May 2019: Comings and Goings

I came and I went...

So I am about to be walloped with some heavy duty marking tomorrow. A perfect opportunity then to pretend it's not happening and write a blog post!

This post is mainly about April, but I think under the circumstances I've done pretty well by writing on May 2nd. And yes, where is the year going? But I have a habit of saying this and I suppose it's time to write about where April actually went.

....up a tall building...

At the beginning of April we went on a short break to New York, not directly poetry related but let's face it - it's a poetry city! I'd been swotting up on my New York poets beforehand, reading poems and such like and attending Martin Stannard's intriguing talk on the NY poets at the end of March in Nottingham. Frank O'Hara has long been a favourite. I like the quirky detail and the ability to weave through different registers in the same poem and the beautiful melancholy of some of the poetry. Maybe if you live in a city where everything happens, everything happens in your poetry. That, however, is not to discourage the poets of the East Midlands - everything happens here too.

...on a train...

I digress. Or not. Because arriving home jet lagged there was a highly appropriately timed copy of a new HappenStance anthology on the doormat, 'Comings and Goings: Poems for Journeys,' edited by Nell Nelson. This anthology features a poem by every single HappenStance poet, barring the odd exception, dealing in some way with the theme of travel. I have two poems in there. One involves a train journey and the other a horse - the horse is poetic licence of course. I certainly can't ride one, but I may have had a pony ride at some point. You know it really would make a lovely gift for a travelly, poety person. The book, NOT a pony. I know I'm expected to say that, but it's true. Nell's selections are very indicative of the enjoyable poems she publishes. All that, plus an 'orse.

I went to John Harvey's reading at Five Leaves last week. Again, not someone I'd read an awful lot by, but my word I was really taken with his poetry. He has a new book out with Shoestring, 'Aslant,' and his reading was quite something. There is also really impressive photography in the book by Molly E. Boiling, who I'm pretty sure in thinking is his daughter.

...through the water...
(photo by Molly E. Boiling)

'Comings and Goings' was my poetry book companion on the 10:19 to St. Pancras last Sunday. Obviously it's a train journey kind of book! The train was packed and it was early on a Sunday. I wasn't exactly thrilled, I wanted some space and a bit of peace in the morning. So to cheer up I made myself  'Poet in Residence' of Coach D and gave myself permission to write some poetry and well as read. Despite having the elbow space of a baby ant. I was funded with a bottle of Ribena and a chewy bar.  I was on my way to perform at the Afterbirth Poetry Festival, which was an afternoon of readings organised by Victoria Richards and held at the Wanstead Tap in London. This was a celebration of poems about parenting. From the good to the not so good experiences. So I made myself get on a train and get out of the East Mids and actually READ in public, after a reclusive break from readings - ok, apart from the odd single poem here and there. But still, you know what I mean.

The venue was a highly cool place under some railway arches often used for gigs. It had that perfect Eastenders rumble every time a train went past, as if a plot twist was just around the corner. It was just one of those events that was a pleasure from start to finish, and this was fab as I didn't know anyone at the start and by the end had met so many friendly people. Victoria was a brilliant warm and energetic host who made the afternoon come together perfectly. The other readers were: Leah Larwood,  Judi Walsh, Ingrid Jendrzejewski,  Mel Pryor, Ali Thurm, Jenny Pagdin, Steve Rogers, Sarah Westcott, Katy Wareham Morris and Victoria Richards herself. I think everyone had moments in those poems, to laugh or cry, but certainly to reflect on experiences of parenting.

Victoria's poetry is published as part of the Nine Arches Press 'Primers' series - this very day I think!

I am reading at the end of May, on the 30th to be exact, at Five Leaves Bookshop. This will be a reading with D.A. Prince and the focus will be on the pamphlet, as we've both had pamphlets by HappenStance. Now, if I'm switched on by the end of May, writing more generally about the great wonderment that is the poetry pamphlet would be a good topic for a blog post. Without a nine month gap. "Pray for me," says the long suffering blog.

P.S. today is UK local Government Elections day. Voted.

Imagine

Sun Bathing in December

At this time of year it's customary for blogger to round-up their books of the year. I find that a hard thing to do in terms of poetry. Some of the poetry I've come across this year was published before 2013, this would include work by Mark Halliday (have blogged about him before) and two stunning books by Catherine Smith: 'Lip' and 'The Butcher's Hands.' I read those two from cover to cover and was struck by the range of subject matter and Smith's ability to write about darker (and therefore rather interesting) aspects of human psyche. I'm looking forward to getting a copy of her latest book, 'Otherwhere.' What an intriguing title. Another non-2013 favourite, also published by the fabulous Smith/Doorstop press was Carole Bromley's 'A Guided Tour of the Ice House.' That book sustained me through a evening of cancelled trains on the way home from Sheffield. Bromley's work is a pleasure to read: clear-sighted, direct and utterly engaging. Poems like 'In Another Life' and 'The Lovers' and 'South Bank and Eston Rotary Club, 1951' really grabbed me and there was so much in the book to curl up into. Funny, sad, wry, honest. I have the book by the bed and keep returning to it, that's a big mark of admiration for me.

So, I'm not done with 2013 yet. I have no doubt that 2014's blog posts will have some focus on things published this year. There's one book I'm going to focus on though and that's Roy Marshall's 'The Sun Bathers' published by Shoestring. Regular readers of this blog will know I have praised Roy's work over the last couple of years. In 2012 his pamphlet 'Gopagilla' was published as a part of a series of our Crystal pamphlets and it was packed with strong, memorable pieces, many of which can be found in 'The Sun Bathers.'




A first collection from Roy is a very huge deal, especially when you've seen a poet's work develop and grow over time. I know it's not just me though. When I read at Beeston Poets in November with Roy a couple of things struck me. Firstly, I noticed the audience was hanging on every word in his poetry and we experienced 20 minutes of lyric power tempered with a plain-spokeness which made the poetry immediate. One of the first times I heard Roy read was at Leicester's WORD! back in 2010, and I heard a remarkable poem called 'No Signals Available' which made me sit up and take notice. That poem is also in the book I'm happy to say. When I read 'The Sun Bathers' many of the poems were familiar to me, not least because they've appeared in a plethora of magazines but also because I've been lucky enough to have seen them at the drafting stage as well. Don't just take my word for it, at the Beeston reading an audience member requested a poem, which shows to me that readers form attachments with these poems. A great sign to my mind. You can find details of how to track down a copy here.

It's hard to pick an individual poem to share with you as there are so many notable poems. Many of these you can find on-line, but you should of course buy the book! My favourites include the 'Leonardo' sequence, 'Presence', 'Rose,' 'A Western Australian Piano Graveyard,' 'Relic' - this list could be longer, you get the picture. These are well-formed poems with a personal edge. They speak to you. As I said many of Roy's poems are on-line, so to avoid overlaps I've chosen 'Cimetero' which draws on the poet's Italian heritage. There are some sumptuous and evocative words and images, 'gellateria' honey heat and scent of rosemary, the child's innocence at the father 'who'll live forever' and the understated sinister sense of death and corporeal decay, colours 'deepening from terracotta to crimson.'

Cimetero

The gate kept a world out: scooters humming
along the road that ran down to the lake,
gellateria and monument.

Lizards froze, slipped into cracks, past photographs
set in granite, chrysanthemums on marble beds,
so different from the grassed churchyard at home.

I loved the honey heat, scent of rosemary
and privet, plots to walk between, adding dates
to calculate the ages of the dead.

One day, a grave, freshly dug, sides shored,
colour deepening from terracotta to crimson,
waiting not for Dad, who brought me here

because I asked, Dad, young and fit who'd live
forever, but for Nonno; next year, behind
polished glass, the face I'd know.