Words Unlimited

Sea & Poetry

I'm off to Aldeburgh on Wednesday with a small contingent from
the The PRG & Clink Street Group for sea and poetry [and fish & chips].

In between sessions of writing and reading we'll take blustery walks down to the beach and Maggi Hambling's wonderful Scallop. Hambling's sculpture, a monument to composer Benjamin Britten, invites us to pay close attention to the sea - its sounds and its energy.

 

Britten immersed himself in the sounds of the Aldeburgh landscape and shaped them into his music. The inscription on the Scallop - I HEAR THOSE VOICES THAT WILL NOT BE DROWNED - is a quote from Britten's opera, Peter Grimes.

Hambling describes this twelve-foot high shell as a "Conversation with the sea."

And, apparently, it can converse in all weathers, having been built to withstand winds of up to 100 mph. Hambling also walks the Aldeburgh beach every day as part of her process in creating her North Sea paintings.

As well as having conversations with the waves, we'll be listening to many voices as from 6 to 8 November the 21st Aldeburgh Poetry Festival gets underway.

 

Poetry, like music, is to be listened to and read aloud. There's a varied selection of voices from Britain, Europe and Americaon the programme.

 

Now, where's that windproof jacket ...

 

Be Brave – I Dare You …

Why not read more poetry? Go on, it’s good for you.

I don’t mean that to sound medicinal – really – or like some old English teacher who may long ago have put you off the stuff for life. If you find yourself shying away from reading poetry why not try one of the collections on the shortlist for the 2009 T S Eliot Prize, announced yesterday?

Poetry is so portable. Why not slip one of those ten volumes into your jacket pocket or work bag? Forget the morning rush hour, lose yourself in a poem or two, it’s likely to make you feel less grumpy than reading the paper and no nasty print on your fingers.

There’s something for everyone on this year’s T S Eliot list whether you’re coming to poetry for the first time, are a seasoned reader or are writing poetry – the list is a great resource.

For starters try Alice Oswald’s startling and somewhat subversive remake of the ‘nature’ poem or Sharon Olds’s sequence of war poems that, whilst excavating her own memories of the Second World War speak subtly of Vietnam, Iraq or Afghanistan.

For poetry watchers Simon Armitage’s [Chair of the Judges] reported remarks make interesting reading. Sharp intakes of breath as Forward prizewinner, Don Paterson, didn’t make the final cut. Armitage says there were many excellent books under consideration but what the judges looked for was bravery. Apparently they felt that too many poets were “in a holding pattern.” The chosen books each reveal a poet pushing their craft to the next level – something all writer’s need to do – keep challenging themselves.

Talking as I was, yesterday, about reading to write, no matter what genre you aspire to work in, reading poetry is the most wonderful way to sharpen your awareness of language and the ways in which it works on us.

So newcomers - still not feeling brave enough? Why not rope in a few friends?

I set up a poetry reading group – The PRG – and I’ve written about it for the Poetry Book Society’s website. Click here and you can read the article and then follow the links to find out more about the books.

Go on, I dare you.

Heroes & Heroines

was the theme for this year’s National Poetry Day, and they turned out in many guises at the Royal Festival Hall last Thursday to celebrate the day and the Centenary of The Poetry Society

 

Poetry Slammers, Mr Gee and Joelle Taylor heroically held together a packed programme of live readings, interactivity – including the beach ball haiku – and archive footage of past poets. The old Post Office film, voiced over with Auden’s ‘Night Mail,’ proved a touchy choice on the day postal workers voted for a national strike – and yet, Auden’s rapping rhythms were in keeping with the mood of the afternoon.

By the end of this extravagant, wide-raging event it was clear why poetry heroine Carol Ann Duffy had to be the new poet laureate. Who else could nonchalantly extend a bridge between Mr Gee and Mr T. S. E other than Ms C Ann D?

 

Following archive footage of T. S. Eliot – newly announced as the nation’s favourite poet – Duffy made an effortless, dead pan link to the great man by reading her very different take on the ancient world, ‘Mrs Tiresias,’ from The World’s Wife.  She then performed ‘Mrs Faust’ – the rhythms and humour couldn’t fail to connect to the many school students present.

 

Having captured the entire audience’s full attention, she ended on a more serious note and a nod to the future with her wonderful new eco-poem, commissioned specially for the day, 'Atlas' - a timely reminder of the earth’s fine balance and fragility.  Read ‘Atlas,’ and hear Carol Ann Duffy read it, here.

 

And, there were the hundreds of unsung heroines who helped to mark the Poetry Society’s Centenary with the largest ever knitted poem. Dylan Thomas’s 'In My Craft or Sullen Art' was a great choice for this inclusive project – a wonderful reminder of why anyone writes poetry in the first place.

 

Want to give poetry a try? Collect ‘found’ poetry and contribute to Lemn Sissay’s Global Poetry Systems or try Caroline Bird’s video workshop, here.

Rain

On Wednesday in London it poured.

 

Poetry watchers should have guessed the weather was trying to tell us that, yes,

Don Paterson would win the Forward Prize for best collection with his new book, Rain.

Paterson received the award on Wednesday evening in a cool classical reception room at Somerset House, with a balcony overlooking the Thames where guests, waiting to hear the announcement, marvelled at the sheer quantity of water falling from the sky.

One of the reasons Paterson was selected was for his use of rhythm and rhyme. A judge reports:

Without wanting to get into a debate as to "what is poetry", there was too much that was too close to chopped up prose. Of course this approach can be satisfying and interesting. But you should be aware what a blessed relief it is, after being confronted by book after book of flatly efficient – and less efficient - poems, to come across sprung lines, rhythm and, even the odd rhyme. On a related point, if you are going to use fancy line breaks or spacing or layout on the page, have a damn good reason for doing it.

I can hear 'flatly efficient' poets in workshops up and down the country revisiting the 'chopped up prose' debate. Meanwhile, hear Paterson talk about Rain.

Faber and Faber At 80

A feast of words last night at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, to celebrate Faber and Faber's 80 years of publishing poetry.  Current front-list poets – Seamus Heaney, Alice Oswald, Paul Muldoon, Wendy Cope, Daljit Nagra – read from the backlist – Ted Hughes, Samuel Beckett, T. S. Eliot, Philip Larkin and Sylvia Plath. Added to this, projections of evocative black and white photographs filled the stage as archive recordings brought to life Ezra Pound, Louis MacNeice, Robert Lowell and Marianne Moore.

 

But why when we were there to celebrate poets and poetry, include tenor Robin Tritschler accompanied by Julius Drake, singing Britten’s settings of Auden’s work?  No denying the consummate performance of the two musicians but not a word of Auden’s poetry reached my ear.  Nor anyone else’s, judging by the dissatisfied talk afterwards. This musical section offered an entirely different listening experience.  The tenor’s tortured enunciation at the service of the music [and it is fine music] was so far removed from Auden’s voice.

There is music enough in the poetry itself.

High points for me were Paul Muldoon reading from Eliot’s ‘The Waste Land,’ Heaney reading Hughes and Alice Oswald reading Beckett.

Heaney has acknowledged that, in his early days as a Faber poet, he looked up to Ted Hughes, so it was poignant to hear seventy-year-old Heaney reading ‘Thought Fox’ watched over by a photograph of Hughes in his twenties. Later Heaney read his own ‘Digging’ – both poems now seminal works on the process of writing.

Alice Oswald, so earthed and embodied, didn’t sound a wrong note as she read Samuel Beckett’s play/poem ‘Rockaby.’ Extraordinary. Reading from her own long work, 'A Sleepwalk on the Severn', a poem that captures several voices, there was an echo of Beckett in the rhythms and repetitions, a touch of Dylan Thomas too in the portrait of a village and evidence of the influence of Ted Hughes in the precise connections to the natural world she evokes. But, Oswald has synthesised all of these voices. Hers is a mesmeric, highly original music.

The best of last night has sent me back to read, read, read. And, reminded me that so much of writing involves listening. Listening in to early drafts and asking – what is it I’m trying to say? What does that sound like?

 

Sharon Olds

              

Sharon Olds is over from the States this month with readings in Edinburgh, Aldeburgh and London. I’ll just miss the Aldeburgh Poetry Prom, as I must leave my house by the sea on that day to be back in London. If you haven’t seen Olds read it’s worth the journey! 

The essay I wrote for Magma 44 had me re-reading all of her books earlier this year, including the stunning new collection, One Secret Thing. My respect for her grew. 

Readers are rarely indifferent to her work. Pouncing on individual poems or the latest book the verdict is usually either love it or hate it.  

Reading such a body of work I could only admire her journey, her tenacity in the search, through writing, for ‘truth.’ Outspoken, of course, but look at the multi-perspectives she brings to the same material – her difficult childhood, her troubled relationships with her parents, her sexuality. There is compassion, searing honesty, but no self-pity.  And, always humour. See her if you can. 

 

 

T S Eliot Prize for Poetry – Gasps and Tears

To Skinner’s Hall in the City last Monday, 12 January, for the T S Eliot Prize Awards Ceremony.  Chair of the Judges Andrew Motion - flanked by fellow judges, Lavinia Greenlaw and Tobias Hill – took his time making the announcement.  In alphabetical order he summed up the achievement of each of the ten short-listed poets [see below] but paused a while longer as he reached Mick Imlah. Imlah - a favourite, along with Ciaran Carson, to win - had died that morning having been ill for a year with motor neurone disease. 

"He was one of the cleverest, most interesting, and sweet-natured people I have ever met," said Motion, holding back tears. 

He said that Imlah’s work would go on being read as long as there were people to read poetry. He also said he could hear his friend’s voice whispering in his ear not to let his demise hang over the evening. “This is not Mick’s memorial service nor his wake.” 

And so he announced the winner, Jen Hadfield, a thirty-year-old, Cheshire born poet who has adopted Shetland and its language. 

Gasps of delight collided with gasps of disbelief. Hadfield’s family burst into audible sobs.  Hadfield had a modest ‘Kate Winslet’ moment, but, more dignified that KW, she quietly wiped away tears and invited the audience to join in the refrain as she read the poem, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen This Is a Horse as Magritte Might Paint Him.’ 

“I’be very happy if you’d do that,” she said, then added. “I’m very happy.” 

Hadfield was a surprising choice, the youngest on the list, Nigh-No-Place being her second collection. Motion said her work was “a revelation, energetic, iconoclastic.” 

Looks as if our own PRG has a way to go in being a reliable predictor of winners! Over two meetings in November and December we read and discussed all of the shortlist. An extract from our meeting notes shows what we thought of Nigh-No-Place:

“what stands out is a freshness of language; language enjoyed for its music and sensory delight. We’re not rewarded with layers beneath. Poems are vivid snapshots of nature and landscapes [Alberta, Shetland], influenced by Ted Hughes, although the ejaculating sausages are very much Hadfield’s own. We enjoyed ‘Witless’ and ‘This Is Us Saint’s Day’.  But with a poem such as ‘Nigh-No-Place’, wonder if it’s for performance rather than the page?”

Certainly her performance of that poem at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on Sunday 11 January, was a breath of fresh air. She is a mesmerizing reader of her own work. She’s quirky, anarchic, a poet of place, with a sharp ear and eye. One to watch?

 And perhaps we had some overlap with judge Tobias Hill who published his judging notes on Hadfield here.

Meanwhile, more on the short-listed poets at the PBS website, where there should also be available some time soon a podcast of all the 11 January readings …  

Moniza Alvi Europa (Bloodaxe)

Peter Bennet The Glass Swarm (Flambard)

Ciaran Carson For All We Know (Gallery Books)

Robert Crawford Full Volume (Cape)

Maura Dooley Life Under Water (Bloodaxe)

Mark Doty Theories and Apparitions (Cape)

Mick Imlah The Lost Leader (Faber)

Glyn Maxwell Hide Now (Picador)

Stephen Romer Yellow Studio (Carcanet)

Poetry In December

13 January already. Before 2009 runs away with me, I'd better note these poetry moments in December … a busy poetry month with the Poetry Reading Group [PRG] reading all the TS Eliot Prize shortlisted poets [more on that later], for now:

1 December to The Troubadour for the 2nd Troubadour Poetry Prize-giving event. Three prize-winners and 20 commended poets read their work; a rich evening of poetry.  Among the commended was our own Jane Kirwan from the PRG. Congratulations Jane.

Goldsmiths colleague Stephen Knight and Jo Shapcott were the judges. As well as giving fine readings of their work, they both spoke frankly about the judging process. The Annual Troubadour Poetry Prize is rare among competitions in that all entries are read by both judges – no sifters.  Knight said that among the two-thousand or so poems entered “there were few inept poems.” He graded entries as “competent, more than competent and prize-winning.”

Jo Shapcott went further saying that from the entries she could have picked 100 poems to produce an anthology that would be “the equal of any anthology currently on the market.” That’s quite a claim.

All of this is testament to the poetry community that Anne-Marie Fyfe has built up around Coffee-House Poetry at the Troubadour for over a decade. She’s built a strong audience not just for the Monday readings but for regular workshops and seminars, and now the annual competition. Oh yes, and the recently launched website where you can read all the prize winning poems and see the Spring 2009 programme, here.   So, Anne-Marie, is the Troubadour Anthology a possible future development?

12 December to the launch of Geraldine Paine’s first collection, The Go-Away Bird, at Chris Beetles gallery off Piccadilly, London. A packed evening with a brilliant reading by the poet.  Here’s evidence that good poetry will out. Geraldine has bided her time in finding a publisher. She’s won prizes, published in many magazines and been a regular performer of her work in the South East with the 'Scatterlings.' The seventy or so poems in the this book are but a selection from a large body of work  and include a sequence of her Zimbabwe poems.  Sheenagh Pugh has written a thoughtful review, here.   

The Bricks of Venice

With apologies to Ruskin it was the bricks of Venice that caught my eye - invaded by salt water and crumbling...

The Bricks of Venice

It was a marriage made in earth,
fine particles mingled with water
united as clay and turned
to useful things. Squared,
baked solid, bricks congregate, stand firm,
assemble into walls, palaces, a whole city
poised in the sea,

that water with a brine-tongued partner
that bides its time, waits for the level
to lick over stone foundations.
Salt seeps into thirsty, hard-working bricks,
leaches the trust from that long-held union,
forcing between it, its own white crust.

Uncoupled, crumbling in powdery drifts
between paving and door, they’re scattered
with litter and gull feathers. At a glance
it seems they are back together, bound
by overnight rain, but run your toe
along the spine, the mass of red breaks down;
inconsolable dust.

Sweet Peas and Poems...

Picking Sweet Peas every other day keeps the blooms coming right through to autumn. Leave them any longer and the plant will go to seed - no more flowers until next year and who knows how many of the seeds will germinate, anyway? ... keep picking ideas,  brainstorming around them, every other day ... grow a poem…