A Poetry Catch-Up

It's been a while since I posted a poetry update here, and that's because it's been a really quiet year after the hurly burly of launching and giving readings from my 2024 collection, 'Love the Albatross'. The rest has been much needed; there's something uniquely exhausting about reading poems so painfully close to personal experience as estrangement is to mine. I'm pleased to have made something positive out of (what is for me) a graceless situation, and to have made connections with others struggling to carry the same burden from whichever side, but at the same time, I'm glad to have left those poems behind me now. (Apart from the copies of 'Love the Albatross' I have left; message me via social media or the comment function here if you'd like me to post one to you.)

The good news is that I'm continuing to write my way back; I might even start considering myself a poet again soon, which is a relief as that's basically my entire identity. And to help me on my way, a smattering of poems have continued to find their forever homes.  

One of those destinations is The Hen, a new poetry magazine based in Bristol, and it was a delight to read at the launch of the first issue, held at the jewel that is Heron Books in Clifton, a few nights ago. Thanks for Nicola Heaney and Marie-Louise Eyres for publishing my poem and inviting me along to read it.) 

You can read the first issue of The Hen here. 

Though my favourite gig by far this year was at the school for deaf children where I work, when I was invited to talk to our Year 2 children about being a poet. I also got to hear - and see in sign language - the inventive kennings they'd come up with. 

And I was able to tell the children about meeting two of my very favourite poets, Ilya Kaminsky and Raymond Antrobus, who are both Deaf. 

In April I read at Lyra Bristol Poetry Festival, as part of the Street! project which featured poems by poets tasked with responding creatively to the city's neighbourhoods and geo-located across thirteen Bristol libraries ... 

... and in July as a guest of the organisers of the annual Resonate barbecue in the shady garden of St Stephen's Church, just off the city centre, which, coming at the end of a very hot day, was blessedly cool and a welcome pleasure.

I also finally got to read at the Berkeley Square Poetry Revue, after having to duck out back in March, when I completely lost my voice for several days. This subsequent reading, alongside poets Daniel Richardson and Rebecca Shamash, and accompanied by music from the hugely talented Teri Bramah, made for a bubble of creative wonder and was a welcome distraction from what was, for me, a difficult summer. 

Daffodils on Dartmoor and poetry in Teignmouth

If ever a poet is worth travelling to hear read, it's Raymond Antrobus, and he was appearing in Teignmouth this last weekend, so I was able to combine my love of poetry with my admiration for Deaf culture (for Raymond is Deaf), and squeeze in a trip to my beloved Dartmoor just when the wild daffodils were blooming in the Teign valley. What good fortune.

My plan was to park at Steps bridge and walk the footpath through Cod Wood, along the right bank of the river, but for some reason it was closed off, so I walked instead through Dunsford Wood, on the opposite side. The first daffodils I spotted were all on the far bank, but it wasn't long before I encountered some Dunsford daffodils.

There was a lot of bracken in this particular spot, which meant the daffodils were spread rather more thinly than you might spread butter, which is the preferred density for daffodils, but I knew there'd be more upstream ...   

... and after passing fungi, clumps of wood anemones, and many magnificently mossy trees, we reached them. 

The bum of a bumblebee (Common Carder, I think)

A sight to butter up the spirits.

robin

Most of the primroses I so associate with Devon had gone over, but there were still a few in shadier pockets of the wood.

A pair of goosanders

On the return leg I sat on a bench for a while, to which there was a small plaque attached. Forgive me, human Ted, to whom the bench was dedicated, but the Ted I was remembering was my dog, who did, indeed, love Devon, and Dartmoor in particular. Always in my heart.

Wood anemones - yet to bloom - in the crook of a tree

The weather had turned by the time I reached Teignmouth, and it was overcast and blustery, with the high tide making a walk along the beach impossible, but it was good to be there all the same.

Meanwhile, the welcome from poetry friends in Teignmouth and the surrounding area was warm, and Raymond's reading, of poems written in English but incorporating a significant amount of British Sign Language, was enthralling. It really did seem to have a profound effect on the members of the audience, many of whom I suspect hadn't had the privilege of much exposure to Deaf culture, and I couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be to get him to visit the deaf school where I work. Our students would love it. Maybe one day.