Poems in a Garden and the Graveyard Shift

One of the most enjoyable things about poetting in the summer months are the beautiful places you get to read in, such as the Polygon communal garden. This was thanks to Lizzie, the proprietor of Heron Books, who arranged an invitation for me and fellow Bristol poets, Bob Walton and Jo Eades, to share our poems there during the Clifton and Hotwells Open Gardens weekend.

The garden was reclaimed by residents from longtime neglect, overrun by brambles and bindweed, but although it now looks rather gracious, there's a wild patch and a mini-meadow. And poetry!   

The audience looks a bit sparse in this photo, but there were actually more than thirty people spread out through the garden. (We were glad of Bob's mic.)

The last poetry walk the IsamBards held before lockdown was one around Arnos Vale in March 2020. We've often mentioned it as a favourite between ourselves, but it's taken us more than four years to organise a rerun - or rather, re-amble. 

The forecast was dodgy all week, but improved the closer we got to the appointed hour, and by the time we'd parked in the street next to the top gate and wandered down to the East Lodge  through sumptuous summer overgrowth, it was fine, if a little breezy. 

One of the especially enjoyable things about poetry walks in Arnos Vale is that the poems are interspersed with information from one of the guides, in this instance Alix, an English teacher at nearby St Mary Redcliffe School. 

Our first stop was the memorial to the stillborn, who, in previous decades, had been buried without ceremony or respect and often even the knowledge of their parents. I read my pantoum 'Small Lives', which is dedicated to my late godmother, Betty, and her son, Richard, who was stillborn in Bristol in the mid-1950s and who might well be buried here at Arnos Vale. Aways an emotional one for me to get through, especially in conjunction with poems by my fellow IsamBards that remember similar losses.

Pameli reading at the Matthews' tomb

mackerel skies

After the performing was done, there was cappucino and cake in the cafe, followed by a wander back up the path to the car. 

Forsooth, shut up now poets, it's time to go, says Cwtch.

My final poetry outing for June (so far) consists of three poems from my forthcoming collection, 'Love the Albatross', newly posted on the website iamb ~ poetry seen and heard, in written form and recorded. Thanks very much to Mark Owen for including them. You can read/hear them here.

A winter wander around Ashton Court and Arnos Vale Cemetery

Apart from last week's bleak trip to Weston for a vaccination, we've been confined to Bristol. (No surprises there.) But there have been a few bright days, and a couple of them coincidied with rather less busy schedules and we were able to get out for a walk. So here's some photos of Ashton Court and Arnos Vale Cemetery, the former famed for its magnificent trees.

The Domesday Oak on the right

The dew pond and a view of Bristol

The Fattest Oak - 700 years old and a girth of 27 feet

Velvet shanks

Arnos Vale was the most crowded I'd ever seen it - and very noisy. Poor pup Cwtch was quite alarmed by all the barking dogs. I wonder what the residents make of lockdown.

My grandparents' grave being displaced by an ash tree ... 

... many of which are being felled as a result of ash dieback

Steep, stony and muddy

In the winter you can see the graves down in the vale, which disappear into shadow in summer. 

View of Bristol

Horse chestnut with bracket fungus

Raja Rammohun Roy's tomb lit by winter sun

The memorial to stillborn babies

A spring poetry walk at Arnos Vale Cemetery

The IsamBards, of which I am one, have performed poetry walks around the Botanic Gardens, at last year's Bee and Pollination Festival, across the Suspension Bridge, on the platform at Temple Meads Station, and even undertook a poetry boat trip a few years ago. Our most recent venture is our first poetry walk around Arnos Vale Cemetery. Here's a few photos. 

A male angel, I think, or at the very least, an androgynous one

A holly tree, all of which have self-seeded from burial wreaths

The weather looked a little threatening for poetry walks ... 

... but it brightened up by early afternoon. 

The Clueless team from Radio Bristol appeared for a spring poem, read by Dominic Fisher, at the end of their show. 

Then it was time for the walk, guided by Janine Marriott, an expert in Death. 

The event was a sell-out and our audience interested and very good at listening.

My favourite series of poems were the ones addressed to the stillborn babies and their mothers, which we read in the corner of the cemetery where so many of them were buried last century, in unmarked graves and often without the knowledge of their parents.

It would be nice to think that we had made some small restitution.

By Rajah Rommohun Roy's tomb

In the wooded vale, the trees were making a strange moaning noise as the wind blew them against each other. It would be a decidedly eerie place to walk on your own in the dusk. 

My fellow IsamBards, Dominic Fisher, David Williams and Pameli Benham

Sunlight through the trees

We've had foxes grace a rehearsal, and ducks on a previous poetry walk, but down by the Guinea Graves, a black cat came to listen (and eat grass).

As our poetry walk drew to a close, the light was positively celestial. 

There was just time before we went home to visit my grandparents, and infant uncle up in the top part of the cemetery, all dead before my birth and now beginning to disappear altogether. 

We had a great time, and hope to do more poetry walks at Arnos Vale over the course of the year.