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News from March and April

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At Penzance Poetry Parlour with Katrina Naomi and Helen Mort

I’m writing this from the back seat of the poet John Foggin’s car. Another poet John Fennelly is in the front seat. I’m telling you these spurious details because John Foggin will be FREAKED OUT when he reads this later and finds out I’ve been writing this whilst he was driving along. I’ve been in St Ives for the last week running a residential course with the poet Helen Mort and 17 participants. I haven’t posted a Sunday Poem on here for a couple of weeks – life has just got too busy, and something had to give. So the Sunday Poem has for now got a dust sheet over it. Since I last wrote on March 19th, which was by my count 25 days ago, I’ve spent 13 of those 25 days in hotel rooms rather than my own house. I was wondering when I got to St Ives why I felt so tired, and now I know!

It has been a lovely week – a really talented group of poets to work with first and most importantly, but there are other things that make the week feel a bit magical – getting to work with Helen Mort was another. Not only is she a brilliant tutor and poet, she also runs, so I had company this time on my excursions round the country roads of St Ives. And the weather has been amazing – which was just what I needed after the miserable cold and rain we’ve been suffering up north. It is so mild down here! Apparently Cornwall has had bad weather as well, but it all cleared off for our arrival.

The week started on Sunday night for Helen and I, as we had a reading at Katrina Naomi’s Penzance Poetry Parlour. It’s the first time I’ve read in someone’s living room, with maybe twenty or thirty people crammed in, sitting up the stairs or on cushions on the floor once the chairs were full. It was such a lovely evening – Katrina is a marvel and it is a testament to her warm personality as well as her poetry that she has managed to gather such a wonderful community of poets around her. One of my poetry heroes Penelope Shuttle was even in the audience – a long time ago when I was first starting out Penelope gave one of my poems a fourth prize in the Kent and Sussex Poetry Competition, the first ‘prize’ I ever won! Her work has always been important to me so it felt amazing to have her in the audience.

Apart from running this residential course then, one of my trips away from home was a trip down to London to record an episode of Private Passions.I’m saying that as if it is an ordinary, usual thing to do when clearly it is not! I’d better not reveal my music choices as the episode will be aired (I think) on June 10th. It was actually nowhere near as nerve wracking as I thought it would be. Maybe I’m getting better at doing things that are out of my comfort zone. The Private Passions team were so lovely as well, and made me feel at ease. The studio where the recording takes place is quite small, and I sat directly opposite Michael Berkeley with the producers to the side in another room, so it does feel more like just having a chat than being on the radio. The producer, Elizabeth Burke, was really lovely, and this probably sounds a little strange, but I felt first of all as if I’d known her for years, and secondly, I was – I don’t know quite what the right word is – moved? inspired? by the way she carried herself as a woman, how she obviously had authority and expertise, but wore it lightly. Watching the way she interacted in the studio made something shift in my head – I am full of admiration for her. I don’t think I’m explaining it well, but I think that is because I haven’t articulated it to myself yet.

I then got a train back to Manchester and stayed in the Britannia hotel, which is an experience in itself. I arrived and was given a key for a room which had a single bed. I’d paid for a double, and one of the things I look forward to being away from home is to have a double bed, so I trotted back downstairs to ask for double room. There was already a man shouting at the staff and saying ‘this is like bloody Fawlty Towers I’ve already had my room changed five times etc’ so I wasn’t holding out much hope. The rather harassed staff member apologised and gave me another key. Off I went to the top floor this time, a double room, but the stench of stale cigarette smoke that hit me when I opened it was so overwhelming I quickly closed the door. Who knew that hotels have designated smoking rooms now? Not me. I wearily made my way down in the lift again and explained that I couldn’t sleep in this room because of the smell, and the same even more harassed staff member apologised again and upgraded me to an executive suite! And all without shouting.

I had to stay over in Manchester because I had a full day of tutorials with undergraduate students the next day and then from there I had to get the train to the airport to go to Gdansk in Poland to read at the European Poet of Freedom poetry festival. Poland was wonderful! And Gdansk is a beautiful city. I love reading at these festivals, but if there is any stress, it’s always being a stranger and having to get to know people or connect with people. However, my translator Krystyna was there and another poet Sigurbjorg from Iceland, who I’d met in Croatia two years ago at another festival, so it felt more like going on holiday with friends with lots of poetry thrown in. I met some lovely poets there as well who I won’t name because a listing of names is rather dull but Alice Oswald was there, and she was her usual brilliant self – I think she is such a wonderful poet.

Another exciting thing to happen this week is that I had my portrait painted! Or at least the sketches for the painting. The amazing artist Claire Eastgate is painting contemporary women poets from all over the UK, and these paintings will form an exhibition called ‘Painting the Poets’. Claire came and stayed at my house the night before and we had some amazing discussions about the female gaze, which I will probably blog about separately. People often said to me before starting the PhD that it would be conversations with people that would be really important and formative for your research and I didn’t quite believe them – I couldn’t understand how a conversation could be more important than reading a book for example or an article. A year and a half in to the PhD, I get it!

Last week I also had another meeting about my poetry with Michael Symmonsn Roberts, which was really useful and positive. After my mock viva, one of the recommendations was that I have a third supervisor to oversee the creative/critical connective part of the PhD which is really the part I’ve been struggling with, so Nikolai Duffy is now part of my PhD team, and I’ve arranged to meet him on May 4th.

These last few months have been so busy it has been a bit of a wake up call. I’ve decided to really start cutting back on the work I’m doing from this summer onwards really, and try and keep this last year clear for mainly PhD stuff. We will see how easy I find it to stick to that resolution!

I haven’t got a Sunday Poem this week, so I’m being rather self involved and leaving you with one of my own, which was recently published in The New Statesman. I will say, before you click on the link, that this poem comes with a trigger warning – it is about date rape, so please proceed with caution. I was shocked recently, and then not shocked, to read that 1 in 3 women will experience rape or sexual assault during their lifetime. It breaks my heart when I think about women carrying around this pain inside them, trying to act as if nothing has happened.

And if you are wondering, and maybe about to write ‘men experience sexual assault and rape too’ and ‘why aren’t you writing about them Kim’ then I would respectfully ask you not to bother. I know that men experience this as well, but I am choosing to write about women and I’d like to quote the great John Berger from ‘Ways of Seeing’ here – ‘To look is an act of choice.’ I am choosing to look at women and their experiences, and my experiences of sexual assault. This doesn’t mean I don’t care about men, but I am making a political choice. Interestingly, John Berger also writes that ‘It is seeing which establishes our place in the surrounding world; we explain the world with words, but words can never undo the fact that we are surrounded by it’.

The poem in the New Statesman recounts a story that was told to me a long time ago. Although I carried the story for nearly twenty years inside me, and never forgot it, I didn’t look at it, I didn’t see it until I wrote this poem. I stuffed it down as small as it would go in my own memory because it frightened me. I am choosing to look now, I chose to look through the act of writing the poem, although I didn’t understand what I was really looking at until I finished writing the poem. Our course this week has been about the ‘unsaid’ in poetry, and it felt like the ‘unsaid’ in this poem was something I had to discover, and which I only discover by the end of the poem – not that these things happen, but that these things are a lesson which the world teaches women which then act as a form of control.

If you would like to read the poem, please click on the link below.

All The Men I Never Married No.25 The New Statesman Easter Issue

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Sunday Poem – Jean Stevens

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Sunday Poem – Jean Stevens

The end of the week comes round again, and I’m never quite sure why it always feels like a surprise.  I’ve had quite a busy week – endless admin first of all, just the general, run-of-the-mill admin that you get as a freelance writer that sometimes turns into an admin avalanche and threatens to cover everything.

I also spent a large part of this week doing Kendal Poetry Festival jobs.  Pauline and I had a meeting on Monday with our website designer, Claire to discuss a slightly new look for this year’s website and logo.  One of the invisible jobs of organising a festival is writing the copy for websites and brochures.  This takes hours! It involves first of all contacting all the poets to ask for biographies, blurbs for any talks or workshops they are doing and a photo of themselves.  Easy, you might think.  Well, no, as even if the poets all send everything on time (which never happens) the things they send have to be proofread and put into our house style.  I write a short introduction to each event to go on the website.  This is quite hard as I’m trying to summarise people’s poetry  which is inherently difficult. Once I’d done all this, I sent it over to Pauline to be edited and proof-read, then she sent it back to me to have another look at the changes, and then it gets forwarded on to Claire.  Not very glamorous but one of the essential tasks that need doing before we can start selling tickets.

The next step, which is Pauline’s job, is to work with The Brewery Arts Centre, to get the correct ticket information put on their website.  I am very glad this is Pauline’s job, as I would rather write event descriptions than have to deal with people on the phone! This is one of the reasons we work well together I think, as we manage to share the work out so nobody has to do anything they really don’t want to do.

Pauline and I had another meeting on Friday, where we went through all the accommodation requirements for the Festival Poets.  We also went through our budget and made sure everything is still adding up, which again, doesn’t sound like much, but it took a long time.  Another rather unglamorous side of putting a festival on, but it will all be worth it in the end, and Pauline did keep the supply of tea going all afternoon.

My head has been all over the place this week – I had a meeting with the Soul Band to discuss our gig dates for the rest of the year on Tuesday night, and even though it was written in my diary I completely forgot about it.  I charged into the meeting just over half an hour late and in my pyjamas.  Whoops.  Luckily they are a forgiving bunch.

I was teaching my undergrads at MMU on Thursday.  It was quite intense this week as they are due to hand in their assignments.  I had two tutorials and then used the seminars to talk through the assignment briefs and give quick advice about editing their portfolios.  They have to hand in prose and poetry as well as a reflective essay.

After my Kendal Poetry Festival meeting on Friday, I then had to rush off to run a Dove Cottage Young Poets session, and then went straight home to go out for a meal with my friend J and her husband S.  I used to work with J when I was a music teacher.  We worked at a music centre on a Saturday together and we also taught in the same school and did classroom support for each other.  J is a violin teacher, and I learnt to play Twinkle Twinkle very badly on the violin whilst in her lessons.  It was lovely to see them again.  Chris (the husband) reminded me that I had a 7am train to catch the next morning, just before I started on my third beer, which was a very sensible move – I knew there was a reason why I married him!

On Saturday I made the 7am train and headed off to Manchester.  I’m working on a pilot project that MMU are running called the Writing and Talking Saturday Club.   It’s a chance for 13-16 year olds in Manchester to come and study at university for free and work with writers and creative tutors.  Saturday was a taster day, with drop in sessions of poetry on one table and character and plot development on another.  The project officially starts in April, so if you know any young people in Manchester who might be interested, follow the link and email Kaye Tew to register – it’s completely free to attend.

The taster day finished at 1pm and then I got the train back to Lancaster to go to the Lancaster Litfest poetry day .  My highlights were the lovely Kate Fox, who I think is generally fabulous, and Katharine Towers, whose work I’ve loved since hearing her read at Stanza Poetry Festival a couple of years ago and the Wayleave Press reading.  My co-director Pauline Yarwood read from her Wayleave Press pamphlet, as well as some new work, and the brilliant Hannah Hodgson, one of my Dove Cottage Young Poets read from her brand new pamphlet Dear Body.   The pamphlet isn’t officially available yet, I think it’s officially published in a few weeks – I’ll let you know when it comes out.

Today I have been at the South Cumbria Music Festival to watch Barrow Shipyard Junior Band perform.  They came first out of five bands and the adjudicator also said they bought the winning audience with them as well.  I had to whistle when they finished playing the first piece so that they knew I was there!  My brilliant twin sister also came first in the ensemble section as part of the Cumbria Horn ensemble, so overall a very successful day, where I experienced lots of the joy of watching the band do well, without any of the hard work in the run up to it.

It sounds silly, as this is my second year of not being a music teacher, but it felt like it finally sunk in today.  Seeing the band doing so well under another conductor both made me very happy, and very nostalgic.  I suddenly realised what an amazing thing it is, to have created a brass band out of thin air, and for it to continue even after you leave.  My brass band conductor used to always say that nobody is bigger than the band, and that was what I said to the band when I told them I was leaving.  If the band has a heart and is a living breathing thing, then it carries on even when you leave, and this is both painful and wonderful at the same time.

It made me miss brass banding again as well – I’d love to join a band and play again, but where I would fit it in with everything else I’m doing I don’t know.  Maybe that will have to wait till after the PhD has finished.

This week I’ve been doing some work on the overall structure of my PhD, which is going to be quite experimental.  I don’t want to say too much about that at the moment, as I have no idea yet if it is going to work, but I’m quite excited about it.  I’ve also been thinking about the idea of the ‘female gaze’ which seems particularly important as I am writing about men and looking at men in my new collection.  The male gaze typically objectifies or fetishizes – I obviously don’t want to do that.  I’ve been re-reading John Berger’s Ways of Seeing which I think is a brilliant text – it doesn’t feel dated at all.  Some interesting quotes that I think may be relevant to my own work, although he is talking about art, I think a lot of what he says is useful in terms of poetry as well.  He says

We only see what we look at.  To look is an act of choice.

and later on,

The meaning of an image is changed according to what one sees immediately beside it or what comes immediately after it.

I think this will be important in my collection, which is different ways of looking at men, which also becomes different ways of looking at the self, which becomes different ways of looking at society.

Berger also says

We never look at just one thing, we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves.  our vision is continually active, continually moving, continually holding things in a circle around itself, constituting what is present to us as we are.

This seems important as well – that by looking/writing about one thing or person, we are looking at the relation between ‘things and ourselves’.

Today’s Sunday Poem is by Jean Stevens, who was one of the participants on the recent residential that I ran in Garsdale.  Jean had just had a collection published with Naked Eye.  It’s called Driving in the Dark and I would really recommend it.  I really enjoyed reading the whole thing.  I started reading it one afternoon and couldn’t put it down.

I’ve chosen the poem Snoring because I found it really moving.  I also thought it fitted in with some of the ideas around the female gaze which I’ve been thinking about, although the man being looked at is no longer there.  It is in fact his absence that is being looked at or examined.

The first section seems to describe the discovery by the speaker of a partner dying, woken by a sound ‘nothing like the usual snoring’.  I loved the snippet of dialogue here – the ‘Wake up you bugger’ and then the repetition of the ‘Wake up’ becomes more and more poignant, as both the reader and the speaker realise something is horribly wrong.

I like how those first two stanzas are in four lines, but as the realisation kicks in, the next two stanzas shrink to just three lines.   We get a sense of the relationship as well – the give and take of it with ‘This isn’t me messing about/saying a marriage can founder/on snores’.

As well as the stanzas shrinking, the punctuation also seems to break down by the fourth stanza, with the line breaks standing in instead for what could have been full stops.  But I think the lack of punctuation works well here for the big realisations that are happening at the end of this fourth stanza: ‘This is me saying forgive me’.

The second section starts off by repeating the last two lines of the first section, which gives them a new emphasis.  Then the poem goes off in a completely unexpected direction, and this is where I think the gaze of the poem is really interesting.  The partner’s body as well as the speakers body is conjured up in all its humanness and shortcomings.  This is a completely unapologetic and frank gaze – and there is something both shocking and moving in this frankness, in the detail of the ‘your sweating stains the bed’ and the matter-of-factness when the gaze turns on the self: ‘when the bags under my eyes/have bags themselves’.

The last stanza is where she brings the self and the partner together through again, a shocking, yet incredibly moving detail: ‘with my bare hands I’ll scrub/your skidmark underpants’.  John Berger has lots to say about the difference between ‘nakedness’ and ‘nudity’.  He says that

To be naked is to be oneself.  To be nude is to be seen naked by others and yet not recognised for oneself.  A naked body has to be seen as an object to become a nude’

Of course he is talking about paintings here, but I think it holds true for poetry as well.  The partner and the speaker here are naked – inasmuch as their bodies are described in intimate detail, in a way which allows us as the readers to recognise them as themselves.  They stay as selves, rather than objects, because of the way Jean writes about the intimate ageing process of the body, the intimacies that two people share.

Jean was great fun to have on the residential – she always had a story to tell, having had this amazing life as a playwright and actor.  Her poems have appeared in London Magazine, Stand, The North, Mslexia, The Honest Ulsterman, Other Poetry, Smoke and The Bridport Prizewinners Anthology 2016, as well as being broadcast on BBC Radio 3 and 4.  She is a past winner of the Yorkshire Post Poetry Prize and the Leeds Libraries Writing Prize and was recently shortlisted for the Poetry Business Pamphlet Competition and The Rialto Poetry Prize.  Her plays have been performed at Derby Playhouse, the Edinburgh Festival, Harrogate Theatre and West Yorkshire Playhouse.  Her stand-up comedy script won the Polo Prize at London’s Comedy Store.  As a professional actor she has credits for stage, film and television.  Her website is jeanstevenspoet.co.uk

You can order a copy of Driving in the Dark here  and find out more about Naked Eye publishing here. 

Snoring – Jean Stevens

(i)
I wake to the sound of snoring
nothing like the usual snoring
when I shout Wake up you bugger 
and attempt to turn you over.

No, I wake to a sound that grips
snore, rattle, gasp in its fist
deep and going deeper.  Wake up,
you must wake up.

This isn’t me messing about
saying a marriage can founder
on snores.  This is it.

This is me saying forgive me
this is me saying I love you
now when it’s far too late.

(ii)

This is me saying I love you
now when it’s far too late.

I mean, love’s ridiculous
when you’ve lost your hair,
your waistline, your hearing,
and your sweating stains the bed;

when the bags under my eyes
have bags themselves, and my
boobs are moving towards the floor.
But come back and I vow

with my bare hands I’ll scrub
your skidmark underpants
till I grow raddled and sore
immersed in water that scalds.

 

 

Sunday Poem – Bryony Littlefair

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Sunday Poem – Bryony Littlefair

I have somehow, after getting a bit worn down with it, managed to find my way back to enjoying blogging every Sunday again.  I found my way back to this place, as with most things, through poetry, through finding poems that I felt I had to tell other people about otherwise I might burst.  More on that later.

It has been a strange kind of week this week.  I’ve been frantically preparing for my mock viva which is tomorrow afternoon.  I have to give a ten minute presentation and then discuss my PhD and the 6000 word report I handed in.  I received feedback on my report and this is what I have the presentation has to be about – a response to the feedback.  So I’ve been thinking about that this week, turning it over in my mind.  I bought myself some small cards and have written prompts on and I’m hoping that will help me when I’m doing the presentation.

One of the main questions raised in the feedback was why use poetry, and lyric poetry in particular, to address the gap I’ve identified.  Lucky for me I’ve been reading Jonathan Culler’s Theory of the Lyric for the last month or so, as I feel I can answer that one.  As the gap I’ve identified is that poets don’t seem to be writing about sexism in a sustained way (as in over a whole collection, rather than the odd poem) then it makes sense to try and do this in poetry.  But why lyric poetry? Lyric poetry is always balanced between inner and outer experience, between the individual and the social, between the personal and the political.  I like how it is often in two minds. I’ve enjoyed reading about lyric poetry having a long history of being socially engaged – Jonathan Culler talks about its roots in epideictic discourse – which is public discourse about meaning and value.  And when anyone asks why poetry, I always return to Adrienne Rich and this beautiful quote from her essay ‘Vesuvius at Home: The Power of Emily Dickinson’:

But there is a more ancient concept of the poet, which is that she is endowed to speak for those who do not have the gift of language, or to see for those who – for whatever reasons – are less conscious of what they are living through.

The last part of that sentence is central to my own work – the idea that poetry can make us look differently at the world.  This is exactly what listening to Claudia Rankine read from Citizen did for me and this is what happened to me when my friend David Tait sent me the manuscript of his new collection The AQI which contains a long central sequence exploring homophobia.  I became more conscious of the times we are living through, when homophobia and racism is rife, but some of us are lucky enough to not be directly affected by it.  Poetry can make us see the world differently, can make us more conscious of what we are living through.

David Tait has been on a brief visit to the UK for the past fortnight and we spent three days together hiking in the Lake District and eating cake – that was pretty much the extent of our activities. It was great to see him again – and I’m looking forward to his new collection, which will be coming out in May 2018.

So as well as having a welcome visitor and preparing for my mock viva, I’ve also been desperately trying to catch up with emails and admin.  I seem to be getting a lot more freelance work coming through at the moment, which is lovely, and maybe an after effect of winning the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize, but it has made this week a little bit manic as I try and keep up with it.

I’m also now fully on with my training for the Coniston to Barrow, taking place in May this year.   Last year I got injured and am determined not to do the same thing again.  I’m building up my milage, but really dialling back the speed.  I ran my longest run in a while today – 12 and a half miles but didn’t go charging off up the hills which is my usual style, and it seems to have worked, as I have no aches or pains so far.

Back to the Sunday Poem! My lovely editor, Amy Wack at Seren, sent me some of the new books that Seren have just published.  One of them was a pamphlet by a poet called Bryony Littlefair, who won the Mslexia competition in 2017 with her pamphlet Giraffe.  I really loved this pamphlet – it felt like a complete breath of fresh air, every poem entertained me.

I chose ‘Sunday mornings’ not because this blog goes out on a Sunday (no chance I’d ever get round to posting this in the morning anyway!) although it is nicely apt that it’s Sunday.  Returning to Jonathan Culler who writes that every poem about a bird conjures up other poems about birds.  I think this is true, to a lesser and greater extent.  I can’t read a poem about a fox without thinking of Ted Hughes ‘The Thought-Fox’.   Hughes’ poem stands as a kind of shadow poem behind other fox poems, casting a different length of shadow depending on how close they are to each other.

‘Sunday mornings’ bought into my head one of my favourite contemporary poem ‘Those Winter Sundays’ by Robert Hayden.  They are two completely different poems of course.  Hayden is writing about ‘the chronic angers of that house’ and the different ways humans show love, or don’t, amongst other things, whilst Bryony’s poem seems to be a poem of learning to be alone, learning loneliness or selfhood.  But I think the music of the poems, their intrinsic rhythms are very close to each other, especially at the beginning.  The lovely first line of Bryony’s poem: ‘The truth is I’m not sure what I did’ – the way it seems to start mid-conversation seems to mirror the mid-conversation stance of ‘Sundays too my father got up early’.   Both poems seem to be addressing us, the readers directly – Bryony’s all the way through, and Robert Hayden’s seems to turn its face towards us with that last heartbreaking question – ‘What did I know, what did I know,/of love’s austere and lonely offices?’  Although I suppose both poems could also be addressing the self rather than a reader.

I love the humour in Bryony’s poem as well – ‘I’d spin/on the office chair, or curl up on patches/of carpet, pretending to be dead’ and earlier in the poem ‘I didn’t/do any of those things, nor the homework/I’d invented to excuse my godlessness’.  All the way through the pamphlet, she uses fantastic metaphors and similes, and this poem is no exception – look at ‘Alone in the hefty silence, I felt loose/and endangered, like an undone shoelace/or an open rucksack.’ I think those are so well chosen – of course an open rucksack is endangered – it could allow things to fall from it, or allow a thief to take something.  A shoelace is endangered because it could be stepped on, it could case a fall.  Both objects are not doing what they are supposed to be doing.

It made me think back to being a teenager and how hard it was to be alone.  At some point, my mum and dad eventually trusted my sister and I enough to leave us at home, but I was never alone as I had three sisters.  Even when my older sisters were out, I was always with my twin sister – in fact we weren’t allowed to hang out with friends without each other, which maybe accounts for how terrible I am at being alone now.  I can manage it if I’m busy, but I find it really hard if I’ve got nothing to do.

A little bit about Bryony Littlefair – she studied English Literature and Philosophy at the University of York.  Her various jobs have ranged from cupcake baker to Editorial Assistant to dementia support worker.  She currently works at the Abbey Community Centre in Kilburn and focuses on work with older people.  She is also Project Coordinator for The Reader in Croydon.  Her poetry has previously appeared in Popshot, The Cadaverine, Clear Poetry and Ink, Sweat and Tears.  

You can buy her pamphlet Giraffe direct from the Seren website here– I can’t recommend it highly enough.  I read it straight through in one sitting and then started again.  There are some cracking poems in there – other favourites are the title poem ‘Giraffe’ and the very funny ‘Usually I’m a different person at this party’ which starts ‘Usually my tights don’t fall down like this, leaving an airy prism/just below the crotch’ and just gets better and better (Is Bryony Littlefair in fact following me around documenting my life I wondered to myself at this point).  I also really liked ‘Lido’ which starts ‘Seeing you at the lido was/like walking past a house I used to live in’ and I used ‘Visitations from future self’ in my Dove Cottage Young Poets workshop a week or so ago, where it received a stamp of approval.

Sunday mornings – Bryony Littlefair

The truth is I’m not sure what I did
those mornings they’d leave, my mother
always in a floral capped-sleeve shirt.
I wish I could say I graffitied the newsagent,
or met with a nicotine-fingered boyfriend,
or learned Bertrand Russell by heart. I didn’t
do any of those things, nor the homework
I’d invented to excuse my godlessness.
Alone in the hefty silence, I felt loose
and endangered, like an undone shoelace
or an open rucksack.  I’d pace from room
to room, hands tucked up my sleeves.
I’d play snatches on the piano, or make
elaborate little snacks – crackers piled
with quartered grapes and shavings of cheese.
I was like a blunt knife, failing to cut
and apportion the hours.  I’d spin
on the office chair, or curl up on patches
of carpet, pretending to be dead.
I might have put on a CD, shaken
my hips to Run DMC, a jerky
figure of eight.  I might have filmed myself dancing.
I’d be choosing another colour for my nails
when the key would turn in the lock:
my parents, whole and returned,
having sung their hallelujahs
and walked back through the cool light rain.

December 2018 Poetry Carousel

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Poetry Carousel
7th-10th December 2018
Tutors: Sean O’Brien, Fiona Sampson, Andrew McMillan and Kim Moore,

Abbot Hall Hotel, Kents Bank, Grange-Over-Sands, Cumbria
£390 to include breakfast, lunch and three-course evening meal.
Please contact hotel to book 015395 32896

The Poetry Carousel is a residential course with a difference – four very different workshops with four very different tutors, all crammed into one weekend. Each participant will be put into a group of between 8 and 10 to take part in a morning workshop with one of four tutors. Afternoons are free for reading and writing, and in the evening, there are poetry readings in the Great Hall at the hotel.

Read on to find out a little more about the amazing team of tutors I’ve assembled for the 2018 Poetry Carousel. The last two Carousels have sold out, and half of the places for this one have already gone, so if you’re interested, please get in touch with the hotel to book a place.

2018 Tutors

Fiona Sampson MBE is a prizewinning poet and writer. Published in thirty-seven languages, she has received international awards in the US, India, Macedonia and Bosnia. A Fellow and a former Council member of the Royal Society of Literature, she’s published twenty-seven books, received the Newdigate Prize, a Cholmondeley Award, Hawthornden Fellowship and numerous awards from the Arts Councils of England and Wales, and the Society of Authors and the Poetry Book Society, as well as twice been shortlisted for both T.S. Eliot and Forward Prizes. Her recent books include the poetry collection The Catch (Penguin Random House 2016) and a prose study of Limestone Country (2017), which was Guardian Book of the Year and a Telegraph and Evening Standard Pick of the Summer. Her new biography, In Search of Mary Shelley, published by Profile in 2018, is a BBC Radio 4 Book of the Week. She is the Professor of Poetry at University of Roehampton, where she directs the Poetry Centre.

Andrew McMillan was born in South Yorkshire in 1988; his debut collection physical was the first ever poetry collection to win The Guardian First Book Award. The collection also won the Fenton Aldeburgh First Collection Prize, a Somerset Maugham Award (2016), an Eric Gregory Award (2016) and a Northern Writers’ award (2014). It was shortlisted the Dylan Thomas Prize, the Costa Poetry Award, The Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year 2016, the Forward Prize for Best First Collection, the Roehampton Poetry Prize and the Polari First Book Prize. It was a Poetry Book Society Recommendation for Autumn 2015. Most recently physical has been translated into Norwegian (Aschehoug, 2017) and French under the title Les Corps Des Hommes (Grasset, 2018). His second collection, playtime, will be published by Jonathan Cape in 2018. He is senior lecturer at the Manchester Writing School at MMU and lives in Manchester.

Sean O’Brien’s ninth poetry collection, Europa, is published in 2018 by Picador. His Collected Poems appeared in 2012. His work has received various awards including the T.S. Eliot, Forward and Roehampton Poetry prizes. In 2016 his second novel, Once Again Assembled Here, was published by Picador, and a chapbook of poetry and photographs, Hammersmith, by Hercules Editions. His second collection of short stories, Quartier Perdu, is due from Comma in 2018. He is a critic, translator, editor, playwright, novelist, broadcaster and experienced tutor and mentor. He lives in Newcastle upon Tyne, is Professor of Creative Writing at Newcastle University and a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.

Kim Moore’s first full-length collection The Art of Falling was published by Seren in 2015 and won the 2016 Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize. Her poem ‘In That Year’ from the collection was shortlisted for the Forward Prize for Best Published Poem. She won a Northern Writers Award in 2014, an Eric Gregory Award in 2011 and the Geoffrey Dearmer Prize in 2010. Her pamphlet If We Could Speak Like Wolves was a winner in the 2012 Poetry Business Pamphlet Competition, and went on to be shortlisted for a Michael Marks Award and named in The Independent as a Book of the Year. Her work has been translated into several languages including Croatian, Macedonian, Dutch, Spanish and Polish. After working for 13 years as a trumpet teacher, she is now a PhD student at Manchester Metropolitan University and is currently working on her second collection.

Sunday Poem: Naomi Jaffa

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Sunday Poem: Naomi Jaffa

It’s been a beautiful day here in the Lake District today. I’ve been out in the cold and the sunshine most of the day. At lunchtime I went for a 12 mile run with a group of friends and then a 3 mile dog walk when I got back. I’m now sat feeling a bit sorry for myself as I’ve now got a pain behind my knee, at the bottom of my hamstring. I didn’t think it was that bad, but it seems to have got worse over the course of the evening. I’m hoping I’ve just overdone it a bit today and with a few days rest it will be ok.

This week has been a mix of teaching, recordings, and writing poems. On Tuesday I did a short interview with a producer from BBC Radio Cumbria and read my poem ‘Suffragette’. The interview and the poem will be broadcast some time in the week of the anniversary of the Representation of the People Act. I get really anxious when I do anything that’s recorded. Not usually beforehand too much, but afterwards – things that I’ve said run round and round in my head, or things I didn’t say – don’t know if anybody else gets this. It doesn’t happen when I do readings though – maybe because a poetry reading is such an ephemeral thing – and anything I’ve said, whilst it can be repeated, it has also disappeared.

Thursday is my teaching day at MMU – I’m teaching on an undergraduate unit called Language and Technique this term – covering for Adam O’Riordan. I’m really enjoying the teaching so far – this week Helen Mort and I took our undergraduate students to Manchester Art Gallery to hopefully be inspired by some of the art.

On Friday I went to Yarm school to do a reading/talk about domestic violence, focusing on the sequence in my first collection. This is the first time I’ve done something like this, and I was a little out of my comfort zone – as usually I read the poems one after another, without any introductions. This has always been my way of preserving a kind of boundary around myself when I’m reading these poems. The students were absolutely lovely though – they asked lots of perceptive questions and seemed really engaged. The teacher who invited me to come had read my book and thought about the poetry and was really enthusiastic. I couldn’t get the statistic out of my head that 1 in 3 women will experience domestic violence at some point in their lives – it’s a sobering thought when you’re standing in front of a room of young people with their whole lives ahead of them. Statistically, there were probably young women and young men in that room who have already experienced it.

I’ve also had another good week on the PhD – I’ve got a meeting with my supervisor tomorrow so I had to edit and get ready some new poems to send through to him. I’m nervous about the meeting tomorrow as these are all really new poems that I’m still not completely sure of. I had two poems accepted in the New Statesman this week as well, although I’m not sure when they will be published. And I’ve carried on with reading Theory of the Lyric by Jonathan Culler, which I’m still finding interesting!

I’ve been reading about the ‘cooperative principal’ coined by the philosopher H.R. Grice. The cooperative principal means that when we are talking to someone we assume that they are saying something relevant. In literature the cooperative principal is ‘hyper-protected’. Culler says that readers ‘will often go a long way in accepting obscurity, disjunction or apparent irrelevance’.

Culler talks about the ‘lyric convention of significance’ i.e ‘the fact that something has been set down as a poem implies that it is important now, at the moment of lyric articulation’. This has interesting implications for my poems exploring sexism. By writing lyric poetry about experiences of sexism, I can elevate experiences of sexism into significance, just by writing lyric poetry, rather than say, a diary entry.

Another thing that Jonathan Culler is really good on is Greek poetry. If I had time (which I don’t) I would find it very easy to be sidetracked and go and find as many examples of fragments of Greek poetry I could get my hands on. My most recent favourite is by Theognis, addressed to someone called Cyrnus. This is translated by Andrew Miller and the first couple of lines are

I have given you wings with which you will fly, soaring easily
over the boundless seas and all the land

A bit like Shakespeare’s sonnets – Theognis promises Cyrnus immortalization before complaining at the end that he has been deceived and disappointed.

So, on to the first Sunday Poem of February! Many people will know Naomi Jaffa as the former Director of Aldeburgh Poetry Festival, where she worked tirelessly to bring poets from across the world together in one place for a magical weekend. I know this because I was one of those lucky poets in 2013 and I had such a good time. I hope we treat the poets who come to Kendal Poetry Festival as well as I was treated that weekend in Aldeburgh.

As well as running one of the best festivals for 22 years, Naomi is also a fabulous poet. I suspect her own creative work was put on the backburner for the many years she was running the festival, but I was really happy to see that last year she had a pamphlet published by The Garlic Press. The pamphlet is called Driver and comes highly recommended.

Naomi Jaffa grew up in London and Scarborough and read English at Oxford. She is the daughter of professional musicians and started out in classical music management before moving to East Anglia in 1991. After her 22 years working for Aldeburgh Poetry Festival and as Director of the Poetry Trust, she is now the co-founder of Poetry People, a new organisation set up to run the Suffolk Young Poets competition and other community projects. Her first pamphlet, The Last Hour of Sleep was published in 2004.

The poem I’ve chosen is called ‘Sign’ and I think it’s really beautiful. I also like poems that send me off on a tangent – this particular tangent was to find out more about the epigraph at the beginning of the poem. Minerva was the goddess of wisdom (I found out) so Hegel is saying here that wisdom can only be found when things are ending. I then got a bit distracted by the various ways this phrase could be translated, like ‘takes flight at dusk’ instead of ‘flies only at dusk’. I like the version Naomi uses best – as ‘takes flight’ has a connotation of running away which I don’t think is needed. I found ‘The owl of Minerva only flies at dusk’ – just reversing those two words made me shudder because the rhythm was bumpy and ugly – and then you realise how ‘flies only’ sounds like what it means, the words float off the page, whereas reversed, they kind of bump along. I also found a longer version which I think is as lovely as the one Naomi chose to use: ‘The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the falling of dusk’. I think the shorter one works better as an epigraph, but I’m glad the shorter one led me to the longer one.

On to the poem, which has an encounter with an owl, or more accurately two owls at its heart. It seems to start mid-conversation, as if we know more than we actually do, as if this is a conversation between friends. We don’t know why or what or who the speaker is leaving, and although by the end of the poem, there is an introduction of a ‘he’ who will be left behind, I think the poem is also exploring the act of leaving in a much wider sense. We don’t even know who the speaker makes it clear to that they are leaving – it could be themselves, or another person.

Nature is set against a man-made world throughout the poem. The ‘big white wedge/of a bird’ flies level with the car. The old airfield and the road sign and the chicken-factory lorry are set against the barn owl, ‘perched and scrawny’.

I also love the matter-of-fact tone ‘and anyway I’m late, there’s no time today for nature’ – the confidence of this line, which is then disrupted by nature, which can’t be controlled. The voice of the poem which says ‘there’s no time’ is silenced by the owl ‘level with the window, flying at my speed’ and this encounter, this interaction takes on significance, the significance of a sign, showing the speaker ‘for at least ten slow clear seconds the way forward’.

I have only just noticed (honestly!) after banging on about the ‘lyric convention of signficance’ that this poem has the word significant in it. The unconscious is truly a wonderful thing!

The introduction of the ‘he’ at the end was surprising and heartbreaking when the speaker says ‘only now/does he see and touch me’. The idea of not being seen until you are leaving is delicious in its cruelty. I also really like how Naomi circles back to the epigram that began the poem – ‘This isn’t history, but must be what Hegel meant’. So Hegel was saying not that things have to end, night has to fall for wisdom to be found, but that wisdom can be found when things are ending, at dusk, a time of neither one thing nor the other, not night or day or dark or light.

Please rush forth and buy a copy from The Garlic Press here and thanks to Naomi Jaffa for allowing me to use her poem this week.

Sign
The owl of Minerva flies only at dusk. Hegel

At the start of the week I make it clear I’m leaving,
on one of those never-gets-light December mornings,
I drive across the old airfield and, almost pass
the Passing Place sign, notice the barn owl,
perched and scrawny, hunger beating daylight.
I want to reverse for a better look, but here’s
the chicken-factory lorry in the mirror looming up,
and anyway I’m late, there’s no time today for nature.
But turning right at the end of the single track road
here’s a second one, much larger – a big white wedge
of a bird, level with the window, flying at my speed,
willing the car to disturb some small creature,
wingbeats in time with my heart all the parallel length
of the ditch between field-hedge and verge.
Of course I decide this is significant, this night-hunter
waiting up so late for me to arrive, willing to show
for at least ten slow clear seconds the way forward.
This isn’t history, but must be what Hegel meant.
After twelve and a half years and in the week
I make my intentions plain, only now
does he see and touch me, talk about how much
he understands, can’t bear the loss of.

Goodbye 2017 Hello 2018

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I’m a little late for the 2017 roundup, but when have I ever let that stop me?

This is what my 2017 looked like:

20180101_194854

The pink is poetry workshops and teaching –  a mix of Dove Cottage Young Poets sessions, residentials, workshops at festivals or workshops in schools.  The green is for poetry readings.  The orange squares at the top of the chart, just about in view in the first couple of months are university teaching sessions.  The yellow is for holidays – a running holiday in Benidorm in August and a long weekend at Stanza Poetry Festival in March.  Rather confusingly, I’ve also used orange for university courses and CPD stuff as well – I’ve no idea why, but I suspect I just ran out of colours.  The blue is for trumpet gigs – primarily with the Soul Survivors.

It looks a little full sitting here now, but I can also see lovely white spaces between all of the colours, and now I can look back from the vantage of 2018 and having handed in my 6000 words and 30 poems which made up my RD2 report for my PhD, I can think fondly of days when I sat in my pyjamas all day with a pile of books spread around me in a circle, spending the whole day reading and writing and thinking.

2017 has definitely been the year when I have struggled and wrestled with my PhD, as if it is some huge and ungainly rock I’ve been trying to move around.   It’s only recently it has finally clicked that the PhD is actually more like a container that holds water, and that the container could be lots of different shapes.  It just needs to hold water.  Or something like that.  I have said ‘struggled’ and ‘wrestled’.  Behind those two words crouch anxiety, sleeplessness, self-doubt, insecurity, dread.  I’m nothing if not dramatic.  But also curled up behind those two words are hours of reading, and thinking, and observing and absorbing, and conversations with friends and colleagues that have been stimulating and thought-provoking.

Of course, I’ve been getting on with other stuff apart from the PhD.  I co-directed the second Kendal Poetry Festival with my friend Pauline Yarwood.  We found out very recently that we’ve got arts council funding to run a third Kendal Poetry Festival, which will take place from 7th-9th September 2018.  Watch this space for news about the line up and the tickets! The other two brilliant things that happened this year was the invitation to read at Struga Poetry Festival in F.R.Y.O.Macedonia and the poets I met there – in particular the women I met there.  And lastly, and most recently was my book actually winning the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize, and the lovely weekend I spent with my family and husband in London when I went to collect it.

There have been pretty rubbish parts of 2017 as well.  Someone I’m very close to has been badly hurt, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.  I’ve spent a large part of the year recovering from a running injury which has been frustrating.  I spent the first part of the year recovering from a gall bladder operation.  But on the whole, while the rest of the world seems to be going slightly mad (Trump, Brexit etc etc) I’ve been ok.

I’m feeling hopeful about 2018.  I have some exciting things coming up – in early January I’m off on a writing retreat with some friends.  I’m really looking forward to having a whole week to concentrate on writing poems.  I’m also looking forward to not having to cook or clean up after myself, and the chance to eat scones every afternoon.  I’m running four residential courses next year- details here   of one of the courses at the Garsdale Retreat that still has spaces.  I’m teaching again as an associate lecturer this term at MMU again, on a different module this time, a Creative Writing module alongside Helen Mort, which I’m really looking forward to.

I don’t really like resolutions, and mine are quite nebulous and hard to measure anyway.   I want to start enjoying my PhD more and spend less time worrying about it and feeling anxious.  I can’t really measure that, except in how I feel about it.  I want to stop feeling guilty about sitting in my pyjamas all day and reading.  When I did this last year (in 2017) I felt guilty that I wasn’t ‘really doing’ a PhD.  However, all the reading really paid off when it came to the RD2, so in 2018, I’m determined to enjoy sitting around and reading, and not feel bad about it.

 

I’ve read quite a few roundups from friends who blog and have really enjoyed seeing their take on the last year.   Quite a few of the blogging poets have blogged about their successes/failures or rejections/acceptances or moving towards doing this more – two that spring to mind are Katie Hale (you can find her blog here) and Josephine Corcoran.  I’ll be following their blogs in 2018 with interest – as this was one of the compulsions that drove me to start blogging as well

I feel strangely out of step with this move, because my instinct, particularly in the last few months has been to step back from sharing my life on here so much.  In the last half of this year, I’ve been very irregular with the Sunday Poems.  Then again, also in the last month I had a huge spate of blogging activity which was very personal in the form of the 16 Days of Action, so maybe my instinct to pull back a little was more a gathering my resources for the 16 days.

I’d like to thank all of the poets who have allowed me to use their poems on the blog this year, and you, the people who are reading this blog.  And thank you to those of you who I’ve met at readings and workshops and courses, who have come up and told me you read the blog, and that you enjoy it.

I’m not sure yet what I want to do with this blog going forward in 2018.  I’ve been in this state of flux for a couple of months.  It will probably involve in some form or another, PhD musings, brilliant poetry books that I think you should read, and Sunday Poems.  I don’t quite know myself how it’s going to pan out, so again, watch this space, and I hope to meet/speak/hang out with you all somewhere in poetryworld in 2018.

16 Days of Action Against Domestic Violence #Day10

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Day 10

Much of the information for this poem comes from https://medicalnewstoday.com and www.lenstore.co.uk

When I was writing this poem, I googled ‘black eye’ and ‘what causes a black eye’ and ‘facts about eyes’.

I knew what caused a black eye, but the internet did not give me that answer.

In the book ‘Wilful Blindness’ Margaret Keffernan examines the concept of Wilful Blindness, which is what happens when people choose, sometimes consciously but mostly not, to not ‘see’ in situations where ‘we could know, and should know, but don’t know because it makes us feel better not to know.’

For domestic violence to take place, wilful blindness has to take place.

On the part of the victim i.e ‘How could I have been so blind?’.  It’s common for a victim not to recognise that what is happening is domestic abuse.

But also on the part of society.

Domestic violence is happening under our noses/in front of our faces/

and we/you/I are wilfully blind.

 

On Eyes

That we are not born with tears
but learn them in the passing of a month.
That a black eye can be caused by a tennis ball,
a fist or a door.  That blue-eyed people
share a common ancestor with every
other blue-eyed person in the world.
That there are microscopic creatures
living in our eyelashes.  That these
will not speak up for us.  That a black
eye fades from dark-blue to violet
to yellow-green.  That dolphins sleep
with one eye open.  That on seeing
danger the eye will close.  That we
do not enter this world with colour.
That it takes only a few days for
a black eye to heal.  That the eye
is the fastest moving part of the body
but not the fastest healing for that
is the tongue.  That to avoid a black eye
make sure rugs and carpets are well placed
and there are no wrinkles in your floor.
Scorpions have twelve eyes.
Worms have no eyes at all.
To avoid a black eye, always wear
protective gear, such as a helmet or goggles.

Guest Poets for the 2017 Poetry Carousel

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Another brief interruption of the ’16 Days of Action’ posts.

With less than a week to go before the 2017 Poetry Carousel, I thought I’d reveal the mystery guest poets for this year’s course, and the dates and guest tutors for 2018.

I’m really excited that  Polly Atkin and Ian Seed will be heading to the Carousel to read for participants.  In the tradition of the Carousel, they are two very different poets – Mark Ford writes that Ian Seed is “our most brilliant exponent of that most unBritish of genres, the prose poem. Hilarious and unsettling, his beautifully controlled micro-narratives genially induct us into a world that soon turns out to be as dangerous as it is magical. His work should really come with some kind of health warning, for these poems are not only intoxicating—they are addictive.”  Polly Atkin’s poetry explores the boundaries of landscape and the body.  The Poetry Book Society said that “The remarkable poems in Basic Nest Architecture are a testament to the persistence and artistry of Polly Atkin. As well as being profoundly personal, they reach out to the modern world in all it’s complexity and diversity.”  You can find out more about Polly and Ian at the bottom of this post.

It’s going to be a brilliant weekend with a real variety of approaches to poetry explored.

On the last night of the course, we will also have some music from The Demix.

And for those of you who couldn’t get on to this year’s Poetry Carousel, I have the dates for the 2018 course, which will be taking place from the 7th-10th December 2018.   I don’t have the price yet for this weekend, but you can provisionally book a place by contacting Abbot Hall Hotel on 01539532896

I’m also really excited about the line up of guest tutors – joining me on the 2018 Poetry Carousel will be Sean O’Brien, Fiona Sampson and Andrew McMillan.  I’m expecting the 2018 Carousel to sell out pretty fast so do get in touch with the hotel if you’re interested in coming!

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Polly Atkin lives in Grasmere. Her first collection, Basic Nest Architecture, was published by Seren in February 2017. An extract from this was awarded New Writing North’s Andrew Waterhouse Prize in 2014 for ‘reflect[ing] a strong sense of place or the natural environment’. Her first pamphlet bone song (Aussteiger, 2008) was shortlisted for the Michael Marks Pamphlet Award, 2009, and second, Shadow Dispatches (Seren, 2013), won the Mslexia Pamphlet Prize, 2012. She has taught English and Creative Writing at Lancaster University, and the Universities of Strathclyde and Cumbria. She is interested in where poetry might intersect with Disability Studies and in writing about the body, in poetry and prose.

Ian Seed’s most recent publications include Identity Papers (Shearsman, 2016), The Thief of Talant (Wakefield, 2016) (the first translation into English of Pierre Reverdy’s little-known long poem, Le Voleur de Talan), and Makers of Empty Dreams (Shearsman, 2014). Identity Papers was featured by Ian McMillan on BBC Radio 3’s The Verb in 2016. Makers of Empty Dreams has been translated into Italian by Iris Hajdari and is due for publication in 2018. Ian’s work is represented in a number of anthologies, such as The Best Small Fictions 2017 (Braddock Avenue Books), The Forward Book of Poetry 2017 (Faber&Faber) and The Best British Poetry 2014 (Salt). Ian’s book of prose poems and small fictions, New York Hotel, will be published by Shearsman in 2018. The late John Ashbery commented: ‘The mystery and sadness of empty rooms, chance encounters in the street, trains traveling through a landscape of snow become magical in Ian Seed’s poems’.

Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize

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A quick interruption of the 16 Days of Activism posts I’ve been doing for some happier news.

My book The Art of Falling was awarded the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize yesterday.

The Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize is awarded to a poetry book one year and a novel the next.

I’ve been in London for the last couple of days – on Wednesday evening I went for dinner with my husband and my lovely editor at Seren, Amy Wack, and her husband.

Yesterday at lunchtime we went to the Faber offices and I was presented with the prize.  It was a really lovely event – I just had to read one poem from the book.  Everyone was really friendly.

I also did an interview over the phone with The Guardian, which happened so quickly that there wasn’t much time to get nervous about it – you can read the article here

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/nov/30/kim-moores-thrilling-debut-poetry-collection-wins-geoffrey-faber-prize

The judges this year were Gillian Clarke, Katharine Towers and Tom Gatti.

You can read the judges report here:

https://www.faber.co.uk/blog/kim-moore-wins-the-geoffrey-faber-memorial-prize-2016/

To be honest, I’m still in a state of disbelief.  Obviously the prize money is very nice, but I was really touched by the judges comments, and particularly Gillian’s lovely speech at the event, which made my mum and dad cry!

I also wanted to say thank you to all the lovely people who have been sending messages, commenting on Facebook, tweeting on Twitter, texting, emailing to say congratulations.  I really do appreciate all of the messages.

Here are some photos from my London adventure

 

16 Days of Action Against Domestic Violence – Day 3

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16 Days of Action – day 3

A few years ago – I think maybe the summer of 2014, I booked onto a residential poetry course with Ian Duhig and Ruth Padel at Ty Newydd.

It was a great week – and very productive for me – I wrote a lot of my first collection there.  I wrote my ‘Curse of the Trumpet Teacher’  in one of Ian’s workshops and my poem ‘That Summer’ in Ruth’s workshop (both in my first collection).

And I wrote this poem – ‘He Was the Forgotten Thing’ I think during Ian’s workshop.

Simon Armitage has a great poem here called ‘Not the Furniture Game’ which I think was one of the poems Ian may have used in the workshop. Simon’s poem reminds me a little of a blazon –  defined on the Poetry Foundation website as cataloguing ‘the physical attributes of a subject, usually female’.  It also ‘compares parts of the female body to jewels, celestial bodies, natural phenomenon, and other beautiful or rare objects.’  Simon Armitage’s poem isn’t a blazon but it seems to subvert and answer back to the tradition.

What does ‘forgotten mean anyhow?

There are references to other poems in the sequence in this poem.  When I was writing these poems, I often wrote a line, and then realised there was something, some story, some partial memory I had to write about.  Like ‘he was walking home/through the snow with his arm like a curse/round my neck’ – I had to write a whole poem ‘Followed’ to explain what I meant.  Like the birds, who keep returning throughout the sequence.  Like ‘he was a fist not an eye’ – see Day 10 ‘On Eyes’.  Or the line ‘the language of insects’ from the poem ‘In That Year’ from Day 1.  I didn’t know what I meant when I wrote it then.  I had to write another poem to understand.

Adrienne Rich said ‘Lying is done with words and also with silence’.

and ‘It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath, it will be short/it will not be simple

 

He was the Forgotten Thing

He was the forgotten thing, the blackened tree
that doesn’t grow, that doesn’t fall, he was
the car that wouldn’t pull over, the tide coming in,
he was everything I put my heart against,
the low set and turn of heads when he entered a room,
he was buses roaring past like blind heroes,
he was stolen things.  He was the connecting parts
of train carriages, he was windows with curtains
to keep out the street, he was a car that drove
through the night, he was a fist not an eye, he was
an eye not an ear, he had thoughts that took over
the day like weather, like the rain coming in,
he was nothing I thought of, he was not
what was promised, he was walking home
through the snow with his arm like a curse
round my neck, he was not black and white,
he was nothing like that.  And look at him now,
standing in a field surrounded by crows, one arm
pointing north but his face to the west,
he knows to be still with his black button eyes,
his stitched-on smile.  The birds have come
to pull out the straw that keeps him upright.
Look how they carry him home in their
sharp little beaks once again.