Nationalising Breaking Glass and Rood-Screens

What was I saying before…? I can’t remember., but having watched some of Strictly last night and heard Dave Arch and his band bowdlerising Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’, the words “Oh well, whatever, nevermind” spring to mind.

Let’s move on.

I’ll try and get through all of this quickly— largely because I’m trying to listen to the football, but also because I’m a) knackered and b) I have to cook dinner later. However, I’ve been building up notes for posts over the last few weeks and some of them now seem irrelevant, but some still want to be included. Who am I to try and dissuade them of this?

Hang on, Arsenal have just taken the lead in the North London Derby — the things I do/miss out on to get these posts out…Thank heavens for Five Live..

My boss has been on holiday for the last two weeks, but as ever we have maintained our usual habit of texts and the like. These mostly happen because we like each other—he reminded me recently that it’s been almost 16 years since we started working together, but also because both of us can’t help checking on on work when we are off. His checking in may explain why what follows resonated so much, but first some context.

Last time the family and me went to see my in-laws in Scarborough, my boss texted me to recommend a coffee shop called Koda. (Phew, Raya just denied Song a goal). I tried to go and check it out, but of course I picked the one day of the week they were closed. Hey ho, I will go next time.

However, it resonated with me when I read Wendy Pratt’s latest (at the time, there has been another since) newsletter. It’s called ‘Knocking The Dust Off‘ and you can read the full thing here—I think it’s one of the free reads on Wendy’s Substack, so get over there and read it and everything else you can. Also, do what I keep meaning to do (if you can) and subscribe for more good stuff..

(Fuck it, Son has scored. Bastards!!)

Anyhoo, the post is about getting back into the swing of doing live readings. I have a live reading as part of an Acumen evening coming up this week, so again that resonated. Do pop in if you find yourself in Dulwich on Thursday. I liked what Wendy had to say about not having to organise the reading so she could step back and enjoy just reading. I liked her note about not having books to sell as well— this will be my last reading before I do have to start thinking about that.

However, what I really liked was the poem that Wendy included at the end of the post. It’s her lovely ‘Love Letter to Scarborough on a Saturday Night‘ from her most recent collection, ‘ When I Think of My Body as a Horse‘ (reviewed by some knobhead here). Maybe it’s the fact that I have family in Scarbados—NB, I don’t think it is, but I love this poem. The whole collection is a moving feast, a marvel and just moving, so if you’ve not read it please do.

Now, I could just cheat and tell you to read the Scarborough poem and call that it, but oh no, dear reader…I want you to have more…

I went back to my Wendy books and started looking through for a poem to share. I had in the back of my head a song called Graceless by The National. Largely because they announced a new album called ‘Laugh Track‘ at the start of the week, but Graceless is from an older album (Trouble Will Find Me). It has a lyric that I once wanted to steal, “There’s a science to walking through windows“. It pops into my head often, and it got louder when I flicked through Wendy’s collection that came before ‘Horse‘.

The National, Graceless

The poem that leapt out at me is her poem, ‘The Art of Breaking Glass’ (Just realised it stands out even more as we had a fire alarm at work this week..or was it last week…?Who cares, we had one..). Hang on…Penalty to Arsenal….Ok, phew!! Two-Nil, lovely stuff from Saka…

Right, let’s have the poem.

The Art of Breaking Glass

There is an art to breaking glass,
a skill in all the panes I’ve smashed.

There is a skill to snapping stems,
an art to chipping off the ends

of ornaments; Murano fish,
a skill within the crackled dish.

There’s skill in scattering the bits,
a thrill in V-shaped finger nicks.

And every time I fall through one
I can’t resist the siren’s song.

I’ve fallen straight through full-sized doors,
I’ve stamped my feet on thick glass floors.

I’ve ground my heel on sea-glass pieces
picked from crevices on beaches,

picked up broken bottle-necks
and pressed them up against my flesh.

I even have a box at home
containing fibreglass, like foam.

I fell through my first pane in a faint,
head bowed divinely like a saint,

I never felt the slightest pain,
so I performed the act again

and I’ve been falling ever since
to somehow prove that I exist.

+ + + + + + + ++ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Shared with permission of the poet. Taken from Gifts The Mole Gave Me. Valley Press, 2017
NB doesn’t seem to be available via Valley Press, so contact Wendy at her website

How good is this? I love the seeming confidence at the start, the determination in the opening statement, the deliberate actions of grinding heels on sea-glass, the smashing or breaking of constructed work like the Murano fish (Fucks sake, it’s 2 all), but it all coheres and makes sense at the end. The numbness in the face of glass cuts, the need to prove they exist. It’s a powerful poem and a masterful poem from a poet that is never less that fully in charge of their powers. The rhymes and half rhymes are more subtle (to my ears) than they appear to be. I like that the sequence of full rhyme is found in every 3 couplets until the end when it’s in the penultimate of 12 couplets.

Is it reviewer wankery to suggest this is a deliberate move to place more emphasis on getting us to notice the poet/protagonist? Fuck it, I don’t care, I’m saying yes.

Enough. Go, read Wendy’s books, sign up for her reading groups, writing sessions, subscribe to Spelt

TEN MINUTES OF ADDED TIME…NOT SURE MY HEART CAN TAKE THIS!!!

Having mentioned them earlier, I liked this article/interview with The National by the wonderful Laura Barton*. Please note, it’s an article on the The Independent website. I used to love the Independent. It was the paper I thought I’d read for life when I was a kid. I remember it hitting the newsstands for the first time, and buying it religiously—thanks to discount vouchers they offered, but nowadays the experience of using their website is something of a trial. However, if you can get through that then there is much to enjoy in the article, even if you don’t like the band.

One part that resonated with me was what Matt Berninger had to say about his writer’s block. It’s nothing new, it’s another way of talking about turning up, about doing the work, and I’m almost certainly putting this here as a challenge/reminder to myself, but if it kicks you up the arse too then all is good. I certainly recognise the sending of notes and emails to myself part of the below.

“After spending so long unable to write, Berninger says that these days he is protective of his process. Every day, he tries to find time to sit and write and think and lose himself. “I go to bed knowing OK there’s still some ink in there, in the well,” he says. The blank days scared him. “I couldn’t even open a laptop,” he remembers. “I could barely pick up my phone. Everything symbolised my paralysis. Everything was evidence of failure. So once it started coming back, I thought: I have to keep writing.”

Writing, for Berninger, sometimes involves simply texting himself one or two lines. “I don’t know why I text myself,” he admits. “But it has become such a fluid way of catching the leaves as they fall. Even reaching over and grabbing a notebook by the side of the bed and turning on a light to write it down, I’m going to lose whatever it was.” Every text will have a subject. A sketch title, a melody, a few words or ideas. “I’ve written myself more texts than anybody else,” he laughs. “More than my wife! Soon I’ll have to ghost myself.”

* I would also recommend a read of this article by Laura about her stalker. It’s scary stuff. Men, be better. And if you even think “not all men” you are a knobhead…

While we’re making music and poetry connections…

In the interregnum between my previous post and this one I took delivery of the wonderful ‘Before The Dreadful Daylight Starts: An Anthology of Norfolk Poetry‘, edited by Cameron Self and Kevin Gardner. I’ve mentioned Cameron Self before when he posted about the old obelisk in Worstead (eg where I grew up). And I still haven’t got round to writing the poem I meant to about the Obelisk…one day…perhaps, if I turn up, etc.

Anyhoo, I digress (I know, I know…)

A couple of weeks ago there was a call out on Twitter for examples of bands that have released one excellent album and then no more…I suggested the wonderful ‘The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads’ by Lift To Experience.

The album, according to Wikipedia, “was described by AllMusic reviewer Tim DiGravina as “blend[ing] My Bloody Valentine’s sonic feedback with Kitchens of Distinction’s swirling atmosphere and the grace of Jeff Buckley”, with DiGravina adding, “What could have been a tiresome exploration of awkward religious theories is instead a spellbinding journey into the heart of human emotion and guitar dynamics.”

The band broke up not long after it came out, but I was lucky enough to see them reform and play at The Southbank a few years ago. I wish they’d play again. I ended up going down a rabbit hole of YouTube videos of their performances, including a awful recording from the gig I was at, but I did find a great video from Primavera festival. The final song is a joyous noise.

Lift To Experience, Three songs

That trip down the rabbit hole must have been at the front/somewhere in the middle of my mind when I was reading ‘Before The Dreadful Daylight‘ and I stumbled across a line in a poem called ‘Another Song of Another Norfolker‘ by Arthur H. Patterson, aka John Knowlittle. (Weirdly, the guitarist, singer and songwriter in LTE is a Josh T. Pearson..Close, man..)

The poem is about returning to Norfolk ( so you can see why it appeals to me) and concludes

When Broadland is left for Jordan,
And Charon cum over th’ styx,
Du delve a deep hole in own Norfolk
Whose sile wi’ my ashes shell mix.

It put me in mind of a verse from Lift To Experience’s song, ‘With Cripped Wings’.

And if you make it over the Jordan
You still have to make it through the night.
And if you reach the Holy City
It won’t be without a fight

Lift To Experience, With Crippled Wings

If we can have a Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads, we can have a Norwich-Jerusalem Crossroads too..

However, I was even happier a few days later to discover a poem in the book that was set in my beloved Worstead. The poem is by Kit Wright, and I share this with his permission via Martin Figura (Himself, a man based in the Norfolks). I love the weird and timely connection that my brain has made to this.

A new colleague recently joined the ITV Choir. I told my story about how I wasn’t allowed to join the school choir as my voice was terrible..There was a Christmas show performance where I was singled out and then removed from the choir for the appalling shoeing I was giving ‘Little Donkey’. It meant that I was never keen to join the village choir in the church, even though my mates were there. It meant I didn’t spend much time on the glorious church of St Mary’s in Worstead. It’s worth a look at the history of it. It was built on the back of money from the rich and pious weavers in the area…Yep, Worsted cloth, etc…

I am familiar with the White Lady of Worstead— a ghost that haunts the area, but we’ll save that for another time. The White Lady is also the name of the local pub now, but it will always be The New Inn to me.

Anyhoo. I’m not a religious man at all, so I’ve spent little time in the church of Worstead (other than a funeral a couple of years ago), so I will say I’ve spent little time in the company of the subject of the poem coming up.

On a Rood-Screen in Worstead, Norfolk

I sing a saint of Portugal,
Her name is Sanit Uncumber,
And heaven does to hold a more
Resourceful little number.

She kept a snow virginity
And when a satyr neared,
To foil his suit, became hirsute
And grew herself a beard.

Homage to thee, Uncumber
Thy legend is seductive,
And pilgrims turning Worstead way
Will find it most instructive.

I am going to make sure I look at the Rood-Screen more closely next time I pop back, and I will be reading up on Uncumber or Wilgefortis as they were known in their native Portugal. I’m also looking forward to my copy of Kit Wright’s Ode to Didcot Power Station (from which this poem was originally taken) arriving.

Enough, we’ve travelled far enough. But before I go, I must say thank you to Matthew Paul for making me aware of this thread on Twitter about Custard Creams

THE LAST FOUR WEEKS IN STATS

HEALTH STATS
87K running. Some Two-run Tuesdays and my first 10-miler of the year today.
4 days without cigarettes…
4 days since drinking. I’ve tried not to drink in September. It’s been mainly successful, mainly..

LIFE STATS
1 gig with R – Jeff Mills, etc
1 trip to check out the venue for book launch
1 day paint-stripping
1 burn on the inside of my right index finger
1 daughter at college
1 daughter birthday
1 work trip that bored me to tears, but
1 old friend bumped into
1 review request to me
2 review requests made
1 trip to A&E with Flo for damaged ligaments
1 child’s birthday
1 work away day
1 work session on being overwhelmed (ironically, adding to my work loads)
1 Mother in law visit

POET STATS
0 loose ideas/articles gathered
0 poem finished: Ha Ha
2 poem worked on: Ha Ha, TFI Friday…
0 poems committed to the reject pile
2 submissions: Strix, The High Window
0 withdrawal:
2 acceptances: The High Window
0 Longlisting:
0 readings:
0 rejection:
20 poems are currently out for submission. No simultaneous subs
96 Published poems

Reviews
0 review finished: None
0 reviews started:
1 review submitted:
0 review to write: FINALLY!!!

READ/SEEN/HEARD/ETC

Music
r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music
The Archers
Verb: Confidence
Faber Poetry Podcast, Anthony Anaxagorou, Nick Laird
Sennen: Where The Lights Get In, Widows
Tom Waits: Swordfishtrombones, Rain Dogs, Closing Time, Rain Dogs, Small Change
Dropsonde Playlist
Emeralds: Does It Look Like I’m Here
Heather Nova: Siren, Wanderlust
Fruitbats: Echolocation
This is the Kit: Careful of your Keepers, Krulle Bol, Moonshine Freeze, Off Off Oddities, Off Off On
Slowdive: Everything is alive
Pale Blue Eyes: This House
The Four Tops: Second Album, Keeper of the Castle
Four Tet: Pink
Lee Hazelwood & Ann Margret: The Cowboy & The Lady
The Lovely Basement: ST
Madder Rose; Panic On
Four Sides of Seamus Heaney: Poet of Voice, Love Poet (p)
Off Menu: Reece Sheersmith (p)
Lift To Experience: The Texas Jerusalem Crossroads
The Organ: Grab That Gun
The See See: Fountayne Mountain
The Secret Goldfish: Petal Split
Sexwitch: ST
Superchunk: Wild Loneliness
Alabaster De Plume: Come With Fierce Grace
The Chemical Brothers: For That Beautiful Feeling
Public Service Broadcasting: The New Noise (Live)
Trees: On the Shore
Faber Poetry: Camille Ralphs and Stephanie Sy-Quai
AC Marias: One of our Girls
Cowboy Junkies: Such Ferocious Beauty, Open , Pale Sun, All That Reckoning, At The Ends of Paths Taken, One Soul Now
Music Is The Drug: Ep 47 and 48
Public Image Ltd: End of World, First Issue, 9, Happy?, Metal Box
Moby Grape: ST
Baby Lemonade: Exploring Music
The William Lovely Intention: The Baptiser, The Bearded Lady Also Sells The Candy Floss, Paralysed By The Mountains
Don Paterson: Toy Fights (Audiobook)
Matthew Halsall: Changing Earth, An Ever Changing View
Keith Allison: In Action
Explosions In The Sky: End (about 25 times)
Corrine Bailey Rae: Black Rainbows
Mitski: The Land Is Inhospitable And So Are We
Ash: Race The Night
The National: Laugh Track
Anjimile: The King
LSD & the Search For God: ST EP
Songbook: Ben Myers/Head On (p)
The Saints: Eternally Yours
Allegra Krieger: I Keep My Feet On The Fragile Plain, Circles
Teenage Fanclub: Nothing Last Forever
Jenny Owen Youngs: Avalanche
Margaret Glaspy; Echo the Diamond
Bleach Lab: Lost in a Rush of Emptiness
Norman Records: Weekly playlist
Emma Tricca: Aspirin Sun
Mad Honey: Satellite Aphrodite
Desert Island Discs: Adrian Edmondson
Blind Boy Podcast: Pumpkin Spiced Latte
Five Live; Arsenal Vs Spurs