Pushing the Cart (and a Chance to Listen at your Leisure)

When my publisher, Ronnie Goodyer, told me that he and Dawn Bauling had nominated one of my poems from ‘Love the Albatross’ for a Pushcart Prize, I had to look it up. (The prize, that is). I'd seen people celebrating their nominations over the years, but without any idea exactly what it was. I had the impression being nominated was an honour, and largely its own reward, and having looked into it, that seems - realistically - to be the case. (At least, there 's an slim anthology of poems published every year, but thousands of nominations. I’m just very grateful to to have a poem amongst them.)

So. Many thanks to them both, and congratulations to my fellow Indigo Dreams nominees, alongside whom it’s an honour to be listed.

Also, now it's been aired, here's the link to hear Helen Ivory and me guest-poetting for West Wilts Radio's 'The Poetry Place' whenever the fancy takes you. 

Indigo Dreaming on Dartmoor

Time to squeeze in a visit to Dartmoor before the days start drawing in ... 

... and here's Windy Post Cross on the Grimstone and Sortridge Leat, a favourite spot not that far from Cox Tor car park.

Though this isn't our collie, Cwtch, who rarely enters the water willingly.

No, it's Mist of Indigo Dreams Publishing ...

... and here's Ronnie, the poet for the silent. (And border collies.)

And in the distance, Dawn (Ronnie's partner in poetry), the Northerner and me, with Mist and Cwtch.

Staunch little Mist is the leat-lover, straight out of 'The Names of the Hare Border Collie', translated by Seamus Heaney.

'Won't catch me doing that!' says Cwtch, who's far more likely to be found photo-bombing, from the safety of the bank. 

Then, just as it started to rain, we were back at the cars and it was off to the Plume of Feathers in Princetown for some lunch. 

Can I help you with the leftovers?

Much fun was had. This event will be repeated. 

Love the Albatross

 

Photograph by Jon Brack/Friends of Midway Atoll 

This is Wisdom the Laysan Albatross. At 70+ years old, she's the oldest confirmed wild bird in the world, having been ringed on Midway Atoll in the Hawaiian archipelago in 1956, when she was already an adult. Since then she's estimated to have flown 3,000,000 miles while foraging for the (probably) between 30 to 40 chicks she's raised, the most recent one having hatched in 2021, since when, sadly, she's lost her mate.

When, in early 2021, I was trying to think of a creature that epitomised unstinting parenthood for a poetry project I was writing as part of my MA course in Creative Writing, I seized upon Wisdom, whom I remembered from a series of articles in the Guardian ('Albatross astonishes scientists by producing chick at age of 62' [2013]/'When I'm sixty-four: World's oldest tracked bird returns to refuge with mate' [2015]/'World's oldest-known seabird lays egg at the age of 66 in Pacific refuge'[2016] ... etc, etc). She was perfect for my purpose because, of course, albatrosses come trailing lots of other associations, especially when it comes to poetry, and soon I had the keystone poem for a draft collection on the subject of inter-generational relationships, estrangement and silence. 

Two and a half years later, I'm really pleased to say that 'Love the Albatross' is going to be published by Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams in late summer/autumn 2024. It will be dedicated to Wisdom, of course. 

Last Exit to Trowvegas

I didn't get to the Kennet and Avon Christmas Floating Market in Bradford-on-Avon this year because Son the Younger was moving back to Bristol and needed someone to help him drive his stuff down from Rugby - that someone being me - so I always had in mind that I'd have to pop over to wherever Dru Marland was moored on the canal to pick up a few Christmas cards for me and the Friend-formally-known-as-'Er-over-the-Road. 

As it was, the printers got themselves a bit overwhelmed with work and Dru didn't manage to pick them up in time anyway, which was a shame, but it did mean there were definitely enough left for me to collect in a rendezvous with her on Bradford-on-Avon wharf. And what a beautiful card it is. I absolutely love it. 

Bradford was looking gracious, as usual, even though closer scrutiny of the picture below reveals autumn leaves, Christmas lights and early flowering cherries in blossom, which is a bit confusing and possibly slightly alarming. 

I was also in the locality for a Stanza open mic session run by Josephine Corcoran in Trowbridge, which is known by locals as Trowvegas and is the somewhat down-at-heel bigger cousin of Bradford. 

I really like it, and its 'rich industrial heritage', as they say.

The open mic was held in Bridge House, which is an Arts Centre next to the railway station. I was very taken with the venue, though I had to concentrate very hard on the poetry so as not to be completely mesmerised by the patchwork windows, of which at least two designs were familiar from my childhood home and subsequent places I've lived in. Luckily for me, the poets were good and very welcoming. 

By the time I walked back to the car, parts of Trowbridge were looking a little scary, or at the very least haunted, so I skedaddled back to the bright lights of Bristol in the embers of the day, which is about four o'clock right now ... 

... to warm my chilly fingers on this beautiful fox embellishing the cover of the latest anthology in aid of the League Against Cruel Sports to be produced by my publishers, Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams Publishing. I'm so very proud to have two poems in it. 

'Learning Finity' coming soon

I'm delighted that after a brief delay for personal reasons, my new collection of poems, Learning Finity, will be published on 14th March 2022 by Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams Publishing. Here's the front cover, of St Leonard's Lane, which probably has the most ridiculous double yellow lines in the country.

The visual resemblance of the title design to the opening crawl of the Star Wars films is serendipitous, but not misplaced. The poems in Learning Finity are set in my native city of Bristol, but travel back and forth through time, where everything changes but stories are always remembering themselves. 

More details on its real-life and Zoom launch to come. In the meantime, here's a
link to its page on the Indigo Dreams website, where pre-orders are being taken, and for good measure, a colourised photo of Gloucester Road circa 1960, at the junction of Bishop Road, where my great-grandparents lived, before passing their house onto my grandparents and their eleven children in the late 1940s. You can see Mr Hacker's the greengrocer in the foreground, and on the opposite side of the road, Miss Wyatt's Newsagent, which features in one of the poems that makes up my Gloucester Road Odyssey.   

Poetry changes lives

You hear it a lot. Poetry changed - or saved - my life. And it's not just me saying it, though I do have cause to be grateful, since this month marks ten years since my first collection, 'Communion', was published by Indigo Dreams and my life's ambition - to occupy a few millimetres on a bookshelf somewhere - happened. Since then, I've had three further collections published by the wonderfully generous Ronnie and Dawn, as well as a now suddenly topical coming-of-age novel set during the Black Death. 

Good things continue to happen for me where poetry is concerned. I'm currently more than half way through an MA in Creative Writing at the Manchester Writing School. Recently one of my poems was shortlisted in the 2021 Bridport Prize. And in February 2022, my next collection, a series of poems about my home city, Bristol, entitled 'Learning Finity', will be published.

After my children, my poems are my best things. I could never have dreamt I would be writing this post a dozen years ago, when I was at my lowest ebb. 

Talk to most poets and you'll likely find some sadness hidden not too assiduously in the background. Poetry attracts thinkers, and maybe also over-thinkers. Reading it can be a source of comfort. Using metaphor to shape loss, and come to terms with our unspoken fears, is a powerful way of moving past them. Noli timere, to quote Seamus Heaney.

The Leaping Word is a poetry consultancy established by me and Colin Brown, who for many years was director of Poetry Can in Bristol. We run poetry groups and workshops and offer help with editing poems, putting together manuscripts, approaching publishers with submissions, poetry performance, and putting on poetry events.

Colin is also a qualified counsellor and in addition to general counselling, he offers sessions specially tailored for writers and artists who engage with personal experience in their work. Support can be sought in relation to specific issues that are being explored, or the feelings engendered by such exploration, as well as issues of privacy and self-care. 

You aren't alone. Don't be afraid. 

Poetry and Time-Travel

There are strange time-lags in poetry sometimes. After spending most of last year watching and listening, I've been completely immersed in a different way of writing this spring, as part of my studies at the Manchester Writing School. I'm hoping the resulting sequence of poems will become a pamphlet exploring the patch of edgelands we've been visiting since the first lockdown, and which I've been documenting in this blog. 

Meanwhile, my publishers, Dawn and Ronnie of Indigo Dreams, have sent me the first draft of my fifth collection, Learning Finity, to work on, which means taking a complete break from common, wood and field for a week or two, and revisiting poems almost all of which were written before the pandemic struck.  It's a big shift back to a past that now seems a long time ago. 

For me, writing poems is a particularly intense means of expression. My brain tends to up sticks and shift completely into the world my current poems inhabit, so switching from one project to another does feel like negotiating a rift.  This is ameliorated, however, by the fact that the poems of Learning Finity exist mostly in mythic time, and are themselves well practiced in time travel.  And to encourage me in making this mental leap, my copy of Poetry Salzburg No 37 arrived from Germany today, in which three of my Learning Finity poems find themselves in excellent company. I'm especially pleased that they're alongside work by my comrade in poetry, Chaucer Cameron. 

I've realised that during this time of pandemic and Poetry Zoom, I haven't been posting much about poetry and publications.  They have, however, been getting out and about while we haven't been able to. Here are a few more of the publications they've appeared in. Many thanks to the editors involved. 

O brave new world

There's a whole new world for puppies to explore, but it's not as easy as it might be in the middle of winter and the dead of a pandemic. Still, we're doing our best, and now Cwtch has had all her vaccinations, we'll be able to visit the park and encounter other dogs a bit more.  

We were loaned a puppy carrier for the time before she could walk outdoors, which I was really pleased about, but she never managed to settle in it comfortably. 

So it was back to the original plan of carrying her around. 

We've had to avoid dogs till now, but there's been lots of other places to explore and people to meet and experiences to get one's teeth into. 

One of these experiences was a Zoom poetry launch, at which my publishers, Ronnie and Dawn, were launching their fantastic joint collection, 'Forest Moor or Less'. From Cwtch's point of view, however, it wasn't an unqualified success. Our previous collie, Ted, was an old paw at this sort of thing. His protests never extended beyond the occasional theatrical sigh when yet another poet asked 'How much time have I got?' accompanied by a crash as he dropped to the floor, as if someone had cut his strings. 

The newbie didn't last as long. After posing momentarily for a screenshot, she started chewing my jacket and spent the rest of the event maurauding and looking for trouble. She'll learn. 

There have also been very important people to meet, and a lot of learning about support bubbles and the like. 

Busy roads, rain and the perfidy of glass. Not so keen on any of that. 

But a little light shopping in Pets At Home went down well ... 

... and best of all, late night trips up the churchyard. 

I sniff dead people