Hello, how are you? Where was I?
Our holiday was lovely. Thanks to Kefalonia for being glorious, and for the loungers by the pool being very amenable to sitting on and allowing me to read. I worked my way through some of my TBR pile, as well as a number of cans of Greek lager. You’ll see the reading list in the usual place below. You might see the cans, cats and books on my Instagram feed. See the header for one of the excellent cats we met. We named him Baked Bean.
I’ve been making notes for posts since the last one, but in order to get caught up we will first have a bit of a link dump, then we can get to the poem.
Firstly, my review of Genevieve Carver’s Landsick was published the week we got back over at The Friday Poem. I’d started it before we went and finished it the day after we got back. Thanks to past-Mat for booking the day off. And thanks to Hilary for posting the review.
Speaking of the Frip, I enjoyed Helena Nelson’s article about ‘After’ poems. She articulates many things I’ve thought about, especially the part about ekphrastic poems and the need to have seen the work of art. Is the article tongue-in-cheek? Possibly partially, but also not. You decide.
While reading/catching up on Dave Bonta’s Via Negativa blog compendium, I came across this interesting post by Donna Vorreyer. They make some interesting points about giving up on submissions to certain journals (they will vary by poet). I sometimes feel like walking away from some submissions, but it’s also about knowing which journals, etc are not likely to be receptive in the first place. I suspect the list that are receptive to my sort of poems is shrinking, but I hope not.
It was also lovely to read this interview in the Guardian with the legend that is Vini Reilly this week. He talks about walking away from the life he’s built as a guitar player after 60 years, and I enjoyed what he said about seeing guitarists playing in pubs that he thinks are better than him, but they don’t get the chance to make records. Is the poetry world any different? Either way, give Vini’s music a go. Start anywhere…It’s all beautiful.
Did you see the article this week about previous poet laureates? If not, it’s here.
If you’re a fan of any of Glyn Maxwell’s work/or enjoyed his On Poetry book then it looks like a good idea to sign up here. He seems to be writing his next non-poetry book in stages and publishing as he goes. Worth a try. I’m waiting on the first post.
I’ve not listened to it yet, but harking back to a previous post, this episode of the Mouthful of Air podcast discusses the old venerable Bede and his swallow via Isobel Dixon’s poem.
That should get me up to date on all the links I want to share, or at least the ones I made notes to share.
Right, let’s have a poem then
It was Eleanor Livingstone who put me on to the Bede and the swallow story, see posts passim, and so it is Eleanor who I turn to for a poem now. I’ve been reading her books Even The Sea and The Last King of Fife. Both, sadly, are out of print at present, but there is a new and revised book coming out soon I believe, so I look forward to that.
I didn’t know her work at all before reading these books and I hope she won’t mind me sharing this bit of a recent correspondence between us. (I wrote this).
“I feel like I’ve learned so much about control and writing by reading it. The detonations behind it aren’t flashy at all, it’s not a firework display. It’s like watching Fred Dibnah bring down a chimney. Apologies for comparing it to a bloke, but everything that’s needed is in exactly in the right place and the end result is calculated to fall exactly as it should do.”
I hope that works for you, but if not have this .
July evening
you’re behind me in the room
busy with music
every window in the house
open
when a sudden gust
comes from nowhere
catches the trees
unaware, lifts branches
like a summer skirt
or an orchestra rising as one
for applause
while all my paperwork
stirs a breath’s height off the desk,
the windows buck
and somewhere in the house
one slams shut
like a bolt
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Published with the permission of the author. Taken from Even the Sea by Eleanor Livingstone, Red Squirrel Press, 2010
You know how I like a coincidence, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out that it’s July, it’s currently the evening and this week has seen some wind rattling around the house (behave!!) disturbing papers. Oh yes, that it’s just lovely. The natural world doing what it has always done always will do by challenging any order we try to place on things, even if the impact of it is just “a breath’s height”. How high is a breath? I don’t know, but it also doesn’t matter; we can absolutely picture it.
Sometimes it’s not about the big moments, it’s the little ones, and this just works. Was it fortuitous timing? Who cares, that’s when poems land the best. Sometimes.
Go on, have another poem
When I was reading Eleanor’s pamphlet, The Last King of Fife, I came across the next poem. When poets bring poems from a pamphlet into a collection to see I’m always intrigued to see what gets left behind. The poem below is one that got left behind. I can’t see why, but that’s for the poet to decide.
Anyhoo, I chose this as one of the books I read (and am still bloody reading) while I was away is The English & their History by Robert Tombs. I’ve had the book for about 8 years now. It was a recommendation by an erstwhile work colleague (Hi, CP) and has been with me on two or three holidays now, and I’ve never managed to get on with it.
This time I had to do it. I just have to finish it (90 pages to go at time of writing), not least because it reduces the size of my TBR pile quite considerably —think about how many slim volumes I can pack into that space, but also because I am shamefully ignorant about our history. I’m never going to remember the names and dates, but the book has given me a better sense of things than I had before. I am sad to learn that Tombs is something of a Brexiteer…I think that contributed to my reluctance to start it, and I get the sense from the way the book is written that he’s a Tory, but no matter. The boo was still interesting and peppered with little facts/factoids like “George VI had eight boxing champions attending his coronation as pages”.
So when I came across the note at the back of The Last King…” In 1752 Britain joined the Gregorian calendar by cutting out 11 days that year, from 3rd to 13th September” I knew I wanted to include the poem here. There’s something that chimes with the pro-Brexit mentality in there, or more like the way we can explain it, in the last two sentences of the poem.
It also has me in mind of the infamous BBC incident when they reported no news. I read about it, but I wasn’t there, FFS. It was in 1930.
Catching up with time
For eleven days here
in 1752, no-one died
and not a single child
was born. The records
for those days are blank.
No crimes were committed
nor avenged. No shoes
wore out, no cakes
were burnt. No songs
lightened the hours;
no poems called.
Still, no-one died; no-one
was killed. One night
the country went to bed
and woke up twelve days
later. Give us back our lost
eleven days, they said
just one day older
and no wiser.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Published with the permission of the author. Taken from The Last King of Fife by Eleanor Livingstone, HappenStance Press, 2005
Oh go on, have another another poem
Something else I read earlier this week was this long read about the decline of the fish and chip shop. It’s a sad story about the impact of Brexit, rising costs and the cost of living for punters. The article mentions chippies in many locations but doesn’t mention Scarborough. My wife informs me that’s where the best fish and chips come from. Who knows, she may be right. The ones we had from Silks a few years ago were marvellous, but the fryer at Silks moved on and we don’t know where they have gone.
The idea of fryers moving between chip shops puts me in mind of football transfers, but the article and the reverie also have me in mind of one of my own poems. This was published in The Poet’s Republic a few years ago now. For a while, it was in contention for the pamphlet, but it’s not strong enough. I am fond of it as it covers the time I went to Scarborough with Rachael for the first time and had fish and chips with her in a place called Whackers. I may come back to the poem one day
Scraps
We keep stumbling over
the ends of each other’s sentences
but joke that the only house white on offer
is the batter clinging to ingots of fish
fingertip-dipped
into molten animal fat.
Buttered bread and radioactive milkshakes
pass by on a waitress’s tray.
Scraps and mushy peas are standard issue.
I arrange the sauce bottles
and salt and vinegar
into a constellation
that we name Condimentia Seven:
a smile breaks across both our faces.
I tuck-in at your side,
enjoy what’s on offer.
I want to leave here
as part of your nostalgia.
A Song that is in some vague way linked to something above
THE LAST THREE WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS
65K running. inc 3 or 4 8ks and a 10K yesterday
2 days without cigarettes…
0 days since drinking.
LIFE STATS – Holiday
Average of 4-5 beers per day while on holiday
Average of 5- cigarettes while on holiday
1 moussaka
1 sea bream
1 pork belly
1 chicken souvlaki
1 Kefalonian Meat pie
1 lamb chops
1 beef stew and orzo
1 Club sandwich
2 delayed flights
LIFE STATS
1 bedroom redecorated
1 work away day
1 takeaway curry
8 days of DIY
1 Sunday lunch with old friends
2 incidents with foxes
POET STATS
1 loose ideas/articles gathered (this allows me to kid myself I am writing all the time)
1 poem finished: Designated Driver
7 poems worked on: Busy week, Comedy, Designated Driver, Dance Lessons,Stick, The Gallery, Hellraisers
0 poems committed to the reject pile
0 submissions:
0 withdrawal:
0 acceptances:
0 Longlisting:
0 readings:
1 rejection: I forget now. Doesn’t matter
15 poems are currently out for submission. No simultaneous subs
83 Published poems
Reviews
0 review finished:
0 reviews started:
0 review submitted:
1 reviews to write: Luke Samuel Yates
READ/SEEN/HEARD/ETC
Music
r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music
Monday
VA – Silberland Vol2- The Driving side of Kosmische music
Slowdive: Souvlaki, Just for a Day
The Big Moon: Here is Everything, Walking Like We Do, Love In The 4th Dimension
Tuesday
VA – Silberland Vol2- The Driving side of Kosmische Music
Belief; ST
Geese: 3D Country
Gracie Abrams: Good Riddance
Weds
The Archers
Dropsonde
Thursday
Dropsonde
Friday
Silberland
Sunday
The Go-Betweens. 16 Lovers Lane
Mon
Dropsonde
Warpaint: Exquisite Corpse
Tuesday
Slowdive: ST
Wednesday
Mojave 3: Puzzles Like You
Miles Davis: Miles Ahead, In A Silent Way
The Clientele: Minotaur
Thurs
Dropsonde playlist
Bleach Lab: Lost in a Rush of Emptiness
The B-52s: Wild Planet , Cosmic Thing
Saturday
Dropsonde playlist
The B-52s: ST, Mesopotamia
Jason Isbell: Weathervanes
The Watson Twins: Holler
Monday
Felt: Ignite The Seven Cannons
The Clash: ST, London Calling
LYR: The Ultraviolet Age
The Afghan Whigs: How Do You Burn
Tuesday
Karen Dalton- Green Rocky Road
Brigid Mae Power: Dream from the Deep Well
Warpaint: ST
Cory Hanson: Western Cum
VA – Silberland Vol1- The Psychedelic side of Kosmische Music
Cowboy Junkies: Such Ferocious Beauty
The Wooden Sky: Every Child an Daughter, Every Moon A Sun
Wednesday
Kieran Hebden & William Tyler: Darkness, Darkness
Wand: Spiders In The Rain, Laughing Matter
The Hold Steady: Heaven is Whenever 2021
The Archers (p)
Thurs
The Archers
Blur:13
Friday
Blur: Thank Tank, The Magic Whip, Modern Life is Rubbish
Black Spire: Only Ghost EP
Saturday
Dropsonde Playlist
Sunday
This Is The Kit: Careful of your Keepers
Dropsonde Playlist
Monday
Willy Mason: Carry On
Luke Howard: All That Is Not Solid
Luke Howard & Naadje Noordhuis: Ten Sails
Sheryl Crow: Threads
Thelonius Monk; Brilliant Corners
Thin White Rope: The Ruby Sea, Sack Full of Silver
Tuesday
The Archers (p)
Goat: The Gallows Pole OST
Dropsonde playlist
Planet Poetry: Richard Skinner (p)
The Verb: Fathers & Time (p)
Wednesday
Wet Leg: ST
VA: What It IS! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves 1697-1977
Waxahatchee: Saint Cloud
Thursday
The Waterboys: All Souls Hill, Dream Harder, Fisherman’s Blues
Walcot Cherry Vasconcelos: Condona
Vin Südenfed: Tromatic Reflexxions
Van Hunt: the Fun Rises, the Fun Sets
Ultimate Painting: Up
Tv On The Radio: Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty babes, Return to Cookie Mountain
Toy: Clear Shot
Friday:
Toy: Happy In The Hollow
Guided By Voices: Welshpool Frillies, Warp & Woof
The Durutti Column; Time Was Gigantic…When We Were Kids
Andy Shauf: Wild, The Party
Samia: Honey
The Lilac Time: Dance Till All The Stars Come Down
Blur: The Ballad of Darren
Sebastian Rochford; A Short Diary
Saturday
The Archers (p)
Dropsonde playlist
Verb : Fathers and Time (p)
Sunday
Matthew Halsall: Salute To The Sun Live
Slowdive: St
Guided By Voices: How Do You Spell Heaven
Luke Howard Trio: The Electric Night Descends
Read
Eleanor Livingstone: Even The Sea, King and Queen
Louis De Berniere ..Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (Going full Greek cliche)
Cavafy: Collecved Poems
Robert Tombs: The English and their History
Rebecca Goss: Latch
Zaffar Kunial: England’s Green
Paul Stephenson: Hard Drive
Emily Hasler: Local Interest
Robert Hamberger: The Blue Wallpaper
Geoff Hattersley: Back of Beyond; New and Selected Poems
Watched
Guilt
Love Island
A Spy Among Friends
The Traitors
The Thick of It
Ordered/Bought
Declan Ryan: Crisis Actor
Spelt Subscription
Arrived
Spelt Subscription
Declan Ryan: Crisis Actor
Poetry Wales
Wear The Fox Hat 