The Poetry Rollercoaster

After the lull in poetry activities towards the end of last year, while I recouped some emotional energy, things have picked up again, coinciding with the return of spring. 

First, in February, the latest reading in Bristol Poetry Institute's series of Annual Readings, this time by Mohave and Latina poet, Natalie Diaz, whom I never expected to get the chance to hear in my home city. It was a privilege to be present.

March saw the publication and launch of Dominic Fisher's pamphlet, Migrations, at the Inn on the Green, Horfield, with support readings by Matthew Barton, Emily Reynolds and me. 

(Matthew isn't a giant, by the way; he just happened to stand nearer the photographer than the rest of us.)

The audience

The Northerner

Emily and Maggie

I was also due to be reading at Berkeley Square Poetry Revue the Tuesday following Dom's launch, but my appearance had to be postponed until July because I woke up on the Sunday morning with no voice to speak of, a situation which persisted for five days. It just squeaked back by the following Sunday, in time for the launch of the resurrected 'Outposts', courtesy Devon-based poet and editor, Clare Morris, which was held in the community bookshop in Totnes.

Of course, a chance to read a few poems in Devon had to be seized, as it meant I could go the scenic route and have a quick dive across Dartmoor. 

Bennett's Cross

Riding shotgun was fellow-poet Dominic Fisher, who not only had three poems published in the inaugural 'Outposts', but was also featured in one of the original issues back in the 1980s - or possibly the 1970s. 

The 12th century clapper bridge that crosses the East Dart at Postbridge 

Hemlock water dropwort growing by the modern road bridge (built in the 1780s)

Ice cream van at Haytor

Looking towards Hayne Down and Houndtor in the middle distance

It was brief. It was bleak. It was beautiful. And then we were bowling down off the moor, re-encountering the Dart near Buckfastleigh and accompanying it almost all the way to Totnes. 

The launch was under the auspices of Word Stir, an open mic hosted by Harula Ladd and Toby Richardson in the community bookshop. 

It was a memorable event, filled with friends in poetry and poets I'd communicated with but was meeting for the first time, including Clare and Peter Roe, the editor of Jawbone Journal, which published one of my poems - 'A brief feather confession' - earlier in the year and who, along with his two fellow editors, nominated it for a Forward Prize, about which I'm still astonished and deeply grateful.  

Clare Morris

Finally, some sad news, as my publishers for the last 16 years, Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams, have decided to call it day as far as publishing collections and pamphlets is concerned, although they will still be producing their poetry journals, Reach and The Dawn Treader. It's been my privilege to work with them all these years, and I will always be grateful that they helped me realise my life's dream - to take up a half an inch on a bookshelf somewhere - not once but seven times. I've been the luckiest poet, and I'll never forget how, through their faith in me and my writing, I was able to rebuild my life and my identity when my spirits were at their lowest ebb. Thank you to them both, always. 

Poetting in Totnes, plus a detour to Dartmoor

Having missed out on driving Son the Elder to Crewkerne last week - and enjoying a day fossicking around Dorset while he roboteered - because of waking up in the morning to the flattest of flat tyres that Could Not Be Pumped Back Up (and needed replacing), I was relieved to get safely down to Devon for my reading in Totnes a few days later. First, though, a stop on Dartmoor, my heart's home.

Hound Tor

Looking over to Hayne Down

I chose to visit Hound Tor, hoping that through the miracle of magical thinking, the late-flowering bluebells that cover the Down and Holwell Lawn might somehow be out, but as I suspected, I was just a bit too early to witness that glorious lavender haze that seems to float over the moor when they're in full bloom.

A few were just beginning to show their faces, though, along with heath milkwort, spring cinquefoil and marsh lousewort, which were lovely to see.

View across the Beckabrook to Black Hill, Grea Tor, Smallacombe Rocks, Haytor, Holwell Tor, etc

It was very warm for April, despite the breeze, so I had a bit of a sit-down on a rock. Up ahead a deer was grazing, and down in the valley, the cuckoos were shouting to each other.

The deer is in the middle distance, against a patch of green

Grea Tor 

Looking from Haytor and Holwell Tor to Saddle and Rippon Tors

It was then nearly time to leave, so I wandered back through the rocky outcrops of Hound Tor.

Looking back towards Haytor, you can see a face in profile in the rock

Looking up to Easdon Tor, with Hayne Down in the middle distance

Then down down down to Totnes, where a poster of me and my fellow-Bristol-poet-and-reader, Tom Sastry, greeted me on the door of the venue, which was the Barrel House and very fabulous indeed. I spent some time staring in every direction, open-mouthed.

Julie Mullen was our MC, and she'd put together a great bill, but first she read some of her own arresting poetry.

Then the first of two sets by the fantastic Bulgarian vocal group, Gora Ensemble, who were mesmerising ... 

... and an excellent set of funny-but-deadly-serious poems from Tom Sastry, reading from his new collection, 'Life Expectancy Begins to Fall'. 

And me, I read too, from 'Love the Albatross'. Here's an accidental selfie that couldn't have been better composed if I tried. 

It was so good to meet poets I'd only previously been friends with online, as well as catching up with real life mates, including my old friend Bob Mann, whom I've known for years and accidentally lost touch with when his computer died. Firmly back in contact again now, thanks to the poster on the venue door.

Then it was back home up the M5 and into bed at 1am, my five hours' sleep before the alarm went off leaving me to a zombie for most of the next day, but a small price to pay for a precious few hours on Dartmoor and a gig I'll never forget. 

Talking about Love, Loss and Dogs on Soundart Radio

This blog - more specifically, the post about the death of my dog, Ted, a month ago - recently came to the attention of Julie Mullen, who hosts a show on Soundart Radio, based in Totnes, Devon. She asked me to record myself reading from it for the Monday edition, and so that's what I did. It's by far the hardest thing I've ever had to do in the name of poetry, but that's love for you. You can listen to it here.  

My contribution starts about 12 minutes in and runs intermittently right to the end of the podcast, but I strongly suggest you start at the very beginning. Apart from it being a very good place to start, the playlist features John Lennon, the Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Gilbert O'Sullivan, and Julie herself, so it's really not a hardship. 

A Most Haunting Castle - Writing from the Ruins

Off to Devon with my mother yesterday, to do a few chores at the two caravans and read a poem in St Mary's, Berry Pomeroy.  No prizes for guessing which bit of the day I was looking forward to most, so shall draw a veil over the carpet brushing and curtain adjusting, the tour of Teignmouth charity shops - I bought three poetry books, one of which (Collected Poems of Gillian Clarke) I already own but it was such a bargain, I couldn't leave it on the shelf - and tea in Morrisons in Totnes (surely the Littlewoods Cafe de nos jours).  So, on to Berry Pomeroy!

The Totnes writer Bob Mann, whom I first met on MySpace back in the day, founded the Longmarsh Press in 2008 to publish books on Devon or by Devon authors.  His latest publication is 'A Most Haunting Castle - Writings from the Ruins at Berry Pomeroy', to which I contributed a poem, hence the invitation to join him and some of the others involved for the reading in the glorious setting of Berry Pomeroy Church.

I've visited the Castle a couple of times, once en famille in 2000, and once more recently with just Samuel and Ted, who was a puppy at the time and who spent the duration of the visit sat with Samuel, howling for my return.  Which is kind of apt, because Berry Pomeroy is reputed to be one of the most haunted ruins in the country.

Its two most famous ghosts are the White Lady and the Blue Lady.  The former is associated with the eerie part of the ruin known as St Margaret’s Tower, and is believed to be the spirit of Margaret Pomeroy, who was imprisoned in its dungeon by her jealous older sister, Eleanor, after they both fell in love with the same knight.  Legend has it that Margaret starved to death there. The Blue Lady has been encountered in various areas of the castle, and there are tales of her luring male visitors into danger in a bid to rescue her from unstable parts of the walls.  She is generally assumed to be the ghost of the daughter of one of the Norman Lords of the castle, by whom she was impregnated.  She is believed to have smothered the newborn child, whose cries can also be heard on occasion.  She is also regarded as a portent of death.

Yet another story concerning the Pomeroys tells of two brothers who, instead of battling a long siege they knew they could never win, dressed in full armour and, having blindfolded their horses, rode them over the precipice upon which the castle stands. There are reports of the sound of hooves, screaming and then a crashing below in the valley to this day.

Other people at other times have reported seeing a man in a tricorn hat, a tall man in a dark suit, a man in old-fashioned country clothes, a large black dog, an old man carrying a scythe, a quaint old lady, a small hooded boy, a sullen girl, an Elizabethan in a ruff, a man in Stuart costume, a face at the gatehouse window, a lady in a grey dress and another in dark clothing, an assortment of knights and Cavaliers in full regalia, and a friendly old woman standing on a bridge over the brook.  Some swear they have glimpsed windows in the 17^th century part of the ruin fully glazed; others have experienced a time slip in the nearby village, seeing it as it would have appeared hundreds of years ago.  One family flying in a helicopter over the ruins saw roofs and smoke coming from chimneys. And if that’s not enough, strange lights have been witnessed, voices have been heard, there are cold spots and freak winds, the smell of perfume, the sound of doors slamming (even though there are none), and strange shadows with no earthly form to cast them.  Cameras frequently malfunction, photographs often fail to come out or show shapes and figures that weren’t originally there, and in Spring 2006 local investigators detected through dowsing one female and six male presences who had died between the 15^th and 18^th centuries of causes including heart failure, disease, murder (stabbing), and accident.  Oh, and they also encountered Margaret herself and a young girl aged nine called Isabelle, the illegitimate child of Baron de Pomeroy, who had been murdered while trying to prevent her mother from being raped. Oh, and a black dog. (Not Ted.)

I have my own creepy, if rather tenuous, connection to the place.  In May 2001, I started to write a ghost story as an exercise for the writing course I was taking at the time, and having visited Berry Pomeroy just the year before, I decided to set it there.  I was writing with no idea of what was going to happen next (something I seldom do) when a blackly malevolent presence manifested itself on the page and I heard the word 'corvine' spoken behind me.  This was enough to make me abandon the whole enterprise in fright.  A couple of hours later, as I was taking in the washing from the line, my then husband came out to tell me that my 22-year-old cousin, with all his life before him, had hanged himself not two miles away from where I had been writing that afternoon and at the very moment I’d set my tale aside.

Although it's not the scariest place I've ever visited (that'ld be Lidwell Chapel, high on Haldon Moor, which I swore never to return to again, only to break that vow three months later at the behest of a friend who said it wasn't all creepy but whose border collie refused to go anywhere near the place), I was quite relieved that the reading was taking place in St Mary's, even more so because the only previous time I'd been to the village, there was a funeral in progress and I hadn't felt able to wander around snapping photos.  And it's a beauty, being quite large and still boasting its 42 foot long rood screen.     

It was impossible to get a good shot of the whole screen because a stage had been erected in front of it for the evening's proceedings, which means I'm going to have to go back, but here's a few details.

I especially liked the little birds carved amongst the foliage.  They are a feature of many of the churches around Totnes and remind me of the much later design, Strawberry Thief, by William Morris. Though these two look more like starlings than thrushes to me.

No rood screen deserving of the name would be complete without the scars of what will inevitably have been a tumultuous history. It's often assumed that damage to churches was caused by Oliver Cromwell's men during and after the Civil War, but it's more likely that the defacing of saints on the rood screen was done in response to the Edwardian Injunctions of 1548 which demanded the removal of all images from English Churches. 

What's really interesting about the defacement in St Mary's is that it appears to have been done by three different people. How do we know?  Well, one did it with horizontal gouges ...

one with vertical ones ...

while one scraped very carefully - almost tenderly - at just the face.
 

Anyhow, it was a great evening, and is likely to be repeated on either June 1st or June 8th at the Durant Arms in Ashprington.  

'A Most Haunting Castle - Writing from the Ruins', edited by Bob Mann, costs £7.99, ISBN 978-0-9561705-2-1.  Longmarsh Press books are available from local independent bookshops or through Waterstones, or direct from The Longmarsh Press, 5 Brook View, Follaton, Totnes, Devon TQ9 5FH. (Probably best to email Bob first to find out what the p&p charges are - bobmann@supanet.com.)