Poetry Fever at Priddy Folk Festival

On the face of it, it should have been an evening to forget - a handful of poets herded into the Spoken Word tent at Priddy Folk Festival in less than balmy July weather and with what can only be described as a modest audience (although that's generally a given for poetry events) and then left to our own devices.  And that was before the band in the tent alongside started their very loud set, which they did bang on seven-thirty (also our start time).

But we are poets and we spit in the eye of adversity and make it say sorry for being a bit of a git.  Anyhow, as luck would have it, I'd had the foresight to bring a compère with me who stepped into the breach with aplomb.  

Après moi, le déluge - littéralement - namely, Wells Fountain Poets with Waterwoven, their collage of words, lines and stanzas.  I found that having to listen harder to hear it meant that I concentrated better than the first time I encountered it, at Bath Poetry Cafe's Day of Good Poetry back in March when I thought it was fab, and this time I was swept away. Can't wait to hear it again in late September at Bristol Poetry Festival. 

Claire Diprose, Jo Waterworth, Ewan MacPherson

Ama Bolton, Morag Kiziewicz, Sara Butler

The final set of the evening was from Jo Waterworth, a well-named member of Fountain Poets, and former Bard of Glastonbury, Dearbhaile Bradley,  whose poems conversed with each other quite happily.  

 

As is so often the case after listening to good poetry, I left with my brain fizzing and making crackling connections. 'That's poetry fever,' said my compère, sagely. 'Beware.'  But I don't care. Write in the heat of the moment, edit at leisure.  

All photos courtesy Jo Waterworth

Stones and Snowdrops

What a weekend of poetry I have had!  In addition to my monthly Poetic Licence workshop on Sunday, Friday was the annual Voices In The City Day at Bath Central Library, part of Bath Festival of Literature and always a highly enjoyable occasion.  Then, on Saturday I went to Avebury with Hazel Hammond to take part in a workshop run by poets Jo Bell (a former archaeologist) and Martin Malone.  

We arrived in Avebury with snow falling, which was ironic given that the original workshop focusing on the stones had to be postponed in January because of feet of the stuff lying on the ground.  This time it was as fine as grains of salt, however, and didn't pitch. The wind still had a set of sharp teeth, however. 

First off was a tour of the site.  Avebury is a strange place. Unlike Stonehenge, where the stones stand in magnificent isolation, the village has encroached on the henge and despite the original archaeologist, Alexander Keiller, and the National Trust taking it upon themselves to demolish part of village, the better to show off the stones, there's still an odd sense of the unfathomable hugger-mugger with bricked and tiled domesticity.  I love the majesty of Stonehenge, but also adore the very clear impression of historical layers you get at Avebury.  

And of course you can still get close enough to read the lichen maps covering the sarsen stone.

After a while we began to turn to stone, so we adjourned to the cosy National Trust study centre for tea, chocolate biscuits and some stimulating writing exercises about our own personal landscapes.  

After lunch in the cafe, Hazel and I visited the museums, Avebury Manor and the Church of St James.  The rooms of the Manor were disappointing, having been done up like sets from different eras for a BBC television programme with Penelope Keith in it.  I suppose that every National Trust interior, with the exception of somewhere like Mr Straw's House which has retained all of its chattels, is to a certain extent fake, but this was flimsy and hollow fakery.  There was no sense at all of its history, no trace of who once lived there.  Boo!  Though at least there are none of those teasels and kids can jump on the beds.

The Church of St James is built very close to the stones, reputedly to counteract their supposed malevolence.  (I think we're straying into Marianne Dreams territory here).  For me, the its jewel was the Norman tub font, designed for total immersion and  carved with a bishop carrying a crozier and two serpents. 

Outside, the sun had come out and there were nebulae on the gravestones,

not to mention to mention snowdrops and sunshine. Time to stop hibernating. 

A Visit to M Shed

I visited M Shed today with my cousins, Joy who lives in Thornbury and Sandra who flew over the week before last from New Jersey on a blizzard-defying visit prompted by the launch of my book, Dart.  Neither had been to this comparatively new museum before, so it was quite high up their List of Places to Visit.

I like the upstairs part of the museum better than the ground floor, as it contains more about the lives of people living in this city.  I have to say that as a novelist engaged in research, I need more detail than any museum could hope to include amongst their displays, but as a poet, there are plenty of telling details at M Shed that spark the imagination. For instance, I'd forgotten that we used to call the bits of surplus cooked batter which we often had scrumps; a story about Paper Sal, a newspaper vendor in the late 1800s and early 1900s, reminded me.  Here she is.  

Next we moved on to the exhibitions.  There was one about the chocolate-making industry in Bristol, which made me feel very nostalgic (we used to get Frys misshapes very cheaply when I was a child, from someone my father knew) and one entitled Revealing Stories, about the experiences of lesbian, gay, bi and trans people living in Bristol.  This second exhibition is long overdue and was by far the most interesting of the day's displays.  It was good to see my friend Dru Marland's story included, as well as mention of two of my colleagues who are involved in Deafab, and two of my favourite local poets, U A Fanthorpe and her partner, Dr Rosie Bailey.  There were also three pencil portraits by Malcolm Ashman of Bath Artists' Studio which made my heart jump a bit, not least because I met him on several occasions last year, when he drew a portrait of me as part of the Faces {Bath} collaboration with Bath Poetry Cafe.  

In the M Shed shop I was pleased to see a poem on sale there by local poet, Miles Chambers. 

And there was a moment of delight when we scanned a school photograph from the 1940s and my cousins picked out their mother, my Auntie Mavis, who died of breast cancer in 1979 when she was 48 and they were 19 and 17 years old, and who is much missed more than thirty years later.  It was so good to see that she is still part of our city's story.    

In A Year's Turning: The Bath Poetry Cafe Anthology

Between Christmas and New Year I received an email from the indefatigable Sue Boyle* of Bath Poetry Cafe.   The editor of the 'Seasons' section in the anthology that is being assembled in the wake of the 2012 Cultural Olympiad had pulled out on the grounds of ill-health. Could I possibly consider stepping in and she'd still love me if I said no and so would her cat.   

Of course, Sue knows as well as I do that it's impossible to refuse a Maine Coon anything, so I said yes but resolved not to give it the least crumb of attention until the final amendments on my novel, Dart, had received the all clear from my publisher.  Three days ago, then, I opened my poetickal email account to find no less than  27 messages from Sue and my co-editors, a number which has swelled since to 43.  Daunted?  Yep.

But leaving aside queries about fonts, layouts and templates, what a delight it's been to sit down with what I already consider to be 'my' poems.  I think it's fair to say I've been transported.  What I've enjoyed most, however, is the opportunity to consider through another person's eyes the sort of small details that are so easy to take for granted and overlook .  In a month when mindful writing is to the fore, it has been especially fitting and I don't think I'll ever look at catkins, fungi, unfurling buds or car tail-lights in the same way again.  

But with pleasure comes work.  My preface is drafted.  I have listened to what the poems are telling me, shuffled and reshuffled. Now to let them settle, cock an ear and eavesdrop on what they're saying to each other.  


*Note to anyone who doesn't know her: this is the Sue Boyle, not the singer, obviously.  

Poetry in Motion ...

... all over the place!  

The weekend before last it was off to Bath for a Poetry Café writing day on the Saturday, which was run by the indefatigable Sue Boyle with assistance from Lesley Saunders, and in the evening I helped to run the bookstall at the Acumen Poetry evening at which the winners of the competition I'd helped to judge were announced.  On the Sunday, the judges were invited to lunch at Sue's lovely home in the company of Patricia Oxley, the general editor of Acumen Magazine, and her husband, poet and philosopher William Oxley, and an interesting time was had. 

 That would have been enough adornment for any week, but this was just the start. Monday night I read at Acoustic Night Bristol at Halo Cafe Bar, which is just about the best, friendliest and most varied open mic you can imagine. 

Thursday it was off to Bradford-on-Avon to celebrate the summer solstice at Words and Ears in the cellar bar of the Swan Hotel, an open mic at which I was the guest reader. Despite the monsoon I had a wonderful evening, sold a few books and had some very kind feedback from organiser, Dawn Gorman.

Better still, while we were puddling disconsolately around town in the afternoon, we encountered a handfasting taking place on the grass outside Bradford-on-Avon Tithe Barn. It was just wonderful to watch, and I felt no need to rattle my chains, as is normally the case at weddings. I loved the invoking of Aphrodite and Ganesh, the priest summoning the Old Ones ... at which point we duly arrived. Pameli Benham and I had a sip of Buck's Fizz from the Loving Cup and gave the clearly ecstatic couple a copy of our respective poetry collections, at which they looked slightly alarmed.  Maybe they thought we were Jehovah's Witnesses. 

  Then on Friday I read in Chipping Sodbury town hall, having come second in the Chipping Sodbury Festival poetry competition this year with 'The Poet and the Boatman'. I've been asked to judge it next year, so took the opportunity to tell those present that I shall be open to bribery.

Saturday saw me reading in Halo again, at a Ladyfest Fundraiser which also featured Rose Flint, whose work I like very much. There were some other great contributors also, including the wonderful Lou Bell, whose voice and songs I adore. And the equally wonderful Rebecca Cant, whose song Fisherwoman Blues from her Songs in the Shed session can be heard here. 

This might seem like enough but I'm off to Bath again tomorrow to attend the launch of the new art exhibition, faces [Bath], with which I and lots of other local poets are collaborating. 

Can't begin to say how much better my new life is than my old one. What price freedom and poetry? 

Finished Portrait by Malcolm Ashman

Following on from my previous post, this is the finished portrait by Malcolm Ashman for Faces {Bath}.  Personally I think he deserves an award for services rendered in the drawing of hair.

For more of Malcolm's work, click here.  I'm definitely coveting one of his landscapes ... 

Coming Over All Poetickal

I've had lots of cultural nay poetickal excitement lately, including seeing a wonderfully tragicomic production of Chekhov's 'The Cherry Orchard' at the Tobacco Factory; a lecture at Bristol University by veteran poet Al Alvarez (quite extraordinary to hear him talking of being handed some 'light verse' by Sylvia Plath only to be confronted with 'Daddy' and 'Lady Lazarus') plus readings by Tom Raworth, Edward Lucie-Smith and John Fuller; and a trip to Words and Ears in the Cellar Bar of the Swan at Bradford-on-Avon, where I shall be the featured guest on June 21st, reading poems on the theme of 'Solstice'.   

Last Saturday it was the long-awaited Bloodaxe Day, organised by the indefatigable Sue Boyle as part of the Bath Poetry Café.  In the morning we had an interesting and informative lecture by Neil Astley, founder of Bloodaxe Books and editor of that fine trilogy of poetry anthologies, 'Staying Alive', 'Being Alive' and 'Being Human', on how to get our poetry published.  After lunch with my lovely friend Helen - and a quick pop into Mr B's Emporium of Reading Delights where the nice man at the till readily relieved me of one of my packs containing my poetry collection, 'Communion' - I had a lovely afternoon reading with my peers, again in the Bath Royal Literary and Scientific Institution.  I have to say that the quality of the poetry on offer in the Café just gets higher and higher.  In the evening we were treated to a reading by Neil Astley and Sara-Jane Arbury of poems selected from 'Being Human'.  I drove back to Bristol crackling with energy and inspiration.

It was over to Bath again today with my friend and fellow-poet, Pameli Benham, to visit the artists Malcolm Ashman and Ben Hughes in Bath Artists Studios in Comfortable Place.  (Can't help wondering about the etymology of that pleasingly named backwater!) Our excursion was our entry into a project called Portraitswest, in which the artists will draw and exhibit portraits of local poets and the poets will respond with words, culminating (for now) in an evening of art and poetry in Bath in November.  I had a great time fossicking around Malcolm and Ben's studios, asking them about their work and taking a few quick photos, and trying to sit very still and look intelligent and not too fat while they drew me.  Have lots of ideas already about what to write and I'm really looking forward to getting stuck into it.  To add the icing to my delicious cake of a day, staff in Bath's other equally delightful independent bookshop, Toppings, also took a copy of Communion to put on sale, and when I popped into Durdham Down Bookshop in Bristol to pick up my World Book Night books and press a pack on them, I was told - quite casually - that there was no need because they already had it in stock!

And things look set to get even better.  The spring forerunner of the Bristol Poetry Festival is on, and I have tickets to see Paul Durcan, Ian Duhig, Carol Rumens, Sasha Dugdale and the marvellous Pameli Benham over the next couple of weeks, not to mention a special Olympic-themed Acoustic Night Bristol on World Book Night at which I'll be giving away my free copies of Kazuo Ishiguro's 'The Remains of the Day'.  Such a stunning book! (And no, I shan't be reading poems about my burning desire to participate in Synchronised Swimming or even my ex-husband being for the high jump - rather, I shall be erring on the side of Greek gods and the Oracle and so on.)

I also have a free workshop with the wonderful Polly Moyer to look forward to, the reading of my poem, 'Kin', at the launch of Geraldine Taylor and Dru Marland's latest collaboration, 'The Secret Blackbird', and - well, just loads more lovely stuff.

Having become, in his words, 'caught up in my hair', the lovely Malcolm Ashman was planning on finishing his drawing of me this afternoon.  Here's how it looks so far:

A Visit to Wells Festival of Literature 2010

So, Saturday it was off to the beautiful Somerset city of Wells, at the invitation of the Festival of Literature Committee, for a prize-giving, luncheon in the Bishop’s Palace, and a talk on writing by the novelist Sarah Duncan. With me my writing teacher and friend, Kate Dunn, whom I was delighted to invite by way of a thank you for her support.

As luck would have it, morning dawned fair and our journey passed uneventfully. Having arrived with time to spare, we took a wander around the town. The trees have some way to go before their autumn colouration gains its full intensity, but they were still very beautiful, and given the lovely, slightly misty quality to the light, I was vexed that I’d carefully stowed my camera in the wrong handbag.

After we'd perambulated the moat, we made our way to the main entrance of the Palace and on to the light, high-ceilinged room where the prizes for the Short Story and Poetry Competition were to be given. I was expecting to feel nervous, but didn’t, partly because an actor was reading out the winning poems rather than the poets themselves, but also because it’s the poem that’s being honoured on these occasions, not the person who was fortunate enough to find it and pin it on the page. Still, it was a pleasure to accept the first prize cheque for £500 on behalf of said poem, ‘Coleridge Changes His Library Books’, along with a certificate and a charming terracotta tile depicting the Cathedral fashioned from books.

Lunch was handsome – roast pork and vegetables, followed by syrup pudding with clotted cream – and the company serendipitous. Kate and I sat with the poet who won second prize in the competition, the generous and indefatigable Sue Boyle who runs the Bath Poetry Café, her husband Jim, the actor Dennis Harkness, who won the Silver Wyvern prize for his short story and who tours with a one-man show about Coleridge (how’s that for synchronicity?), and his wife, the very talented artist Juliet Harkness. We were also joined by one of the committee members, who told us there had been 479 entries in the poetry competition this year.

After lunch we attended the talk about writing, and Sue kindly invited me to read at the November Poetry Café. Then, we left the Palace and made our way to the Cathedral, but not before we’d located the bell the swans ring when they want to be fed! Unfortunately part of the south aisle, the transept and everything to the east was closed to visitors as there was a choir practice in full flow, but even so, it was wonderful to drift along the stone avenues, dislocated from time. And that's another reason to go back soon.