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Stanza 30, November 2005
Drifting You're sitting with the paper, got blown off course, You're always searching - If you were brave, just drifting, drifting. Iota 71, September 2005 ‘'Pain, Poverty, Perfection', ballet dancers get all the sympathy, a headline in my newspaper might have referred to poets. On a related noted, (selling poets) LPS are trying new events, and as we're in the process of planning a programme for 2006/7 feedback is particularly helpful. Comment on Philip Draycott's Desert Island Discs was very positive. We will do our best to retain a similar format. Jack Mapanje's committed poems (p12) were enjoyed by a larger and more mixed audience than usual. For the future of the society we must attract new members and we need a couple of high profile poets each season. Both are more likely if we collaborate with other groups and organizations because this spreads the net wider and makes it easier to obtain funds. The disadvantage of joint events with De Montfort is actually reaching the Clephan Building. The University however, proved welcoming hosts. We hope that in future, members who find transport and parking an obstacle will contact the Committee to see if we can ferry each other. The quest for new members extends to our workshop which spanned, one recent week, an age range of exactly 80 years. (p9) I might add that one of the Committee, attending an Arvon course, overheard the tutors commenting on high standard of student's work. Mentioned in particular, was a poet in her nineties on a previous course, who turned out to be our own Alice. Endeavouring to bring in younger poets, we held a small workshop at De Montfort. Though not strictly a Society event, the recent book launch at Browsers was a delightful hour of intermittent readings in an atmosphere warmed by candles and hot punch. All credit to Browsers that buying books should be such a pleasure. Stephen Stuart-Smith, long-time Editor of Enitharmon said what a nice lot LPS are! Can we learn from Poetry Festival about how to entice people out? Do Festivals draw because they are places where things seem to be happening? Do LPS members attend them? I ventured in September to a beautiful beamed waterfront room in Thoresby College, Kings Lynn, crammed on the Saturday night, to hear readings from an Australian trio, Peter Porter, the happily controversial Les Murray and Clive James- (celebrities, as ever, bring in a crowd). The following chilly morning, I heard a discussion on 'Poetry in the changing world' by a panel that included Stephen Fry. In fact I found myself next to his delightful parents, who insisted I prompt you to buy his forthcoming venture into poetry, 'The Ode Less Travelled.' I note how relatively small the circle of poets making the festival rounds. Peter Porter, for instance has read at nine of King's Lynn's twenty-one. Moreover, the same poet can often be heard at several venues within a year or two. Of course, their credentials are well-earned. Ideas from Sunday's Kings Lynn panel swung high and low. Having presumably just researched his book, Fry gave a snappy survey of the subjects poetry has embraced, while Murray, described as a poet who 'monitors minutely the changing customs of Australia' is not, for one, concerned with fashion. The 2006 Kings Lynn Festival will be 22-24 Sept. Provisionally invited are Carol Anne Duffy, CK Williams, Penelope Shuttle, James Sutherland Smith and Judith Kazantis. Marilyn has won Leicester Writer's Club poetry prize.Copies of Alex Milloy's poems, Now I am Content, are available from Nancy. It is free, with voluntary donations to the Society. Norman Harrington has put considerable effort into collaborating with the Comedy Festival and this is much appreciated (p21) We hope you are writing poems for him. Sally Festing Monsieur le Directeur I demand I desist from your service today. to your monthly bills, your fuckface threats of nibs, snotted with dried ink. Item: I leave for Suez tomorrow. By Alphinor, in a black hull. shouldered on board. 9 November, 1891. Marseille. Crystal Clear anthology 'Speaking Words' December 2005 David writes: This poem is based on the last letter of Arthur Rimbaud, dictated to his sister on the eve of his death. In it the poet refers to 'Aphinar', which may be a ship, or a place or the Arabic for lighthouse: al fanar. I have changed the word slightly. The letter is addressed to the 'Director' of the hospital in which the poet spent his final illness, morphine soaked as the cancer spread. Rimbaud's letter is as follows: Item 1 tusk only Item 2 tusks Item 3 tusks Item 4 tusks Item 2 tusks. M. le Directeur
At Combwich mud-luscious, toe-gangling not-what-in Commended - Blinking Eye Publishing Competition 2005 Huw writes: A couple of years ago Sally suggested ideas for poems for our Social read-around by providing lines taken from poems. The phrase mud-luscious was taken from a poem by e.e. cummings. Untitled This is a circular story - a tale that goes round and round. Sometimes I dream only of water, of pure water; water filtered My father, in his non-conformist voice, took as his text, 'Water is I remember coming home from school and telling you how camels 4th prize, Mail on Sunday Huw writes: This was an entry in The Mail on Sunday competition, in 1990, for the first 150 words of a novel which must somehow involve water. I was on a course in Glamorgan at the time and someone brought in a cutting about the comp. I wrote my entry as soon as I got home. What started it off I have no idea.. There were over 6,000 entries and I got an equal-Fourth prize. The six winning entries were published in the Mail on Sunday. My prize was £150 in Book Tokens and my photograph was in the paper too. In those days, with my long locks of black hair like David Bircumshaw, I was as handsome as Cary Grant or David Niven or Clark Gable, but not Wallace Beery. William Boyd, one of the judges, amongst other things, said it was almost a prose poem, but John Mortimer confided to me over lunch in some posh restaurant, that it was not really the start to a novel! (Only twice in my life have I been in a posh London restaurant, so I like boasting about it!) I have always inwardly disagreed with John Mortimer's conclusion and hope to start on the novel before 2010. The above will be part of a short Preface. The novel will be based on the life of St Augustine, except my character will start as a somewhat saint and end up going to the dogs. I shall have difficulty with the start, but the end should come pretty easily to mind. Even so, any helpful comments, especially based on experience, about becoming dissolute, degenerate, or out of control will be most welcome. These I will not divulge to anyone.
Elevating my pastime The awesome fact about poetry is that it can be written by everyone, read by anyone and about anything at all. I’d written poetry to express my emotions – a pastime because I could make my words rhyme. I now aspired to improve my creative writing and this would also coincide with my English Language A-Level course. Not having a clue about how to take poetry further than just an interest, I consulted the librarian at my local library. She suggested searching for a Poetry Society…and so with the aid of Google, I found the website for Leicester Poetry Society. I contacted Sally; she was very friendly and e-mailed back telling me about the Poetry Workshop on Fridays. I wondered who would be there, would my poems be good enough and most of all whether I would fit in. I thought "I’m only 16 years old, there’d be no-one like me or my style of poetry may be totally different". I haven’t read that much modern poetry either; writing poetry is the best part for me! On the other hand, I believed that poetry is for everyone, so how could I stereotype without going? I was nervous, looking forward to it and a tiny little bit scared! Mum gave me a lift and Sally introduced me to everyone, they were welcoming and supportive – I was no longer worried. There were published poets, beginners like me – but we all had a genuine interest of poetry in common. It was great to hear feedback on the presented poems; the Workshop helped me elevate my pastime to a new level. For the next session I’m going to bring a copy of my own poem called "Feelings that fill my words"…wish me luck!
Sparkles His young sparkling eyes My older unsparkling eyes Poetry Digest, November 1989
A Girl for all Seasons When she is melancholy When she is angry But, when she stands before me, Iota, 1996 Philip Draycott’s Desert Island Discs, 14 October 2005 A satisfying number of listeners gathered to hear a feast of poems lovingly prepared by Philip. His enthusiasm and knowledge were soon evident, and he is a lively communicator. His taste in poetry proved eclectic and we were treated to works of very differing natures ranging from the opening of Paradise Lost to a rendering of Victoria Wood’s "Let’s Do It" with, in between, snatches of Elizabethan poetry, Whitman, Yeats, Larkin, Duffy and many other poets. I wish we could have lingered over many of the poems we just flitted over. Sadly, time did not permit and Philip had reluctantly to axe several of the additional poems he had hoped to read. I think the radio programme "Desert Island Discs" restricts the guest to eight pieces. There is some wisdom in this. Less is more. But it was fun. Caroline Cook Jack Mapanje, De Montfort University, 11 November, 05 I confess straight away - I'm a fan. I met Jack when he was writer in residence at The Open University and he was kind enough to allow the small literary magazine I was co-editing (Upstart) to publish an extract from his prison memoirs which he had only recently started to write. Jack began the reading describing his life journey from his home in Malawi, to the metropolis (university and London) for education, back home to be arrested and imprisoned - he was held in the infamous Mikuyu prison for almost four years without charge or trial - to be freed and then return to the metropolis. And so he took us with him from 'pillar to post', between the UK and Malawi. He began with a new poem written when he was writer in residence at Dove Cottage in the Lakes. Altar Boy at Sixty was packed with images from his childhood, crocodiles in the lake, incense and latin slogans from his Catholic schooling. The latter repeated to good effect throughout the poem. In many ways, a sad piece 'binning the romantic at sixty' asking what had he done of any worth? I think his latest publication - The Last of the Sweet Bananas, New and Selected Poems (Bloodaxe, 2004) - a significant and excellent contribution -answers that question. He has been linguist, teacher, editor and human rights activist. The Taxis of North Yorkshire was another recent poem culled from his many trips to readings and workshops. The familiar blend in his work being politics and the voices of ordinary people. These are the people Jack is interested in and brings alive. He's also interested in itinerant people, like the hitchhiker he picked up on one of his journeys from his home to Dove Cottage - Justine Cops of Clapham Village - which finally takes him back to standing on Clapham Junction station when he was studying in London many years before. There's often humour in his poems. In Now That Sept 11 Should Define Mr Western Civilisation, he recalls being summoned to the British Council in Malawi before he first came to London where the woman stressed, ' ‘If you do not listen you'll be ... The reality was rather different: 'fish'n' chips The mood became more sombre when we returned to Malawi. He spoke, briefly, about his reputation as a 'political' poet. He wants to write a 'normal' poem like Heaney's Digging but circumstances have not allowed that. He has seen famine in his home village and some in Malawi are still suffering the same fate. It makes him angry that people are starving in countries that are perfectly capable of sustaining them. He has to resist the structures which keep ordinary people - those who suffer most - silent and invisible. Out of Bounds (Or Our Maternity Asylum) contained stark images of a maternity ward in Malawi where: ' Sixty inmates of spasming women top & tail some of whom will be 'jostled out' when the President pays his Christmas visit. I like to hear something new, or a work-in-progress, at a reading and Jack ended with the final movement of a poem tracing the history of Africa, slavery, Zulu imperialism, British imperialism and the dictatorships. Sometimes he berated fellow Africans, sometimes he forced me to gulp at his frankness. It was a smashing evening. Jack Mapanje made us laugh, made us think and, maybe, re-think. An evening of candour, anger, joy and, above all, passion. Marilyn Ricci Not even in colour What I didn't know then, but have learned to know now I was still going to films for happy endings, They weren't even in colour. Where was After an evening And you could never explain your absences, the way Poetry Nottingham 58/3. Summer 2004 What time is it, Mr Wolf? Mr Wolf has eyes screwed tight, his fists The sun tickles like a blanket, the sort Published in Orbis 128, Spring 2004
Soundswrite 2005 anthology of contemporary poetry Soundswrite is a group of women poetry enthusiasts from across the Midlands who meet regularly to discuss poetry and share our own writing. Originally formed in 2000, we decided to celebrate our first five years by publishing an anthology of our poetry, under our own imprint Soundswrite Press. We didn’t have any funds to kick-start the project, so needed to keep production costs as low as possible. John Lucas gave us a good piece of advice when he suggested we use the online printers Lightning Source. A number of small presses use Lightning Source, and they’ve built up a good reputation. We were very fortunate in being given a choice of digital images to use for the cover by John Gilboy. John runs the Orange Street Gallery in Uppingham, and is an artist in his own right. Everyone who sees the anthology comments on the terrific cover – an abstract image of the profile of a woman’s head. The anthology includes poems from the 12 women actively involved with Soundswrite from 2003 to 2004, and is edited by Pat Corina and myself. To begin with we found ourselves with a seemingly disparate set of poems. But rather than take the easy option of placing each poet’s contribution alphabetically by name, we decided to try and link the poems together in some way. Denise Levertov used to take great pains over the arrangement of poems in her collections, and once said, ‘A book of separate poems can in itself be a composition, and to compose a book is preferable to randomly gathering one.’ To begin with we arranged them into ‘themes’. The poems took on an extra dimension when ordered in this way, but the names of themes seemed to interrupt the flow, so we dispensed with names, leaving readers to make connections for themselves. The anthology was officially launched on 5th November, at a relaxed evening generously hosted by Browsers Bookshop in Leicester. Profit from sales of the anthology is being donated to the Leicestershire branch of the Parkinson’s Disease Society and to date we’ve sold nearly 200 copies. If anyone would like to buy a copy (£3.95, inclusive of p&p), please send a cheque made out to "Soundswrite" to 52 Holmfield Road, Leicester LE2 1SA. Karin Koller, November 2005.
Time for Turning Tired of life, in pain Here come the action dolls It’s time for turning. Their white-haired babies, unaware The babies turn faces to the wall Envoi, March 2005 Releasing The Enemy During a game of Bridge Above her, where I look Suddenly a wave of affection I had heard that story years ago Staple, 1996
Stone on the Beach The four year old picks up a stone, a smooth grey pebble, They walk along the beach, Father and Mother, son. The old man stomps along the beach. Young Jewish * girl picks up a smooth grey stone, * It is a Jewish custom to place a stone on the grave in a cemetery. Commended in over-sixties Section of Barnet Poetry Anthology 1996 Laughter Lines It is time for Leicester Poetry Society to reach out. By being part of the Comedy festival, our evening of poetry reading and our society will be advertised in thousands of brochures. We hope to recruit some new members after the reading and make a profit on the evening. Taking the Society to Leicestershire and beyond could even help us to get grants. In the cold dark days of winter, an evening of laughter is a tonic. Rob Gee, a talented and experienced compere and a few of his friends from his Brightside group will join us. If you are not yet on my list to read one or two of your own or someone elses poems, and would like to do so, please telephone me on 0116 230 2529. Norman Harrington
Daughters of the House Ancestral Home built 1601 by Dan O'Connor Each year bracken uncurls pale heraldic horns. Came the rain, saw, eyes smoke-itched, She rose and fell with brown trout, salmon and silver eels, Holy Mother, their hearts burned with the beauty of her, But daughters got away - Martena, Helena, Deirdre, Iota 61, Autumn 2004 Sunny green sea Max Beckmann,1905 Do we continually cross The artist peers inside the human head fishing up Other times he walks right in
The spectator moves from the story we inhabit as at the building of a new world, in speckled silver Magma 30, Winter 2004/5 Beauty truly is more than just skin deep The modern philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein once said that the word "beautiful" is rarely used nowadays, and even then often as a form of interjection. Perhaps he meant when somebody in local dialect says "Ooh, ya beauty" in response to a particularly titillating bit of gossip, or a countrified person says "Thar's a beaut" about a shiny red Rayburn. However, there might be a more recent attempt to re-introduce the word into our vernacular. Abstract painter Wassily Kandinsky believed the word would acquire popular usage to describe the coming Romanticism of modern art. "Beautiful" is a funny colloquialism, but its root - the abstract noun, "beauty" - has been much addressed by poets and artists. John Keats may not have been speaking in his own voice when he ended his poem Ode On A Grecian Urn with the phrase: "Beauty is truth, truth beauty" Picasso, however, would have demurred, considering that art is a beautiful lie that reminds us of truth. The late Dr Chris Challis might have said that to use the term "beauty" or "beautiful" in a poem is like over-egging the pudding. It seems redundant or superfluous to something which is often about beauty itself in some sense or other: Philip Larkin was probably far too utilitarian a poet to use the word much in his own poetry, but "beauty" is perennial. Only yesterday, I overheard "beautiful" used in conversation by several people within the space of few minutes - once in reference to a letter someone had received, once about a meal and also to describe a person. Fashion-conscious people, or the acting fraternity, may use the word all the time. It may be used to describe a dress, a scenic view or a flower. A branch of philosophy, aesthetics, has even sprung into existence, which is often associated with its principles. When "beauty" becomes more exaggerated or dynamic in character, it may transmute into the "sublime", as when we describe a frightening thunderstorm or a snowy mountain peak. In her book Beauty Bound, Rita Freedman explores the problem of a woman's beauty. She accepts that the word may be "gender- neutral", but discusses the stereotypes and the beauty industry, and suggests it may not be ageist or sexist to consider we might survive through our beauty. Female beauty may be, Freedman says, a social myth or part of our general perception of our hidden selves, while beauty rituals of modern society may help deal with mind-body problems. The more complex modern culture gets, perhaps, the more likely we are to readmit the word "beautiful" into common usage, aware that it doesn't refer just to externals, but to what lies within. The Leicester Mercury, 2004
In Sparkenhoe Street She’s just ahead of me on a dry, dusty August afternoon, or she’s behind me; each time I turn she stops, and then he’s there, as if by expert editing, outside the script, forever, maybe, or not yet. of some semi-tropical lush Arcadian scene Mslexia, July 2005: Poetry Competition runner-up Haiku Sun shines through raindrops. Spring 2004 "Time Haiku"
Franz Marc's Dreamlives of Animals Love is the well-spring and the source The deer, the slight doe, lifts her head, senses a presence. See how great rumps of vivid horses rise like landscape in the foreground! All are spellbound in a heaven of dreaming Chosen by Andrew Motion to appear in the exhibition catalogue "Love in Art" HE had changed; Coffee House Poetry magazine, January 2004.
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