A Poetry Spring

I've had an excellent couple of months as far as poetry's concerned, not least the chance to go to readings by some of the country's most celebrated poets, including ... 

... Don Paterson ... 

... Simon Armitage ...

Photo by Tim Woolf

 ... Alice Oswald ... 

and Caroline Bird, all of whom I've been privileged to hear, courtesy of Bristol Poetry Institute and the Lyra Bristol Poetry Festival. 

In particular, Alice Oswald, who was at St George's, blew me away, as she always does. I think this must have been the fourth or fifth time I'd seen her read, and as always, her performance was mesmerising. Except you can't really call it a reading because Oswald speaks her poems from memory. I was quite near the front of the audience this time, and I watched carefully as she announced the title of each poem, paused and then disappeared somewhere else altogether. Pure concentration. I was especially delighted to hear her speak extracts from 'In Memoriam' and most of all, 'Dart', as I'd travelled to Bath back in the early 2000s, I think, to hear her read it and she'd been unable to appear. It's been a lasting disappointment.

Walking back down Park Street to the car park I realised I had my hand clamped over my mouth. This has happened before, notably when I've seen my heroes perform; it's the principle symptom of Bowieitis, which is also known as Leonard Cohen Syndrome. I'm not sure if it's because I get dumbstruck or if I'm trying to stop my heart leaping out of my body through my mouth. I don't think it had happened after a poetry reading before, but there I was, having to remove it to speak to my fellow-IsamBard, David Johnson, at the bus stop. 

Talking of the IsamBards, we've been out and about, conducting a fourth poetry walk through the centre of Bristol, from Queen Square to Millennium Square, again as part of the Lyra Bristol Poetry Festival. Unfortunately we had to do battle against a rather loud funfair, which wasn't there when two of our members scoped out the route a couple of months ago, but poetry prevailed and our audience were enthusiastic throughout.

Cwtch the collie - photobombeuse extraordinaire - trying to include herself in the performance at the entrance to Queen Square

Dominic, David and Pameli by the Seamen's Mission and Chapel 

Photo by Tim Woolf

The final event of the Poetry Festival was 'City of Words', a showcase presented in partnership with the Bristol Festival of Ideas. It was a special joy to see my friend  Hazel Hammond on stage reading a poem, five years after a stroke that left her with aphasia.  

I read a commissioned poem I'd written called 'Psalm for the unnoticed Places'. It's about the local pockets of edgeland that are so important for wildlife, diversity and our own well-being, and which came into their own during successive lockdowns, when we were unable to travel outside of the city. It was good to have something to work on while I'm between projects.

Equally enjoyable - because it's a joy to see your friends excelling in their craft - have been the smaller readings, book launches and shows. Here's Melanie Branton taking us on a guided tour of 'The Full English' with her knickers on her head ... 

... Lizzie Parker launching her collection, Cormorant, for which I was honoured to write an endorsement, with support from Bob Walton and Claire Williamson ... 

... and Rachel Clyne returning to the city that hosted the launch, a year ago, of her collection, 'You'll Never Be Anyone Else'. 

Elsewhere, the first draft of my forthcoming collection, 'Love the Albatross', has returned from my publishers, Indigo Dreams, and is awaiting my attention. One of its poems has just come home flushed with success, having been highly commended in the 2024 Slipstream Poetry Competition. A second poem can be read here in Fragmented Voices, while a third found a very stylish home in the latest, 20th anniversary edition of 'Abridged', an compelling journal of poems and photographs based in Northern Ireland.

Also - very excitingly - the collection's artwork, by the very talented Katie Marland, is now in the world. It's way too early to reveal it, but here are some photos Katie took on her visit to Bristol City Museum, where - excitingly - staff brought her albatrosses to sketch. Admittedly they weren't Laysan albatrosses - the title of my collection is, of course, a nod to Wisdom the Albatross - but even so, they had, as Katie puts it, 'a LOT of birdy character and helped [her] to learn a lot about the way they work'. My grateful thanks to her and them. 

Chasing the moon in Charmouth

If it's the third weekend in April (or sometimes fourth when there's five weekends in the month), it must be roboteering in Crewkerne for Son the Elder and a bit of pottering around in Dorset for me. Like last year, I made for Charmouth to rehearse the poem I was due to read during the Lyra Bristol Poetry Festival closing event on Sunday evening in the sea's hearing. Unlike last year, it stayed sunny all day and was pleasantly warm.

Golden Cap in the middle distance

I also dug around in the shingle while I sat on the beach, amassing a pockeful of sea glass and some pebbles. A mindful trip through time and the rolling waves. 

Later in the afternoon, I decided to walk up the cliff path heading east, to see if I could get a closer view of Golden Cap from the top, and set off following the almost full moon that was just rising.

As I huffed my way up the steep path, I noticed a tiny piece of blue and white hoggin, which also made its way into my pocket.

I climbed and climbed past mounds and banks that reminded me of an iron-age hillfort, but isn't ... 

... and a ruined wall in the middle of a field to my left ... 

... and stunning sea views, with blackthorn and stitchwort, on my right ...

... with a steep drop on either side. 

a close-up of stitchwort

a scattering of bluebells

dog-violets

wild strawberries

first red campion of 2024

shining crane's-bill

gorse and the moon again

After about a mile and a half the path levelled out and skirted inland a little, a line of trees blocking most of the view up ahead, with the exception of the Isle of Portland. Sadly, I didn't have time to follow it or the moon any further, and what's more it was getting dusky, so I headed back downhill. 

Looking towards Lyme Regis and the Cobb

Although it doesn't show up in the photo, I could see all the way alond the coastline to Start Point in Southest Devon. 

more blackthorn and stitchwort

looking down on the River Char and a dewpond

Back on the beach, the last of the sun lit Golden Cap and the cliffs beyond. Maybe next time I'll even reach it.

 

Out on Lyde Green Common, deep in Badock's Wood

Son the Younger lives in Lyde Green, in the north-east of Bristol. The houses, shops, Science Park, etc were all built in the 2010s, so everything's very new, but just opposite his home is a country lane leadng to Lyde Green Common that still manages to look quite rural, so recently we went for a wander to see what we could see. 

Marsh Marigolds

Speckled wood

Greater Stitchwort

Bush vetch

There are some quite impressive trees in the woods around the edge of the common ... 

... and some out in the open. 

Thrush (top) and blackbird eggshells

Lyde Green Farm, now divided into housing units

It was a surprisingly peaceful walk, given we were right next to the M4, but then it was the Thursday before the Easter holiday and the motorway was more of a car park. This is where the path called The Dramway - a 19th century tramway that carried coal from Coalpit Heath and the other mines locally down to the River Avon - runs underneath it. 

Talking of which, here's Parkfield Colliery North Chimney. Because they closed a lot earlier than those that survived into the 1980s - in this instance, in 1936 - it's easy to forget just how many collieries there were in the Bristol coalfield.

Buff-tailed bumble bee

Despite the leafing trees and occasional butterfly, it was still very muddy, with a hint of lingering winter, at Lyde Green. Yesterday's walk, eight days later, at Badock's Wood was much more springlike.

on the round barrow

The first whitethorn blossom of the year is always a bit of a thrill. If there was a toy called 'My First Whitethorn' I'd play with it every day, and buy it for all the children I know. 

Very yellow cowslips (and celandines)

Building Cwtch's confidence in the water is fast turning into a magical experience. What's more, she's getting very brave.

River Trym

Grey wagtail

Wood anemones 

Horse Chestnuts lighting their candles

Badock's is a garlic wood rather than a bluebell wood, and I reckon it'll be another week to ten days before the garlic flowers reach constellation-status. Meanwhile, most of the bluebells here seem to be of the Spanish variety or hybrids. Leaving worries about the dilution of the bluebell gene pool to one side, there are still lots of woods around locally to get a fix of Hyacinthoides non-scripta, which we'll be doing very soon.

There were ravens up in the tree-tops in the middle of the wood, so I sat on the bench for a bit to listen to them. This spot always makes me feel melancholy, and it was my late mother's birthday to boot, but how can you feel sad for long with Her Cwtchness around, and spring well and truly doing its thing?