Category Archives: sunday poem

Sunday Poem – Kate Wakeling

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Sunday Poem – Kate Wakeling

I had beautiful clear-white pages in my diary this week.  It has been the first week in ages I’ve not been gallivanting around the place.  I spent a large portion of it doing my tax return, or more accurately, filling in my spreadsheet so that I can work out what to put in my tax return.  I usually wait till the last possible moment to do my return as I hate doing it so much.  However, this year I was motivated by the possibility of getting some money back, now I’m a student.  I’ve pretty much finished it, but it took me most of the week, and I’m just letting it all settle before I file it on Monday.

So that hasn’t been much fun – on the other hand, it is heartening to know that I can make a living from poetry and that my freelance income has steadily increased over the last five or so years of working as a poet, without having to go out and look for work.  I feel very lucky that my work doesn’t feel like work, and I suppose filling in the tax return does bring that home.

I have managed to fit some PhD reading in though.  I’ve worked through three chapters of a book called Reading Poetry: An Introduction by Tom Furniss and Michael Bath.

The first chapter asks the reader to think about different poems about poetry and to articulate the theory of poetry they are promoting.  In the chapter Keats ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ and Blake’s ‘The Tyger’ are used as different examples of theories about creativity or poetry.  Other poems that I like that they ask you to read are ‘The Author to her Book‘ by Anne Bradstreet and Archibald MacLeish ‘Ars Poetica‘.

It reminded me that when I first wrote my poem ‘The Master Engraver’, Ann Sansom said something about the poem being really about writing poetry.  I remember being doubtful at the time – I’d listened to a program about engraver Graham Short on Radio 4 in my car, when one of my schools cancelled the lesson because the children were on a trip.  I was sitting in my car, wasting time before driving to my next school and it felt like my heart moved when I heard Graham’s description of his work and when that happens I have to write a poem.

When I wrote the poem I just wanted to write a poem about Graham Short.  In this textbook I’ve been reading though, the authors talk quite a bit about the problem of the ‘author’s intention’, that when we read poetry, we assume that the purpose is to discover the poet’s intention when writing it.  They talk about T.S Eliot and the New Critics differing approach to this, and quoting from the textbook here they argue that ‘a poem should be read on its own terms rather than in terms of author’s statements about his or her intentions when writing it’.

They then go on to outline four problems with the notion of authorial intention – the problem of access, the possibility that poets might deliberately mislead readers about their intentions or forget what their intentions were, that there may be meanings they did not consciously intend or were aware of, and lastly why the author’s intentions should be privileged over what the text itself says.

I’m quoting or paraphrasing briefly Reading Poetry: An Introduction here. The third problem, that there may be meanings they did not consciously intend or were aware of is the one that interests me at the moment, in relation to my own poem.  When I read it back now, it feels like my own theory of poetics or theory of creativity, which I wasn’t aware I was writing.

When Graham Short talked about waiting, of working late at night, of being completely alone, of this complete commitment, of requiring both the body and the mind to be controlled and focused, of it being hard work without it feeling like work, it was something I found deeply moving.  I never really thought about why, until now, but Ann’s comment has always sat in the back of my head, waiting to be unpacked and thought about, like all comments from the best of our teachers.

Does it matter that I didn’t write the poem meaning it to be a statement about writing poetry? I don’t think so -I think if I’d set out to write about writing poetry, it probably would have been a terrible poem.  My ignorance is probably what saved it!

You can find ‘The Master Engraver; in my pamphlet If We Could Speak Like Wolves and my first collection The Art of Falling (available from Seren at a discount of 50% till midnight tonight) or over at The Ofi Press magazine, where it was first published.

My one poetry outing this week was to the annual Simon Armitage reading in Grasmere.  It was a great atmosphere, I think people were really happy to be at a contemporary poetry reading again at The Wordsworth Trust, and obviously Simon Armitage was brilliant.  So brilliant in fact that due to chatting, I got to the book stall too late to buy his latest collection which was annoying. One of my Dove Cottage Young Poets read as well, Heather Hughes and went down really well.  She didn’t seem fazed at all by the large audience, and Simon even told her that his favourite line of hers ‘She claims to have slipped’ might end up in a poem of his.  Simon was one of my tutors on the MA and this moment of generosity towards a young writer didn’t surprise me, but I did think it was really lovely and I know it meant a lot to Heather.

Today’s Sunday Poem is from a fantastic pamphlet called The Rainbow Faults by Kate Wakeling, which was published in 2016 by The Rialto.  Kate kindly sent me a copy of this pamphlet in March.  I usually skim-read or speed-read things through once, and then if I like them, I put them to one side to read through at a slower pace, so I have two piles of books – ones to read and then ones to read again, which I acknowledge is a complicated way of running things, but I’m a very impatient reader when I read things first of all, especially if I like them straight away, I want to get to the end so I can read them again at a more leisurely pace.  So that is why Kate’s pamphlet has been languishing on my ‘read-again-more-slowly’ pile.

The poem I’ve chosen is ‘Looking Glass’ which just resonated with me straight away.  It picks up on a lot of the things I’ve been reading about form and content in this large textbook I’m wading through, and the more I pick at this poem, the more I like it.

First of all, I love the clever use of verbs in this poem.  The woman ‘sees’ a skeleton.  She ‘sees the beggared skull’.  The skeleton ‘watches’ the woman, and ‘watches her glazed cheek.’  I know ‘sees’ and ‘watches’ are very close in meaning, but for me ‘sees’ is much more passive, whereas ‘watching’ implies action, I think it also implies a kind of knowing or judgement.  This fits with the next line when the woman ‘startles at her blank-boned future’ but the skeleton ‘Wonders at the fallow of her peachiness’.  The skeleton seems detached and in control, the woman is reacting, as if she is one step behind.  I suppose this also fits with the idea of the woman looking toward her future (the skeleton) whereas the skeleton is looking back.

The form of this poem fits brilliantly with the content as well.  The stanzas are a slanted reflection of each other as well.  It’s significant that the poet chose not to put them side by side on the page – they are disjointed.  This is a looking glass, but it is not reflecting reality.  A woman looks into a mirror and sees a skeleton.  A skeleton looks out and watches a woman.  Each line also reflects a later line in the poem, the same but different, an example of parallelism, not exact repetition, but repetition with difference.

The last two lines of this first stanza make me think this poem is about anorexia, which fits with the looking glass not reflecting reality – the wanting of ‘this scrubbed fossil self’, and the creepiness of the ‘sticky breath’ of a demon.  That disgust in the ‘sticky breath’ also fits with concerns of eating or not eating, as does some of the words used in the second stanza, the ‘fallow of her peachiness’ and her ‘glazed cheek’.  There are a few words associated with food here actually.

And the last two lines of the second stanza are just as disturbing.  The skeleton is ‘quick with fatigue at the slog of her pulse’ – so being alive is exhausting.  The last line I’m still puzzling and turning over in my mind.  The implication is that it is the skeleton who ‘looses thrilled surrender across vacant ribs.’  Again this makes me think about eating, or not eating, this emptiness of the ‘vacant ribs’.

If you’ve enjoyed this poem, you can buy a copy of Kate’s poem from The Rialto here

Kate Wakeling grew up in Yorkshire and Birmingham.  She studied music at Cambridge University and the School of Oriental and African Studies, and works as an ethnomusicologist at Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music & Dance and as writer-in-residence with Aurora Orchestra.  Her poetry has appeared in magazines and anthologies including The Rialto, Magma, Oxford Poetry, The Best British Poetry 2014 (Salt) and The Forward Book of Poetry 2016.

 

Looking Glass – Kate Wakeling

Woman looks at mirror
Sees skeleton
Sees the beggared skull
Startles at her blank-boned future
Is dense with want for this scrubbed fossil self
Feels sticky breath of demon at her elbow

L

))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))Skeleton looks out of mirror
)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))Watches woman
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))Watches her glazed cheek
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))Wonders at the fallow of her peachiness
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))Is quick with fatique at the slog of her pulse
))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))Looses thrilled surrender across vacant ribs

Sunday Poem – Pauline Yarwood

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Sunday Poem – Pauline Yarwood

This week I’ve spent a bit of time planning my summer holidays.  In  August, I’m off to Macedonia to read at the Struga Poetry Festival, as part of the Versopolis project.  I’ll be at the festival for nearly a week, and then my husband is meeting me in Skopje and we’re going on our own holiday.  We’re going to stay in Ohrid for one night and then drive down to northern Greece and walk 17 km up Mount Olympus,  stay in a refuge near the summit for one night, before walking back down the next day.

I’m also going to Benidorm at the beginning of the summer holidays, on what is turning into an annual holiday with some of the women I run with.  This will be my luxury, sit around the pool and generally laze about holiday.

On Monday, Pauline and I finished the obligatory report on Kendal Poetry Festival for the Arts Council.  It took us five hours, but we were determined that we wanted to get the thing handed in and finished, so we can start work on next year’s festival.  Filling in the after activity report is not one of the fun things about running a festival so I’m glad that over with.

On Tuesday I had my meeting with my supervisor about my first attempt at 5000 words.  I feel so much better about the PhD.  We had a really good conversation about what I’d written and where I needed to improve, and also a frank discussion about the nature of a creative PhD, and that a lot of the critical writing will need to be directed by my creative writing, and that this way of working is going to be a challenge.  My supervisor also said she felt really excited about my project though which was really encouraging.   My main job over the summer is to get some reading done of writing about poetry.  I thought I would ease into it gently and start with Glyn Maxwell’s On Poetry as I’ve been wanting to read it for ages.   

I really enjoyed reading this book – perhaps the thing that has stayed with me the most, or given me the most to think about are his thoughts on stanza breaks.  He refers to W.B Yeats ‘The Song of Wandering Aengus’ to discuss what happens in the white space between stanzas.  He asks what happens in between the stanzas and then answers ‘A change of place, a passing of time.’  He also talks about comparing stanza breaks to scene changes in a film, saying that ‘Some stanza breaks are cuts, some are fades, some are dissolves’.

This has given me lots to think about in relation to my own work but I’ve already started to use some of this in the workshops I’ve ran this weekend with Dove Cottage Young Poets and my Barrow Poetry Workshop.

On Wednesday I drove over to Lumb Bank in Heptonstall.  I was the guest poet on Ann and Peter Sansom’s Arvon course.  I can’t tell you how excited I was to do this – I’ve never been to Lumb Bank before, and it really is a magical place.  The scenery is so beautiful and it was such nice weather, I basically dumped my bag in the cottage and went straight out for a run through the woods and then back along the fields.  I only did 2 miles as I’d been out on Tuesday night and done a 7 mile run and I didn’t want to overdo it.

Then I got back, had a shower and then went for dinner with Ann and Peter and the course participants, and Jill, the assistant centre director, and then did the reading after dinner, sold lots of books, had a cup of tea with some of the course participants and then collapsed into bed! It meant a lot to me to be invited to do this because my whole journey as a poet and a writer started on a residential course, not at Lumb Bank, but at Ty Newydd in Wales.  That first residential that I went on completely changed my life, so it feels pretty amazing to go and be a guest poet on one.

The next day I got up early and went for a run with one of the people booked on the course who I will call D, as I forgot to ask permission to mention him here.  It was a great run, through the woods again but this time crossing the river.  I needed to be back in half an hour, however we got a bit lost and whilst D was bounding up and down the hills to find the right path I was puffing and panting behind trying to keep up.  D was a lot fitter than I thought, which was lucky really as it meant he could scout ahead.  It was a bit like that scene in Lord of the Rings when Gimli the dwarf is puffing along and Legolas speeds on ahead.

I needed to be back in half an hour so I could get to Kendal for 10.30am because I had an appointment to get my tattoo finished.  I managed to get there on time with minutes to spare, and I don’t know if it was because I was exhausted from the run, but the pain was nowhere near as bad as the first session on the tattoo a couple of weeks ago.

This brings us up to date with this weekend which I spent running Dove Cottage Young Poets on Friday, Brewery Poets on Friday night and then running my Barrow Poetry Workshop all day Saturday.  Next week I have a fairly quiet week, so I’m hoping to get lots of reading done and some poetry writing.

So today’s Sunday Poem is by Pauline Yarwood, who as well as being the co-director of Kendal Poetry Festival, is also a very good poet in her own right.  Her first pamphlet Image Junkie has just been published by Wayleave Press and her official launch was a couple of weeks ago.  It’s a great pamphlet and available from Wayleave Press for the bargain price of £5.

Reading through the pamphlet again, I realised that although a lot of the poems are concerned with visual themes (unsurprising as Pauline is a potter) many of the poems also explore the problem of speaking out, not speaking at all, speaking too much, who gets to speak and who doesn’t.  In ‘The Left Wing Coffee Bar, Manchester’ the ‘ex-POW fathers/told us you understand nothing,/nothing’. There are lots of other examples of direct speech in the poems, such as in’La Flaneuse’, ‘Basking Shark’ and ‘The Hare’ and often people are talking too much or not talking enough. 

The poem I’ve chosen  for the Sunday Poem this week is called’Put-downs’.  The hurtful things people can say to other people is something that seems to be on my mind a lot recently.  Helen Mort has just written a great blog about the effect that unsolicited advice and comments can have, which you can read here where she writes back to a male writer who offered some unnecessarily cruel and personal unsolicited remarks.  In the blog, Helen says

I’m sorry for writing an essay back in response to a short email. But sometimes, a few words online can spill over into someone’s life and have quite a profound effect, so I thought it was worth trying to put that into words

This really struck me when I read this.  Maybe it’s something that we all forget too often, that what we say and do can have a profound effect on other people.  Pauline’s poem discusses the effect that words and comments by family members can have on the self, not only as a child but as an adult as well.

The familiar phrase of ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes’ becomes unfamiliar in the poem as the gran gets it ‘the wrong way round’.  There is something funny in this misuse of the phrase at first, and the descriptions of the speaker ‘scratched and bleeding from climbing trees’ or ‘once hiding in tall grass being shown how boys pee’ has real energy and life to it.

By the end of the poem, this humour is wiped out.  There is a sense of something left unsaid with the description of the gran as ‘A woman wrapped in loss’ but this untold story is quickly moved on with the introduction of another familiar phrase.  The last three lines of the poem I found completely chilling, and in particular the last two lines: ‘She could destroy you six different ways with this/depending on where she put the emphasis.’ These two lines send you back to the line before with the phrase ‘who do you think you are’.  I couldn’t help myself but try and put the emphasis in different ways.  When you do this, when you practice saying ‘Who do you think YOU are’ or ‘Who do you think you ARE’ or ‘Who DO you think you are’ it is almost like the Gran emerges and forms, in the white space around the poem.

Thanks to Pauline for letting me post this poem! Here’s to a week, no even better a life of no put-downs and kindness to wash over us all.

Put-downs 
Pauline Yarwood

My gran got it the wrong way round.
You’re a sight for sore eyes, she’d snap,
sharp, when I snuck in through the back door.
I’d be grubby from digging pits for dens
or scratched and bleeding from climbing trees,
red-faced from riding my bike a few feet
further than I was allowed to go,
then a sweaty race back hoping not to be seen,
and once hiding in tall grass being shown how boys pee.
It was years before I realised that being
a sight for sore eyes was a good thing,
a joy to behold.  But I was never that,
just a scruffy kid hoping for toast and marmite
and a bit of a welcome.  She could, I suppose,
have meant that me looking like something
the cat dragged in cheered her up, made her smile.
But that wasn’t my gran.  A woman wrapped in loss,
her other favourite phrase, which never leaves me,
was who do you think you are.
She could destroy you six different ways with this
depending on where she put the emphasis. 

 

Sunday Poem – Katie Hale

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Sunday Poem – Katie Hale

This morning, my lovely husband said ‘Let’s have an easy Sunday today and not go for a long walk’ (which was what we’d planned).  Ok, I said, thinking longingly of the multiple episodes of Love Island I have to catch up on, having been away most of the week (more news of that later).

I decided an easy Sunday meant I would go for a run with the Walney Wind Cheetahs to make up for not going for a walk.  It was a bit of a rush as I went out last night for a meal with friends and then to see a band.  I got back home at about midnight, so I decided not to set my alarm.  I woke up at 9.30am and somehow got to the meeting point by 10am, even managing to be in appropriate running gear rather than pyjamas.

When I got back from the run, which was very hilly and my first seven mile run since I’ve been injured, the ever-inspired husband asked me to come and walk the dogs with him.  Two hours later, having trekked over fields with cows that eyeballed me ferociously (husband said they were just curious) and a sheep that sneezed and scared itself and me, causing us both to run in opposite directions and numerous stiles covered in nettles we finally arrived back home.

The easy Sunday wasn’t over yet – husband then decided he was going to paint the garden shed, so I felt obliged to do some weeding.  I’ve just escaped, using my blog as an excuse (knew there was a good reason to do it every Sunday).  Luckily for me he never reads it so I can say what I like!

My twin sister once quite rightly pointed out a while ago that I hate doing anything I’m not already good at, which is completely true.  In the last few years she has learnt to scuba dive and ski on various holidays, whereas for me, that would be my worst nightmare – the potential of embarrassing myself in front of people by being rubbish far outweighs the benefits of being able to ski or scuba dive.

This PhD has been really challenging for me this year for lots of reasons.  Being ill and taken into hospital and an emergency operation didn’t help.  But probably running deeper than that is this mortal fear of embarrassing myself by being rubbish. I never had this feeling when I showed people my poetry for the first time, but I’ve definitely had it worrying away at me as I’ve been writing the 5000 words for my supervisor.  Despite this, I’ve really enjoyed writing it, and although I’m a bit nervous about the meeting next Tuesday to discuss it, I’m also looking forward to it as well.

One thing you aren’t told before you start a PhD is that you will know yourself a lot better than you did before you started.  I didn’t agree with what my twin sister said to me at the time, but I do now! I also didn’t know how much I need goals to work towards, not to make sure I’m doing some work, but also so that I feel like I’m doing some work, so that I’ve got something to show for it.  I’ve also learnt that to be a successful PhD student you need to ask for things, like meetings with supervisors and people’s time and advice.  I find asking for things excrutiating, so again another thing I’ve had to get over and just get on with.

Although I’ll just keep going with the PhD over the summer, it does feel like the end of the year.  I had my end of year review last week which went really well.  My report from my Director of Studies (Michael Symmons Roberts) was really positive and encouraging, so I feel more confident about the PhD.

On Wednesday I got the 5.23am train from Barrow to Newcastle (who knew there was such a thing as a 5.23am train?).  I spent Wednesday to Friday at the English: Shared Futures conference, my first academic conference.  The lovely poet Emily Blewitt invited me to take part in a discussion about Creative/Critical practice, and on the Wednesday night I gave my first mini, 15 minute academic paper! It was perfect timing really as I took some of what I’d done as part of the 5000 words and included three poems I’ve written during the PhD.  Kate Fox also talked about her own work – she is at the end of her PhD so it was really interesting to hear her thoughts.

I had some really great feedback as well, so much in fact that I’m in danger of believing  I did ok.  I loved being at the conference as well.  I went to an event with Hannah Lowe, Mary Jean Chan and Jennifer Wong about borders and place in poetry, and then a Salon with Helen Mort. I wanted to go and see how poets moved around in this academic setting, and I’m glad I did, because I really enjoyed the papers, and it made me a little more confident that I could do the same thing.

It felt wonderfully decadent to spend three whole days learning things, listening to people talk about something they felt really passionate about. My other favourite moments of the weekend were hearing the plenary speech from Deborah Cameron.  The title was ‘Language, and the Problem of Female Authority’. She said that a better title might have been ‘Language, and the Problem WITH Female Authority.’

The last event I went to was about Sexual Misconduct in Universities which is basically at epidemic levels.  This event completely blew my mind.  It was really upsetting, but also very inspiring as well.  It made me think differently about things that have happened to me in my life and how to name them.  This blog post is already way too long, so I think I will probably return to this subject another time when I have got my thoughts a little bit clearer about it.

So it has been an exhilarating week! I got back from Newcastle at 6pm and then went straight out to the launch of Pauline Yarwood and Katie Hale’s pamphlets at Crosthwaite Village Hall.  I was pretty shattered by the time I got there, but it was a great event and I didn’t feel tired once the poetry got going.  Three of my Dove Cottage Young Poets read as well, which was great.  There was a fantastic turnout in the hall and it looked like Pauline and Katie sold lots of pamphlets!

paulinekatielaunch

Next week I’ll be posting a poem from Pauline’s pamphlet, but this week, I’ve got a poem from Katie’s to share.  Katie has had one amazing year with her writing.  Her pamphlet Breaking the Surface was published with Flipped Eye about a month ago.  She recently won the Jane Martin Poetry Prize and the Ware Poetry Prize and was shortlisted for the Ballymaloe International Poetry Prize.  She also came second in the Tannahill International Poetry Competition.  Her poetry has been published in Poetry Review, The North and Interpreter’s House, among others.  Katie also writes fiction and is currently being mentored for her first novel, ‘My Name Is Monster’ by Penguin Random House on their inaugral Write Now scheme.  Her musical The Inevitable Quiet of the Crash, co-written with composer Stephen Hyde will premier at Edinburgh Fringe.  I did say she’d had a pretty fantastic year – a lot of these successes have happened quite recently.  I did wonder, but forgot to ask Katie whether it coincided with her decision to give up full time employment and become a freelance writer.  There is something powerful I think about giving your time and energy to something – good things happen!

The poem I’ve chosen ‘The Raven Speaks’ is one of my favourites in the pamphlet. The raven in this poem is the one let out by Noah from the ark to find land.  I really like the creation and development of the raven’s personality throughout this poem – it’s sense of independence: ‘is it any wonder I didn’t come back?’ and it’s disdain for the stink of the ship, but mostly for the ‘lily-winged dove’ and its understanding, or interpretation of the dove’s true nature as being ‘pampered’ but also deadly.  In fact when you get to the surprise of the end of the poem, and return again to the beginning and the quote from Genesis, you realise that it is not the dove which is deadly, but Noah, and by representation Man, who will conquer the earth again, once the flood waters recede.

One of the things Katie does brilliantly throughout the pamphlet is description – she has pin-point accuracy.  You can see this in the ‘mad tessellation of wood’ and ‘the lift and slump of horizon’ and the ‘chorus of sunlight’.  I also loved the ‘drowned fish’ which made me stop and think – the use of that phrase makes the reader realise the speed with which the water receded, meaning fish were stranded on the ‘rocky/dump of mud’.

You can hear Katie reading the poem at her website here and you can buy her pamphlet here for the bargain price of £4

 

The Raven Speaks – Katie Hale 

/////////////////‘All the animals, birds and fish will live in fear of you. They are all placed ////////////////under your power.’
//////////////////////////////////////////////// – Genesis 9:2

For a month or more, he kept us
in the dark, locked
in his mad tessellation of wood.

Through a slip of it, we could see
the lift and slump of horizon,
and on rougher days
shards of air forced themselves
through the gap

When he took me
from the hull, led me up
and out towards the day…

to feel the chorus of sunlight on my feathers,
the freshness of salt
scouring from me the greyness of captivity…
when they unhooked my claw
from the metal ring, and made me soar –
is it any wonder I didn’t come back?

I found land: a rocky
dump of mud and drowned fish,
the single resilient
olive branch. It stank
fierce as the ship I’d left behind.

I saw her coming,
that lily-winged dove. Hid.
Watched her pinch that little spurt of green
in her petite, pampered beak,
and promptly nip it, dead.