Poems in the Toilet and Elsewhere

I've had poems published in collections, anthologies, magazines and journals, broadcast on radio programmes (including BBC Radio 4's Poetry Please), displayed in galleries and concert venues, but in nothing quite as singular as Bob Walton's brainchild, the Poemas en el Banõ installation, which is happening in one of the toilets at El Rincón, where the wonderful monthly poetry night Under the Red Guitar is held.

Athough it's been in situ for a few months now, I went in it to have a look for the first time in February, and found my poem front row centre, behind the toilet rolls and with an honour guard of bleach. 

On this particular evening, the guest poet at Under the Red Guitar was Philip Gross, reading from his latest collection, 'The Shores of Vaikus', which made for a magical evening.

Another lovely venue, also with stained glass, is Riff Corner in Clevedon, where Dominic Fisher was reading in early February. Hopefully now the evenings are getting lighter, I can get out to more poetry readings, like when I travelled all the way to Teignmouth to listen to - and watch - Raymond Antrobus read  at Teignmouth Poetry Festival in March.

A day before my trip to Teignmouth, we'd hosted Wells Fountain Poets at Silver Street Poetry and Open Mic, in a celebration of Sara Butler and her collection of beautiful, clear-eyed poems, 'Waiting for a change'.

Sara's no longer well enough to read her work, so that honour went to her friends in Wells, and those poets Sara knew when she used to come up to Bristol to take part in one of the poetry groups the Leaping Word runs at Bristol Folk House. Here are some of them:

Meanwhile, I had a guest poet slot at Virtual Voices, which is hosted by my former classmate at Manchester Writing School, Cherry Doyle, and Kuli Kohli, on behalf of Offa's Press, which specialises in publishing and supporting poets from the West Midlands, and it was great to spend the evening listening to readings by poets that were new to me. 

Then it was down to Wells to meet up with the Wells Fountain Poets for a reading in the King's Head, which always feels like coming home to me, such is the warmth and friendliness of that group of fine poets. No photos of the actual reading, but I was given a hagstone afterwards, which I hung on my bedroom wall, so as not to get it mixed up with the stones I've found myself, and very well it looks too. 

And then, to round off a very busy week, a reading in Heron Bookshop, in their new, larger premises in Regent Street, Clifton, which again felt welcoming, and a friendly place to read challenging poems. Thanks to Lizzie and Harry for their welcome, and to Emily for the photo. 

A couple of lovely publications, in which my poems have the honour of appearing, have landed on my hall floor too. First, Issue 70 of Indigo Dream's 'The Dawntreader', with almost certainly the most beautiful cover I've ever seen for a poetry journal ... 

... and then, my contributor's copy of 'The Butterfly Book', by Andrew Fusek Peters and Jane Russ, published by Graffeg.

Oh, and the recording of Words and Ears at Bradford Roots, which I blogged about a while back, is available to hear on West Wilts Radio's The Poetry Place, thanks to Dawn Gorman and Peter O'Grady. You can hear it here.

Finally, a reveiw for 'Love the Albatross', written by Hannah Stone and published in 'The Lake' - you can read it here. (Have to say, I'm a little disappointed by the observation concerning my estranged child and how they might not find their truth in the poems, as they are perfectly able to speak their truth themself, and actually, I don't even tell my own story in the collection, but it's a small quibble in an otherwise constructive and positive reading.)

And that's it. My next poetry trip is to Totnes to read in the Barrel House on Wednesday 30th April, with Tom Sastry and Gora Ensemble also on the bill - if you're in the area and can be there, it would be fantastic to see you.

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. 

The art of critiquing poetry

It’s been nearly a year since we held our last monthly Leaping Word poetry group meeting in the light and airy music room in Bristol’s Folk House, before the first lockdown was implemented. I don’t believe even the most pessimistic of us there that day imagined that we would still be living and writing in varying degrees of isolation all this time later.

 We’ve kept our poetry groups going by email and Facebook group, with the occasional Zoom meeting for good measure. When we first came up with the idea of weekly prompts and feedback for the duration of our exile, again I don’t think we anticipated the situation lasting to the point where we have now received and critiqued several hundred poems. But it has kept us and our poets busy and out of mischief.

 In the summer I had a rush of blood to the head and have now embarked on an MA in Creative Writing at Manchester Writing School, and one of the modules requires us to … yes, critique each other’s poems. And because you can never have too much practice, here’s one written just for fun.

Hi Bob

 Thank you for sending us your poem, ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’. We think this is a promising early draft.

You set the scene well. The narrator is making a journey, accompanied by a horse pulling a sleigh. It is evening and there is snow. Nearby there are woods, and at a distance a village. The narrator pauses and then considers continuing his journey.

 You capture this opening scene with such precision that it is a surprise to the reader when the poem fails to progress beyond it. We wonder if you have been struck by writer’s block or had a particularly busy week? Have you considered having something happen in the poem? Maybe there could be an attack by a highwayman, or a chance encounter with a young man and his heavily pregnant girlfriend, who are from out of town and need a lift to a nearby inn? Who knows where the story could go from there.

 We have a few specifics to draw to your attention.

First, the title. We don’t think it’s working hard enough for you. You could use it to locate your poem more precisely, as in ’Stopping by Michael Wood just outside Thornbury on the M5 northbound on a Snowy Evening’, or add an air of mystery by calling it ‘The Numinous Snow’.

In the opening line, the inversion feels very archaic to us. It would sound far more natural if it read ‘I think I know whose woods these are’. Of course, you would then have to alter the entire rhyme scheme of the poem, but it needs attention anyway, as ‘though’ at the end of the second line is clearly there just to rhyme with ‘know’. In fact, end rhymes are rather old-fashioned, as is the tum-ti-tum metre of the poem. You could really add interest by breaking the poem up with some enjambment and the addition of internal and half-rhymes.

 In line 1, stanza 2, ‘queer’ is a somewhat problematic choice of word. At best, you risk wrong-footing your reader; at worst, it’s cultural appropriation. And of course, making assumptions about what the horse is or isn’t thinking is an example of anthropomorphism and best avoided. 

Lines 3 and 4 of this stanza are superfluous. You have already mentioned the woods, and the frozen lake is irrelevant to the action of the poem as it stands currently.

It is frustrating that although you return to the horse in stanza 3, its potential is not fully explored. The harness bells add a picturesque, almost whimsical touch, but we know nothing of the animal itself. What colour is it? Does it have a name? There is so much more interest that could be added at this point.

 In the final stanza, the repetition of the last two lines makes for a slightly weak finish. We suggest you substitute line 4 with something like ‘in a Berni Inn that’s clean and cheap’.

 Finally, Bob, we hope you don’t mind if we point out that you’ve been writing rather a lot of these little New Englander poems lately. They can only ever be of local interest. Have you thought of writing something more culturally appealing, such as a riff on Love Island? Or a poem on a theme everyone can relate to, like picking up a prescription on a Saturday with the kids in tow when they’d rather be flying their kite? You could call it ‘Shopping in Boots on a Blowy Morning’.

All the best with it, Bob. We think you have the makings of an interesting poem here, and look forward to seeing a much later draft.

 Warm regards

 Colin and Deb

 

If you write poetry and are interested in feedback for your work and/or help with getting a collection together, do contact us on admin@theleapingword.com.

The Leaping Word has a website ...

I can now reveal What I Did On My Holiday - and this will amaze anyone who knows me. 

I Built A Website for our poetry consultancy, The Leaping Word.

I know, right? Though I feel I need to point out a couple of things here. Firstly, I didn't do it by myself. Dru Marland drew our wonderful logo, and I had lots and lots of help from my dear friend, Helen Dewbery of Elephant's Footprint and Poetry Film Live, particularly with the setting up of the thing. 

Secondly, please don't tell any of my colleagues. I get a lot of mileage out of maintaining I'm too old to learn new tricks. ('We didn't have any computers when I was at school. Queen Elizabeth was on the throne then, of course. Queen Elizabeth I, that is ... ') So if they discover I'm not as incompetent as I make out, I'll have all sorts of extra work to do.

Anyway, here's a link to the website. All of us here at The Leaping Word (that's me, the Northerner and Ted the Border Collie) are very smug about it. 

A One Stoat Day

You wait ages for a Bradford-on-Avon to come along, and then two appear in as many days. Thursday we were in town for Words and Ears in the Swan, with Rosie Bailey and June Hall as guest readers.

It was a golden evening.

And today it was the biannual Kennet & Avon Floating Market (summer edition). I drove down through a strange yellow countryside in glorious sun. A stoat ran across the road (well) in front of my car and it felt like a good omen.

The River Avon looked lush but the grass outside the Tithe Barn, where, six summers ago, we watched a couple celebrate their handfasting in teeming rain, was shockingly threadbare. 

Go straight back to summer 1976. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200.

The young woman charged with unlocking the Barn let me in the small side entrance and I got to see it fill with light as she opened each huge door. A bird shifted high in the rafters. It was only when it moved its head with a distinctive bob that I knew it was a pigeon. 

Up on the canal I found Dru and the offspring-formerly-known-as-Boat-Teenager. 'Lovely day for it!' I said in a spirit of stoatly optimism. And the skies opened.

I held an umbrella over one display of art until Dru had time to clear it. Then we repaired to NB Eve and drank coffee whitened with Marvel until it went off. 

Back outside, I rendezvoused with my friend Helen and we wandered up the canal. The towpath was as interesting as ever. 

Back at the market the pub appeared to be shut. Helen and I had a drink and a sit-down in the cafe. It started to rain again. 

On the towpath Dru and Katie were scrambling to get their art back into the dry. I headed for home and some chores I had to do for my mother ... 

... my haul of treasure tucked inside my jacket to keep it dry.

Original artwork for The Leaping Word logo by Dru Marland

Zines by Katie Marland

The Leaping Word

We've spent a fair bit of time emptying the Poetry Can office and now it's done. 

Which is end-of-an-era-y and sad, but not too bad as work goes. Pity the people who have to do the administrative side of it all.

And Ted. Pity poor Ted who has nowhere at home to lie in comfort while we continue to find homes for all the books. 

All things must pass. Just ask Ozymandias. 

Well, maybe not all things. We'll be keeping some of the Good Work of The Can going through our new poetry consultancy, The Leaping Word. So far we have this wonderful logo by Dru Marland. Look out for more news on Facebook shortly.