines.) My favourite ones lean towards accessible, innovative, quality poetry and include Ambit and Prole (both of which also feature prose), Butcher’s Dog and, of course, The Rialto.

5 – Why is end-rhyme considered a good thing in performance poetry, but rarely found in contemporary magazines?

Heightened musicality and sound texture in performance poetry help keep audiences engaged. End rhymes can really propel a spoken piece forward. With page poetry, using full end rhymes is currently seen as old fashioned, although perhaps it’s starting to make a stuttering comeback. Just one example: Alice Oswald’s opener in her latest collection Falling Awake.

6 – Can you remember the first poem you wrote – what was it about?

I was 13. Prince Charles had acquired a bald patch and it was causing a stir in the press. This seemed daft to me, even at that age, so I wrote a poem about the royal fuss being made. The English teacher read it out in class – I was embarrassed and secretly thrilled. For some reason it took me over three decades to write the next one.

7 – A murmuration of starlings, a murder of crows etc – what would you call a group of poets?

A compulsion of poets.

QUICK PLUG: Since 2008, The Complete Works programme has done important work raising awareness of BAME poets in Britain. Earlier this year, Ian was selected for Complete Works III (ten new fellows are chosen every four years). In 2017, a portfolio of his poems will feature in a Bloodaxe anthology alongside work by TCW3 colleagues.

Previous ‘Seven Questions for Poets’:
#1 – Clare Best
#2 – Jill Abram
#3 – Antony Mair
#4 – Hilda Sheehan

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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.

 

Mags & Blogs/

Submissions update

Good news and bad news!

Quick update first of all to my October ‘working on, waiting on’ post: Poetry London – standard rejection slip. Shearsman – standard rejection email. The North – a very nice personal reply, but no. Envoi – yes (yay!).

I’ve also just heard that The Interpreter’s House (now edited by Martin Malone and with a shiny new website amongst other things) is taking one of the poems I wrote at Ty Newydd, which I’m very pleased about. It’s a bit of an homage to Ian Duhig. Martin also leaps right to the top of the ‘speed of response’ chart, having replied within a few days. Douze points!

After a sending spree I’ve currently got 6 poems out to Ambit, 3 to Antiphon, 3 to Lighthouse and 3 to Poetry Review. Plus a number of pamphlet submissions. Will post updates to all this as and when.

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A poem by David Borrott

I think there were only three men on the course at Ty Newydd, so I don’t know how that felt for them. David Borrott consistently came up with fresh, original work, and had a deadpan delivery I particularly enjoyed. Faced with the challenge of writing a poem in which ‘lethargy’ is personified by a sea anemone he managed to mix poignancy and humour brilliantly (‘… I have so many arms to do nothing with’)

I did ask David for a biog but he’s been a bit coy, nevertheless I do know he is widely published and is a graduate of the Creative Writing MA at Manchester Metropolitan University. There is footage of him reading at Poets & Players here on YouTube.

I love this piece for its tragi-comic and slightly surreal treatment of everyday culture, all wrapped up in a lovely ironic swipe at both art criticism and that creative writing staple, the ekphrastic poem.

‘felicitous blending of figure and landscape’
by David Borrott

Two youths are fighting on the high street.
One wears a daub of blood on his white shirt,
the other’s fists are tight as apples;
a clench of excitement runs through the watching people,
their faces like a row of broken plates.
Dummies in the glass expand the crowd –
‘Next’ says the shop sign.

On the stone plinth of the town centre monument,
a woman with XXXL breasts is smoking.
She rests earthmotherly on the steps.
Smoke rises from her hand and her nostrils,
stroking the air with its grey curls.
Its filaments reach to the lowest green of a sycamore.
Her overblown curves temper the harsh lines of the war memorial.

A man is pissing down an alley.
It is night and a soft untroublesome rain persists.
Street lights reflect in the rancid puddles,
touches of orange amongst the grey and brown.
His fawn jacket is darker at the shoulders,
his half-cocked trousers are shadowy, vague.
It is almost as if he hovered there on the jet of his stream.

Published on Magma’s website as a longlisted poem in their competition.

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A poem by Jenny Lewis

At Ty Newydd recently I was fortunate enough to be working alongside some wonderful poets, and with their permission I’ll be featuring some of them here.

The first is Jenny Lewis. I think Jenny was the most experienced of all of us, with many, many strings to her bow, and yet she wore her expertise with generosity and humility. Her comments were insightful and supportive and she produced some lovely work. It was very fitting that she won the competition set for us at the end of the week, with a very clever sestina. Jenny explained that it had been rejected by a certain poetry magazine, and so she’d rather lost faith in it (the poem that is), but Carol Ann Duffy wasn’t having any of that. “Who was the editor?” she barked.

Taking Mesopotamia

Anyway, I’m delighted that Jenny agreed to have a poem featured here. This is from her latest collection, Taking Mesopotamia (Oxford Poets/ Carcanet 2014). Of it, Bernard O’Donoghue writes: “Jenny Lewis’s quietly angry book is an account of the Iraq wars – mostly imposed from outside – of the past hundred years. Taking Mesopotamia – a brilliantly ironic title for our times – controls its anger through an accomplished and flexible technique in verse and prose. It is compulsory reading, even for those who don’t normally read poetry: an eloquent rejoinder to those who say poetry can’t, or shouldn’t, concern itself with public matters.”

Do visit Jenny’s website to get a feel for everything she’s up to, and for more details of her publications.

MOTHER

Childbirth was like being excavated:
my belly rose on whalebone wings,
pain soared about me like a bloodied angel:

then you were born

I saw you with my own eyes
I held you day and night:
you lay in my arms, a glowing pupa.

At Kut-al-Amara you were back-lit,
the moon pointed you out against the ridge –
when Turkish gunners stopped your spade

you fell slowly, shedding iridescence

each night in dreams I fail to catch you –
your bones the fragile quills of rescued fledglings
you placed by the stove for warmth

From Taking Mesopotamia (Oxford Poets/ Carcanet 2014) First published by The Oxonian Review, 2012.

Jenny LewisJenny Lewis
Jenny Lewis’s published works include When I Became an Amazon (Iron Press, 1996/ Bilingua, Russia 2002), Fathom (Oxford Poets/ Carcanet 2007) and After Gilgamesh (Mulfran Press, 2011) a verse drama for Pegasus Theatre, Oxford. Her forthcoming collection Taking Mesopotamia (March 2014, Oxford Poets/ Carcanet) expresses the revulsion and despair that ordinary people, especially women, feel towards war. She teaches poetry at Oxford University.

Angst/

At Ty Newydd, part 2

sea-grass-pylon

Here’s the longer post I promised about my week at Ty Newydd. First of all, some of the advice and sayings I captured from the tutors during workshops. It’s not a long list, but we were mostly doing exercises, so I just wrote down phrases that resonated with me:

  • Train yourself to remember details
  • Sometimes by going through an exercise of trying to remember something that happened in the past, you can surprise yourself with what comes out
  • When you’re in a poem, all else disappears – “touch the miracle by allowing this to happen”
  • “At the moment it’s falling apart like a glass of water that’s spilled”
  • There has to be a very good reason for a line to only contain two words
  • Think of verbs as the battery of the poem – they give it life and energy
  • Form forces you to “make choices and to be hard on yourself”
  • You need to love the ‘clay’ between the bricks (ie all the bits of a poem you make have overlooked)
  • There are some words like ‘flotsam’ that “only appear in poems”
  • You can say something more movingly if you don’t over-egg it
  • Have a rationale for your line lengths and stanza lengths – the architecture of the poem
  • Be careful about saying ‘not xyz’ in a poem because then you are saying it!

How we spent the time

There were 16 of us on the course and I was very pleased to find myself thrown together in workshops with so many accomplished and talented poets. We were put into ‘mini groups’ of 3 or 4 and encouraged to work together in our spare time. I warmed very much to my mini-group and I think we did some good work together – we certainly had a lot of laughs (or was it hysteria?) and shared a good amount of wine, all important elements of the bonding, of course.

The idea of spare time was an interesting one! I was in awe of those students who made time to go for runs or a long walk. Two of the days were rainy but I was persuaded to get a bit of fresh air on the last day, which I needed as I had a massive headache from around Thursday lunchtime.

As well as the workshops each morning and two of the afternoons, we had plenty of homework to keep us busy. I was very pleased with my week’s output – two poems that are three-quarters there and the seeds of at least three more. Morning sessions started at ten, so I usually found myself working in my room for at least an hour or so before. At the other end of the day I struggled. On Wednesday I was on the cooking team, so when the afternoon workshop ended we had half an hour ‘free’ until reporting for kitchen duties which then tied us up for the rest of the night, returning to the kitchen after Imtiaz Dharker’s reading to empty the dishwasher and put stuff away. The ‘secret poem’ evening was great fun, but by 11pm when it was drawing to an end I was absolutely fried.

train sign

The thorny issue of tutorials

A few of us (not all – one person took me task for bringing it up) were disappointed to be told right away there would be no individual tutorials, since it was clearly stated on the course literature that there would be ‘plenty of time’ for this during the week. Someone asked the question on the first night and the issue came up several more times, and eventually the tutors defended the decision by saying that individual tutorials tended to just waste everyone else’s time, and were only a feature of beginner-type courses.

The whole thing was (as one student pointed out) simply to do with managing expectations. Some of us had been so excited by the prospect of a hobnob with CAD or GC that it had become a huge selling point of the course. When in fact, if we hadn’t expected it, no-one (me included) would have been disappointed, because we would have gone there simply prepared to take our chances as and when. Which is what happened eventually on the last day, when someone came running into the dining room saying ‘come quick! this is the stuff we’ve been wanting to hear all week!’ – the tutors were in the conservatory, answering questions about getting published, pamphlets, how they (and others) had done it, advice & insider tips … all the things we wanted to ask. Within minutes we were all sitting around them like disciples, agog and hanging on every word.

The people

Naturally what happens in Ty Newydd stays in Ty Newydd. So no identifying details of individuals or the work we covered. But from my own observation, both tutors were extraordinarily giving and worked hard to challenge us and help us develop our writing. It was a generous and supportive group producing some wonderful work. I’ve got exciting names on my radar now: David Borrott, Ben Rogers and Ruby Turok-Squire, for example. Jenny Lewis, who won the competition on the last day with a brilliant sestina (which I had no chance of beating even if I had overcome my flounces about entering) is an accomplished poet with more than one collection already with Carcanet. Her warmth, expertise and sheer humility about her own writing were admirable.

By the end of the week I felt the tutors and students had come to a pretty good rapport. I’ve no idea how Carol Ann Duffy and Gillian Clarke teach so many of these courses and remain sane, cheerful and motivated. I have huge respect for them. I’ve never taught on a residential course but I know how exhausted I get after even a half-day workshop with demanding students. It was lovely that both tutors brought along and introduced us to their family in the evenings. The staff at Ty Newydd were so accommodating, relaxed and friendly; I couldn’t fault the atmosphere in that sense.

Relaxing in the library at Ty Newydd

Final thoughts

Several of the students had been on residential courses before, in some cases quite a few. I think I’d be reluctant to do it again in this format. Although for me the ‘outcomes’ of the week (as it would be officially termed I guess) were excellent, I was surprised at how stressful I found being hothoused with so many people I didn’t know. A smaller group would have allowed more real connection with each others’ writing, and might have felt less hectic. I seem to need a lot of thinking time, and because of this I’m not sure my own contributions were that helpful – it takes me longer than five minutes to offer meaningful feedback on a previously unseen poem. But I know there are the economics of numbers to consider.

What I’m hoping is that the payback (if I dare call it that – I was made aware that not everyone likes to talk about the poetry business in such terms) of the week will extend far into the future. I hope I’ve made some friendships and that there may be opportunities for future collaboration, mutual invitations and who knows what other projects. I hope I’ve learned some valuable lessons, about writing and much more. I think I have.

Robin at Ty Newydd

Angst/

Aftermath

Hedgerow at Ty Newydd

Back from Ty Newydd yesterday with a head full of I don’t know what. It wasn’t that I was sad to leave, far from it – I was so in need of my home, my bed, quiet time. I felt like I’d put my finger into an electric socket and then, only then did I really understand the power of electricity. An emotional last couple of days and even on the long journey back I found myself on the verge of tears at any moment, though I couldn’t say why.

Something about the mournful Coldplay song on the radio in the car down the drive, out of the gates and back to Criccieth station. Two small boys waving at the train from a children’s play park by the sea in Barmouth. Sheep running from the train as it wound its way along the Cambrian coast. My husband appearing unexpectedly to meet me at Euston (which was when I allowed myself to cry).

I will post more about the course very soon, I promise, but I just need a little headspace first I think.

Thanks so much for your lovely comments, here and on Facebook. I was very proud and pleased to come back and see a poem of mine in The Rialto. It was tempered with also receiving standard rejections this week from Poetry London and Shearsman. But that’s no matter. Better things to come 🙂

Angst/

At Ty Newydd, part 1

We’re halfway through the Ty Newydd poetry ‘masterclass’ with Carol Ann Duffy and Gillian Clarke, I’m writing this at 5am because my mind won’t relax, so here are my thoughts so far.

Ty Newydd, the Writers Centre for Wales

Firstly, I have nothing but praise for the staff here – Awen in the office, Gavin the warden and chef and his mother-in-law with the lilting accent – everyone has been so lovely, relaxed and accommodating. I have lucked out with my room – it’s big, quiet and warm, I have my own bathroom, the shower is hot. All perfect. There are stunning views from the landing window. The weather has been wonderful and seasonal. This house seems to have a myriad rooms, nooks, little stairways and books, books, books at every turn.

Ty Newydd conservatory

And the course itself? On day one I got off to a shaky start – on the first evening we were gathered together in the library and asked to interview each other in pairs and introduce ourselves. My neighbour and I went for the usual – families, jobs, backgrounds, poetry successes and why we were here. Everyone else seemed to take the quirky route (‘her favourite poet is Lorca, she wishes more people liked wind turbines and her earliest memory is tasting her first mango’) – I made this one up by the way, but you get the picture.

Ty Newydd dining room

We were also told on the first evening the format of the week – seven workshops in all: two morning workshops with each of the tutors, two afternoon sessions with both tutors in which we may bring a poem for feedback (8 participants on Tuesday, the other 8 yesterday) and on Friday afternoon we’ll be compiling an anthology, although I’m not sure what the tutors’ input on that will be. The evenings are for readings. On Tuesday both the tutors read. It was very special to have a ‘private’ reading like that, and there was a lively Q & A at the end. Yesterday we had a visit from Imtiaz Dharker, who clearly has a very warm relationship with both the tutors. She read some new poems and one or two which were clearly favourites from her repertoire. There was poignancy and humour in her work and a quiet beauty to her voice and interpretation, as well as humour. We loved her.

This evening we will have a ‘secret poem’ session – everyone submits an anonymous poem, which are then read out and we have to guess who wrote what. Supposedly it’s a test of who’s been paying attention to other people’s writing and style. Tricky. On Friday it’s the chance for us all to read something and I have to say I’m looking forward to that – both for the chance to read but also to hear other people’s work, since so far we’ve mostly been generating workshop poems.

The only thing that’s been sprung on us is the news that there’s to be a competition. Carol Ann and Gillian decided yesterday it would be fun. This is the one thing that’s derailed me. Not to bore you too much with the detail of what’s been going on in my head but I’ve decided not to take part (It’s not obligatory). Here’s my honest reason: if I entered and didn’t win, I’d be completely gutted. I’m not saying I’m necessarily think I’m a better poet than any of the other participants, but if I’m not then I don’t want to have my nose rubbed in it. And not winning would make me feel that way – even though YES I know it’s not an objective measure of talent and YES I know it’s just a ‘bit of fun’ – I know, I know – but it matters to me that I come away from this week feeling a little stronger and more confident as a poet. And a stupid thing like a competition could undermine everything I’ve experienced here. Maybe I’m the only one to feel this way and if so perhaps I’m just not as big a person as everyone else. Whatever – I will not take part, I will remove that particular stress and I’ll be very happy for the winners!

I think I’ll leave it there for now – more about the workshops, participants and the tutors in my next post.