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.  

The Best Thing 2012

Trying to decide what's The Best Thing I've seen this year.  It's very tempting to say Leonard Cohen.  After all, I'd waited nearly 36 and a half years for the miracle to come.  But I feel there has to be an element of serendipity to what ever occupies the Number 1 slot which is erased by the purchase of a ticket.  Plus, I'm seeing Him again in 2013. (Have I mentioned that at all?)

Last year's Best Thing was encountering two badgers in the middle of Parry's Lane.  I'd only ever seen dead ones before.  It was the sort of moment that imprints itself on the inside of your eyelids. And so was this - the swathing of the Vale of Avalon in mist with Glastonbury Tor poking out of the top as I came down off the Mendips, headed for this year's Wells Festival of Literature. 

Remembering Dennis O'Driscoll

So sad to hear yesterday of the death of Dennis O'Driscoll.  I was fortunate to hear him read some of his intelligent, witty and humane poems on a couple of occasions, as well as give a talk about Stepping Stones, his book of interviews with Seamus Heaney, and I hate the thought that he'll never come to Bristol, a city he professed to love, again.

But what I'll remember most is his generosity.  The way he would write a personal message in large letters alongside his signature in the book you'd just bought. How, in that moment, it was you who was the person of interest, not him.  How, upon encountering him at the door of the Arnolfini bookshop last September, he was more anxious to stay and chat to me and my companion, Pameli Benham, than go back to his hotel room to rest in preparation for the evening's reading.  How, when we each gave him a copy of our poetry collections, he said he would go back and read them - and did.  And sought us out later to comment on them.  

We didn't have him long enough. 

TED HAS HIS OWN CHRISTMAS CARD!

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, prevent the dog from sulking with his very own  ...

CHRISTMAS CARD!!!  

Yes, a sneak preview of this year's card starring an unusually still and attentive Ted. (How on earth he held that pose long enough for Dru to paint him, I shall never know!)

On the back of the card, one of my favourite Christmas poems by Thomas Hardy:

THE OXEN

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.

   'Now they are all on their knees,'

An elder said as we sat in a flock

   By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where

   They dwelt in their strawy pen,

Nor did it occur to one of us there

  To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave

   In these years! Yet, I feel,

If someone said on Christmas Eve,

   'Come; see the oxen kneel,

'In the lonely barton by yonder coomb

   Our childhood used to know,'

I should go with him in the gloom,

   Hoping it might be so.

Available from Dru's Etsy page.

The Look of Innocence

Ted, caught red-pawed having eaten my dinner, 17th May 2012 ...

'What foot? Oh, that one over there? ... nothing to do with me, Guv!'


Ted caught using my bed as a nice clean towel, 22nd December 2012 ...

'It was the cats what dunnit ... I'll get them for you if you like ... '


I think he's getting better at it.

Hallelujah II

Photo from September's gig at Wembley Arena.

Et in Arcadia Ego

I am in receipt of the final final final set of proofs for my novel, Dart.  Which is scary because I used to proofread professionally back in the days of galley proofs and Tippex and learnt then that the only thing more certain than the small error that escaped your red Bic is the fact that some bastard will gleefully point it out to you.  

Although that hasn't been the case with my poetry collection, Communion.  It was a while before I could even open it after it was published.  When I did manage it, I saw one very minor thing I wished I'd noticed and changed at proofing stage, but no one else has ever said anything and now I can't remember what it was.

That said, I'm really not keen on the idea of living down a novel with a hideous error half way down page 73 (or anywhere else) so I'll be proofing carefully between now and the New Year.  Never mind Christmas, it's publication day that's looming.

In the meantime, here are some pictures of the Valley of the West Dart, where my story is set.

The West Dart at Huccaby

Glittering innocence

Over the stone stile

Longaford Tor, Higher White Tor and Bellever Tor from Hexworthy

Stepping Stones at Sherberton Firs













My novel, Dart, will be published by Tamar Books (an imprint of Indigo Dreams) on 4th February 2012.  More details here, and here.

You might be avoiding Amazon on account of their (tax) avoidance, but fret not, my poetry collection, Communion, is also available from Indigo Dreams for £6.99.