Pushing the Cart (and a Chance to Listen at your Leisure)

When my publisher, Ronnie Goodyer, told me that he and Dawn Bauling had nominated one of my poems from ‘Love the Albatross’ for a Pushcart Prize, I had to look it up. (The prize, that is). I'd seen people celebrating their nominations over the years, but without any idea exactly what it was. I had the impression being nominated was an honour, and largely its own reward, and having looked into it, that seems - realistically - to be the case. (At least, there 's an slim anthology of poems published every year, but thousands of nominations. I’m just very grateful to to have a poem amongst them.)

So. Many thanks to them both, and congratulations to my fellow Indigo Dreams nominees, alongside whom it’s an honour to be listed.

Also, now it's been aired, here's the link to hear Helen Ivory and me guest-poetting for West Wilts Radio's 'The Poetry Place' whenever the fancy takes you. 

Flying the Albatross

With the launch of my new collection approaching at pace, it was good to have a mini dress-rehearsal at Riff Corner Poetry Open Mic Night in Clevedon at the beginning of September, despite it taking me nearly an hour to drive the short distance home from my place of work through extensive roadworks, and then a return journey via Tickenham Hill and Failand in mist that was verging on fog. All hail autumn. 

Nevertheless, it was an interesting evening in good company. Open mic-ers currently get a little longer to read than at your average open mic session, and it was good to hear two or three poems, rather than the usual swift single, although this might have to change at some point as the evening was well attended and is clearly gaining in popularity. Thanks to Tim Burroughs for inviting me to read there, and for the above photo. 

Thanks are due also to Ben Banyard for asking me to read at Portishead's wildly successful ArtPort festival at the end of September. We'd been due to read alongside Bob Walton, but as he was still convalescing, Sue Hill, the other half of The Write Box, stepped into the breach. It was a lovely event, again well-attended and one I hope will be repeated next year.

 

 

My journey to Trowbridge Stanza on the first weekend in October was eventful, as someone drove into the back of my car by the Downs in Bristol. I was a bit shaken, but managed to complete the journey without further incident, and thoroughly enjoyed reading on the same  bill as Saili Katebe. We'd been due to read alongside each other back in 2020, as part of the Bristol Lyra Poetry Festival, which had been cancelled at the start of the pandemic, so it felt right and good to finally do that.

My penultimate autumn gig was in Bristol, as part of the Ten Bristol Poets event running at the Bristol Literary Film Festival in aid of St Peter's Hospice. It was a privilege to read alongside the following poets: 

TOP  1. Tim Burroughs  2. Jan Swann  3. Charles Thompson  4. Kaz Michael  5. Martin Rieser

BOTTOM:  6.  Helen Sheppard  7. David Punter  8. Me  9. Bob Walton  10. Melanie Branton

I enjoyed the opportunity of reading a few of my Bristol poems, from my collection 'Learning Finity', for a change, including one about my grandmother, who died in the care of the staff of St Peter's Hospice. Here's an earlier recording of it: 

 

My last autumn gig is Sunday 24th November and it's not necessary to leave the comfort of your own home to hear it, because I'm guest poet on West Wilts Radio's The Poetry Place at 3pm or any time you please, as it's streamable worldwide here.
 

Finally, it was great to have a poem from Love the Albatross in the latest issue of IDP's The Dawntreader ...

and also here, in the issue 4 of The Fig Tree.

Reviews of Love the Albatross can be found in Ink Sweat & Tears, London Grip and Tim Fellows' Substack.

Launching an Albatross

First thing on Tuesday morning I looked into the bathroom mirror and saw something had altered in the eyes looking back at me. And I could feel the woman-who-reads-the-poems - the one I stand just behind at readings, marvelling as she rises to the occasion - making her move early, to hold my hand through the day at work and the difficult rush hour drive down town to the John Sebastian Lightship moored at Bathurst Basin, and step forward at the appropriate moment to launch a handful of albatrosses into the Bristol night. So lucky to have her at my side! 

MC for the night was local poetry supremo, Helen Sheppard, another pair of very safe hands. And first, guest readings from Melanie Branton and Chaucer Cameron, two of the most gifted poets and generous women I know, who both understood the cost of writing these poems and launching them into the world. I was so privileged to have them agree to read alongside me. 

My selection of poems was followed on a Q&A on the subject of writing from trauma, hosted by counseller and former director of Poetry Can, Colin Brown.

 For anyone who's interested, here's a transcript of the question and answer session:

Question:  You mentioned what a very difficult subject estrangement is to talk about, and yet you’ve written a book of poems on that very subject, which you now have to share with the world. What made you decide to do it?

Answer:   I don’t think you can always control which poems turn up and when, and there came a point, about four years ago, when these were definitely the sort of poems that wanted to be written.

Question: Do you know why that was?

Answer:   Well, the latest estrangement from my child was showing every sign of lasting a lot longer than the previous one, so writing poems was a way of engaging with the situation without having to talk about it and risk shame or the judgment of other people, because of course at first it was in private.

Question: Perhaps it was also a way of maintaining a connection with your child? 

Answer:  Oh, the connection was there all right. Writing the poems was a way of managing it, without impinging on their desire for no contact.

 Question:  What do you mean by managing that connection?

Answer:  Well, as I said during the reading, sometimes the relationship you have with someone who isn’t physically in your life is even more intense than if they were present.

 Question:  And that must take a toll emotionally?

Answer: Yes. Before I started writing the poems, it felt like I was experiencing all the stages of grief, all at the same time, every day.

Putting all that emotion into poem-sized chunks and working at them meant I could explore it in a measured way, using metaphor and story to try to make sense of it.

Question:  Yes, because you’re not ranting or seeking validation for your own individual situation here, are you?

Answer: Oh, I definitely wanted to avoid that, because that would have stopped the poems making connections with other people. They had to be art, which meant they had to leave room for the reader to inhabit with their own experiences.

 

Question: And there were your child’s feelings to consider too?

Answer: Absolutely. Above all, they had to respect and preserve my child’s privacy. That’s always been really important to me.

  

Question:  So, what steps did you take to ensure you did that?

Answer:   Well, not long before the poems started to materialise, my mother broke her hip and went to stay with my sister, who lives in the Midlands, while it mended. And then the pandemic started and she had to stay there, and I suddenly found myself with considerably more free time. So I quickly signed up for an MA in Creative Writing, and used that as a framework for writing ethically about trauma. 

  

Question:  How did you do that?

Answer:  In the first instance, I studied and wrote essays on poets who engage with personal material and are emotionally authentic without compromising their integrity or privacy … Elizabeth Bishop and Denise Riley spring to mind.

Question: Did the course also affect your own practice? 

Answer: Yes, I became very strict with the content of my own poems, making sure that they revealed emotional truths but not ‘my truth’, because you can be sure my version of events isn’t how my child sees things.

  

Question: And this is where the ethics come in?

 Yes. I didn’t think it would be fair to use my platform, such as it is, to deny their truth, even if it doesn't fit with mine.

  

Question:  ‘The stories we tell ourselves to justify our actions’ is an idea that appears at various key points in this collection – in fact, there’s a thread of poems about it. Why is this important to you?

Answer:   I don’t know if everyone does this, but I definitely think writers - and artists in general - tell themselves stories in order to make sense of difficult situations.

  

Question: And some of the poems hint at stories taking over and getting out of control … 

 Answer: Yes, and that’s to be avoided at all costs. Your relationship with your story has to remain a truthful one, and that applies whether you’re making art about the situation you find yourself in or just living it. 

  

Question:  Finally, you facilitate poetry writing groups in Bristol. If someone asked you what your ONE best tip for writing about a deeply personal issue, what would you tell them?

Answer: I’d say … exploit the unique nature of poetry. It’s a collaborative art, so always leave space for the reader to bring their own experience.

One way of doing this is to write ‘ghost’ poems – ones which convey your story without actually telling it, so that instead of splurging every last detail, you simply communicate the emotional truth of the matter.

And if I can add a second tip! – read poets who do this well, like Selima Hill, Sharon Olds, Ruth Stone, Caroline Bird, Kim Moore … there are so many of them. 

The ensuing questions from the audience were thoughtful and insightful and the evening ended on a very warm and positive note. 

Then it was time to heave a bit of a sigh of relief and head for home, where a chilled bottle of champagne and a warm dog were waiting. 

With many thanks to Indigo Dreams Publishing, Colin Brown, Helen Sheppard and the Satellite of Love Poetry and Open Mic team, Katie Marland, Melanie Branton and Chaucer Cameron. 

'Love the Albatross' is available to buy from the Indigo Dreams website. 

We need to talk about estrangement

 'Love the Albatross' is in the world and I feel all kinds of emotions. 

Its subtitle is Estrangement Stories, estrangement being an increasingly common phenomenon. According to Psychology Today, one in ten people have cut off a parent or child, yet you'd never guess it from the code of silence surrounding it. And it's easy to understand why. The shame and social stigma is such that no one wants to out themselves and risk the often ill-informed judgment of those who have no experience of disowning or being disowned, yet feel qualified to offer an opinion.

I hate talking about it. And yet here I am with a whole collection of poems on the subject. And they're for anyone who's ever stood on this precipice, from whichever side of the Great Divide. Anyone who's ever felt they were the only one in this situation. Anyone who's ever looked at their child or loved family member and thought 'I'm so glad this will never happen to me'. Anyone who's ever loved someone more than they love themselves. 

'Love the Albatross’ is a meditation on inter-generational relationships, estrangement and silence, in which people communicate through messages in bottles, birds and dreams, fragmented memories assume mythological status, and the stories we tell ourselves to justify our actions escape their labyrinths and run wild.

In ‘Love the Albatross’ … estrangement, transformation and albatross are expertly woven together, with Harvey bearing witness to the nuance, complexity, and devastation inherent in this most ruinous of losses.  I found these poems authentic, liberating and transformative … Nothing is more evocative than the feeling that a writer has gone back in time with the reader, as witness and companion.

 Chaucer Cameron

Publication date is 30th August, and the collection can now be pre-ordered from the Indigo Dreams website. Signed copies are available from me - comment on this blog or contact me via social media or admin@theleapingword.com. 

Thank you. 

Lighting Touchpapers

Exactly a month ago, I was privileged to attend a beautiful evening of poetry in the King's Head, Wells. 

We'd gathered to celebrate the launch of Sara Butler's collection, 'Waiting for a Change'. The evening was hosted by Ama Bolton and Morag Kiziewicz, two members of the highly respected Wells Fountain Poets. Sara was a member of the group too, until ill health prevented her from continuing. It was Ama and Mo who collected Sara's poems and arranged them into this book.

Ama reading

Mo reading

I have a personal stake in this collection, because Sara was also a valued member of one of The Leaping Word’s poetry groups, and I’ve longed to hold a book of her poems in my hands for years. Now, thanks to Ama and Mo, that dream has come true. This book really is an act of love.

‘Waiting for a Change’ is available from bookshops or – if you must – Amazon: ISBN 978-1-914398-15-5.

Someone called Deborah Harvey has this to say about it:

‘A love for nature infuses these poems, though it’s never romanticised, Sara having both an eye and an ear for the dark and the all-too-human. And there’s always the laughing ‘yes’, and sexiness, and a desire for something better, which is found and made real in these poems.’

I had another enjoyable evening at a second launch, namely, the Zoom event celebrating the publication of 'High Nowhere' by Jean Atkins and 'What it Was' by Tina Cole. It was a treat to hear the poets read their very skilled and thought-provoking work. 

I also read some poems, as a pre-launch of my forthcoming collection, 'Love the Albatross', which is now at the printers and due to be published by Indigo Dreams Publishing at the end of August. Here's a preview of its cover, which has been beautifully realised by Katie Marland.

The poems in 'Love the Albatross' are about estrangement. Two of them have recently been published in journals, and can be read here and here. 

Blinking in the light

Somewhere in one of the boxes of photos under my bed, there must be a picture of my friend, Angela Prior-Kimball, and me together, when we first knew each other at Lancaster University in the early 80s, but for a reason that has nothing to do with our friendship, I still haven't mustered the inclination to unearth them.  So here we are not together, Angela having taken the second photo, of which I was completely oblivious, at the 1983 graduation ball. 

On the face of it, our friendship was somewhat unlikely. Angela was ebullient, with a can-do attitude - to the last, as it turned out. She was good at tennis - her nickname at the time was Angela Prior-Lloyd-Bum (Lloyd after the then Chris Evert Lloyd) - and even then she had a fascination with fashion, and impressive boundaries. I, on the other hand, was bookish, definitely not sporty or fashionable, and riddled with insecurities. 

One episode I remember - which Angela had forgotten, although she appreciated it when I told her the last time I saw her - involved a rabbit fur coat my father had given me, which had been given to him by a former client from when he'd sold insurance. Of course, I wouldn't dream of wearing fur now, but this was the winter of 1981/2 , which was so cold it has its own Wikipedia entry, and I was steadily freezing to death in the west end of Morecambe, in a mouldy attic which was painted the colour of the inside of a Ladyshave box (as another friend memorably described it), so I suppressed a vague feeling of disquiet, and wore it. Until, that is, the night I bundled it into an alcove in what was then Lonsdale College bar, only for it to be gone when I came to catch the bus back to the Battery. 

Any relief I felt at not wearing rabbit skin over my own any more was swamped by anxiety at what my father might say when he found out I'd let the damn thing get stolen. I still wasn't fully reconciled to its loss when Angela turned up unexpectedly in my flat a few nights later and asked if I'd had any news of its whereabouts. I immediately launched into a description of where I'd looked, who'd been in the bar at the time, various false sightings, etc, only for her to start laughing and call me a silly moo because in my consternation, I hadn't noticed that it was draped around her shoulders. The landlord, it turned out, had put it behind the bar so that it wouldn't get nicked, but hadn't been there when I was looking for it, and had forgotten to tell me subsequently. Angela, though, like the Vintage Queen she was to become, had ferreted it out. 

Being a language student, I graduated a year later than Angela, in 1984, by which time she'd started her business, Heaven Vintage, and was rumoured to be managing a pop group. Within a few years I had multiple babies and she was appearing on The Clothes Show; then, by the mid 1990s, she was living in Miami and it seemed our paths had diverged for good ...

... though elsewhere, computer programmers were dreaming of a phenomenon called social media, and by 2011,  we'd re-forged our connection to the point where I dedicated a poem in Communion, my first poetry collection, to her. 

Even so, that might have been the extent of our rekindled friendship, were it not for a chance encounter in Stratford-upon-Avon in 2014. I was hurrying to the Royal Shakespeare Theatre to see Henry IV Part I with my partner; Angela was sitting in the sun with a friend on the corner of Sheep Street and High Street, and true to form, spotted me as I passed by, quite unaware, and shouted my name. 'I recognised you by your walk!' she declared, somewhat disconcertingly. 

After that, we kept in closer touch. My last two trips to see her in Coventry came after her diagnosis of Stage 4 ovarian cancer almost exactly two years ago. The first included a visit to the Cave of Wonders that was her flat on Blondvil Street, which address suited her to the ground.

On my second visit this September we sat in the sun by the River Sherbourne at Charterhouse, watching the bees in the Himalayan Balsam and eating ice cream. Angela was as indefatigable as ever, planning a huge vintage fair to raise money for a new treatment that isn't available on the NHS. As I was hoping to go, I thought there was every chance I'd see her again, but a dose of Covid (mine) and Angela's cancer colluded, and although the fair happened in November, another visit wasn't to be. 

So it goes. Solstice feels like a good time to write this. The year has turned, and we're all heading towards the light; it's just that my dear determined friend has beaten us to it. 

Love the Albatross

 

Photograph by Jon Brack/Friends of Midway Atoll 

This is Wisdom the Laysan Albatross. At 70+ years old, she's the oldest confirmed wild bird in the world, having been ringed on Midway Atoll in the Hawaiian archipelago in 1956, when she was already an adult. Since then she's estimated to have flown 3,000,000 miles while foraging for the (probably) between 30 to 40 chicks she's raised, the most recent one having hatched in 2021, since when, sadly, she's lost her mate.

When, in early 2021, I was trying to think of a creature that epitomised unstinting parenthood for a poetry project I was writing as part of my MA course in Creative Writing, I seized upon Wisdom, whom I remembered from a series of articles in the Guardian ('Albatross astonishes scientists by producing chick at age of 62' [2013]/'When I'm sixty-four: World's oldest tracked bird returns to refuge with mate' [2015]/'World's oldest-known seabird lays egg at the age of 66 in Pacific refuge'[2016] ... etc, etc). She was perfect for my purpose because, of course, albatrosses come trailing lots of other associations, especially when it comes to poetry, and soon I had the keystone poem for a draft collection on the subject of inter-generational relationships, estrangement and silence. 

Two and a half years later, I'm really pleased to say that 'Love the Albatross' is going to be published by Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams in late summer/autumn 2024. It will be dedicated to Wisdom, of course. 

Border collies make the best librarians

My new collection. Learning Finity, arrived just over a week ago, Even Storm Eunice didn't hold up its delivery. Our collie, Cwtch was very interested in both the box and its contents. I think she must have been a librarian in a past life.

I'm very aware of how lucky I am to have had my lifelong ambition - to take up a little space on a bookshelf somewhere - realised again and again. Poetry is my solace in a difficult world.

I'll be holding both a Real Life and a Zoom launch for Learning Finity, the first somewhere in Bristol with my fellow IsamBards also reading (date and venue to be confirmed) and the Zoom launch on 5th May, with Chaucer Cameron and Tina Cole as guest readers. More details to follow.

'Learning Finity' coming soon

I'm delighted that after a brief delay for personal reasons, my new collection of poems, Learning Finity, will be published on 14th March 2022 by Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams Publishing. Here's the front cover, of St Leonard's Lane, which probably has the most ridiculous double yellow lines in the country.

The visual resemblance of the title design to the opening crawl of the Star Wars films is serendipitous, but not misplaced. The poems in Learning Finity are set in my native city of Bristol, but travel back and forth through time, where everything changes but stories are always remembering themselves. 

More details on its real-life and Zoom launch to come. In the meantime, here's a
link to its page on the Indigo Dreams website, where pre-orders are being taken, and for good measure, a colourised photo of Gloucester Road circa 1960, at the junction of Bishop Road, where my great-grandparents lived, before passing their house onto my grandparents and their eleven children in the late 1940s. You can see Mr Hacker's the greengrocer in the foreground, and on the opposite side of the road, Miss Wyatt's Newsagent, which features in one of the poems that makes up my Gloucester Road Odyssey.   

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. 

Poetry and Time-Travel

There are strange time-lags in poetry sometimes. After spending most of last year watching and listening, I've been completely immersed in a different way of writing this spring, as part of my studies at the Manchester Writing School. I'm hoping the resulting sequence of poems will become a pamphlet exploring the patch of edgelands we've been visiting since the first lockdown, and which I've been documenting in this blog. 

Meanwhile, my publishers, Dawn and Ronnie of Indigo Dreams, have sent me the first draft of my fifth collection, Learning Finity, to work on, which means taking a complete break from common, wood and field for a week or two, and revisiting poems almost all of which were written before the pandemic struck.  It's a big shift back to a past that now seems a long time ago. 

For me, writing poems is a particularly intense means of expression. My brain tends to up sticks and shift completely into the world my current poems inhabit, so switching from one project to another does feel like negotiating a rift.  This is ameliorated, however, by the fact that the poems of Learning Finity exist mostly in mythic time, and are themselves well practiced in time travel.  And to encourage me in making this mental leap, my copy of Poetry Salzburg No 37 arrived from Germany today, in which three of my Learning Finity poems find themselves in excellent company. I'm especially pleased that they're alongside work by my comrade in poetry, Chaucer Cameron. 

I've realised that during this time of pandemic and Poetry Zoom, I haven't been posting much about poetry and publications.  They have, however, been getting out and about while we haven't been able to. Here are a few more of the publications they've appeared in. Many thanks to the editors involved. 

Bristol, the morning after the Saturday night before, after lockdown

I have a collection of poems mostly set in Bristol coming out later this year. It's called 'Learning Finity', and I need an arresting cover photograph, so I got up early last Sunday and went to town to wander the old lanes.

In my enthusiasm for the project, I'd overlooked the fact it was the morning after the Saturday night before, after lockdown, and it wasn't that pleasant down there. The Mud Dock car park was full of discarded food, take-away packaging and broken glass, and the stench of piss in the doorways and alleyways was overwelming. Not that this state of affairs isn't understandable, with no venues able to offer inside eating, and all the public toilets closed years ago on account of the council thinking 'let's try and keep within our meagre budget by making them use shops and pubs, because there will never come a time when those facilities are out of commission, will there?' 

Anyhow, here are some photos, one or two of which are contenders for a cover and most of which aren't. I haven't made up my mind which of my shortlist to use yet. 

St Augustine's Reach

The empty plinth where the slavetrader once stood

The old SWEB building, St John on the Wall, and St Lawrence House, where I worked in the mid 80s, now student accommodation

The bottom of Zed Alley

Looking up the upper section of Zed Alley. My great-grandmother used to go to school somewhere here in the 1870s

Looking down the upper part of Zed Alley

Christmas Steps, where my great-grandmother lived with her parents and sisters

I'd completely forgotten about these. I begged my mother for one for Christmas because I wanted to be a writer so badly - I think I must have been about five - only for her to point out - quite reasonably - that it wasn't actually a proper typewriter because it didn't have any keys. I was gutted ... 

Down Johnny Ball Lane

Looking through one of the side arches of  St John's Gate, up Broad Street

Leonard Lane

St Nicholas Street

Welsh Back