I had plans for writing a post last weekend. I was all excited as I’d just delivered some copies of Collecting the Data (copies still available from me or Red Squirrel Press)to my local bookshop.
I haven’t been back to take a photo of them in situ yet, so you’ll just have to imagine them there, but as noted before, my book being in that specific bookshop continues a trend for my house having had poets living in it that have had books in that book shop. Is that one for the Guinness Book of Records? Does that sentence even make sense? I was pleased. I have a lot of love for my local book shop mainly because you should, but also because it was the scene of some of my first readings as I found my way back to writing a few years ago. Interestingly, I have started some very loose plans for more of that with the shop owner.
Anyhoo, always going well. I’d delivered the books, had a good run (no knee pain of note) and then Saturday decided to take a flying karate kick (Think Eric Cantona-style) at my bollocks.
Firstly, at an eye test, the optician (at least 15 years younger than me…Opticians are getting younger, etc) informed me I need varifocals now…FFS. However, the real kickers were still to come.
Secondly, I got home from that to see in my RSS feed a review of Collecting The Data by Tim Love over at LitRefs Reviews. I’ve always enjoyed reading these and wondered if I’d ever be on the receiving end, and how I’d react. Well, I can wonder no more. I will say thank you to Tim for both buying a copy and for engaging with it to the degree he has. I thank him for the notes of positivity and for the “less positive” parts. There’s certainly something to be said for the honest review over fawning praise, and that’s certainly a live argument in some circles in poetry world (and always will be), so let’s not rake over that here.
While I wholeheartedly disagree with some of what Tim’s said, I can see some sense in some of it, or more likely his notes play into some of my own private fears about levels of anecdote to poetry. And that will act as a spur in the future…(As an aside, should it? Should I let this one semi-review get under my skin? Probably not, and I am trying not to let it.)
However, what really hit me like the proverbial ten-tonne truck going down and icy hill was “I think I’ve had Flash published which is more poetic than some of these pieces“. Look up “fucking brutal” in the dictionary and you’ll see a screen cap of that sentence. (As another aside, I am contemplating a) having it tattooed somewhere about my person, and b) using it in promotional material in the future).
I’ve not read Tim’s Flash fiction to be able to form an opinion as to the veracity of the sentence, but I have read Tim’s book of poems, Moving Parts, and recommend you do too. I’d argue we’re not that dissimilar in styles, but to be fair that book came out in 2010, so I have no doubt he’s moved on since then.
I contemplated posting about it last weekend, but when the news came from my mum that my uncle had died in the early hours of that same day I changed my mind. Rest In Peace, Uncle Barry. Couple that with the bout of “stomach flu” that woke me in the early hours. and let’s just say that all of the above became totally irrelevant. The weekend still managed to add one further insult to injury when I found out late on the Sunday that a former work colleague of mine had died earlier in the week. Rest in Peace, Mike.
The review has stayed with me (not as much as the news above), but while I’m not happy about some of it, it’s sent me back to Tim’s book and it’s given me something to think about when I next work on a poem. These can only be good things
Update: I want to make it very clear I appreciate Tim’s review a lot and that he has highlighted lots I think are things worth working on myself. I may be guilty of focusing on the negative bit, and I do see it like that, but very open to being wrong as my reaction may say more about me and how I view my own work…
I’m certainly not letting it have the sort of impact as a Lyn Gardner review.
Final thought on this, there’s lots of talk floating about around music criticism at present and the closure of some “big” mags, I thought this from John Doran had some interesting things to say. Poetry may not suffer quite from the algorithmic challenges music does—we don’t have a streaming service to the same degree (although are free online mags/journals and a surfeit of poetry part of the problem? Not for me to say, largely because I have no idea…just a thought for another day), but valuing critics is definitely something to remember (even when you don’t agree with them).
Let’s have some poetry, shall we…instead of this grumbly bollocks
I had sort of stopped putting up poems by people, but because of my love of a convoluted connection, and just because I love the poems of this writer, I am putting one up today.
So, convoluted connection first and then the poem, obvs…
At the start of this post I mentioned taking my book to Beckenham Books . I’d actually attempted this before Xmas, but they were mobbed/about to redecorate the shop, so the owner suggested coming back in the new year. While I was in I decided to treat myself to a book as an early Xmas present. In among the usual anthologies, Armitages’ and an unusually high number of copies of Hannah Lowe’s, Kids…(No shade to Hannah, just seemed a lot for one small bookshop) was a copy of Emma Simon‘s ‘Shapeshifting for Beginners‘
A few (maybe ten??) days ago I saw a post somewhere linking to an old advert for the Cambridge Corn Exchange. It featured a reference to a gig by The Wonder Stuff. I attended that gig (part of the Construction For The Modern Idiot tour) with my girlfriend at the time. I think to would have been a 17h birthday present. I was certainly doing my A levels then as I recall buying CFTMI on tape from the local Woolworths. Anyhoo, this put TWS back in my mind.
I’ve been reading Emma’s book for the last couple of weeks and it features a poem that references The Wonder Stuff, albeit the poem a) isn’t really about them at all, and b) its references are to the album that came before CFTMI, Never Loved Elvis.
It’s preceded by a poem that references The Cure, and reminds me a) of a poem I wrote ages ago for an anthology of poems about The Cure. The Anthology was called Other Voices, my poem was called Wild Mood Swings And Besides. It mentioned the songs from their album, Wild Mood Swings and the b sides from it. At the time I liked it, the poem,I still love the album, but now I’d say the poem is “not good”—there’s probably flash fiction with more poetry in. And b) it reminds me of a poem recently submitted to a competition that quotes a Robert Smith lyric. Fingers crossed for that one; it’s certainly a better poem as far as I can tell.
Anyhoo, enough about bands and the like, let’s get to a) Emma’s poems and b) the fucking point, Mat…See point a for details.
Having read Emma’s book and completed it this week I knew I wanted to publish something from it here. I’d found so much in the book to enjoy and dive deeper in to (If you want reviews and the like, go here. NB Now I’ve finished Emma’s book I can go back and read Nell’s review too). I therefore messaged Emma to request her permission and in doing so made a false start by pressing send on copied version of another message – I tended to use a bit of a template when making these requests for ease). I asked about 3 poems, one of which was the Stuffies one, and I note the irony that Emma’s Stuffies poem mentions Size of a Cow, a song that is preceded by one called False Start (itself a truncated version of a B side called El Hermano De Frank – fact fans).
Thankfully, she said yes when I asked at the second attempt, and, of the 3 poems I mentioned to her, one she said had been elsewhere a lot, so could I choose one of the other two. One of those was the poem TWS poem mentioned above, but the one I’m going with is this one.
Escaped Balloons
The closest thing to ghosts
you’ll see these days:
unearthed, unribboned,
drifting in a summer sky.
A silver zero catching the sun,
last trace of one hell of a party,
the drinks all drunk, and no more
birthdays counted now from here.
A pierced heart snagged in branches
unable to float on, pass through.
The rainbow dazzle of a Peppa Pig
that’s slipped a chubby fist
and climbed up into silence.
No-one knows for sure how high
they go, what happens as they rise
into colder stratospheres,
disappear from view. Do they burst
into clouds of foil confetti,
dissolve as glints in rain? Blink
and all you’ll see are sunspots
dancing in the blue,
those visual disturbances
you sometimes get from staring
into empty space too long.
++++++++++
Shared with permission of the author. Taken from Shapeshifting For Beginners, Salt, 2023.
I love it for the opening and the closing. The poem opens with a references to ghosts. Ghosts are more likely to be apparitions that appear in front of our eyes or our eyes playing tricks on us. The poem ends with lines about another trick of the eyes in the form of sunspots. I hope that was deliberate on Emma’s part. Especially as there is real close of empty spaces at the start (eg there is nothing there when you see a ghost, and empty space at the end of the poem). I’m starting to think I’m reading too much into this…
I love that in between all of that the poem uses balloons to cover old(er) age, young children, loss, the balloon as its own ghost
Given my need for varifocals, a line like “no more / birthdays counted now from here” feels about as apt as it’s possible to be.
Selfishly, the line “pierced heart snagged in branches/ unable to float on” makes me think of my own poem about kites over at the Mary Evans Picture Library
Perhaps most importantly, I love that this doesn’t attempt to answer anything. It’s more questions, it’s more of the unknown. If you try and pin a balloon it will burst, and to try and make this poem answer anything would have the same effect, IMHO.
Here’s Margo reading my copy of Emma’s book
A song that seems appropriate
THE LAST TWO WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS
18K running. Mostly running. Some knee improvement, but DO THE FUCKING REHAB, MAT!!!
1 x work outs to build some core strength, fix knee knack and sort my back out
3 days without cigarettes…
3 days since drinking
0 bouts of insomnia
2 bouts of stomach flu
LIFE STATS
1 gig turned down – Depeche Mode. Instant regret
1 gig I now can’t got to
1 workout. 1 tender knee
1 uncle dead
1 mate dead
1 meet up with a lot of ex colleagues
4 x Cheeseburgers in one go
1 x chickenburger/Lunch with my wife (Not order of importance)
1 x daughter’s College Musical performance
POET STATS
0 loose ideas/articles gathered:
0 poem finished:
0 poem worked on: Lilliput 2
0 poems committed to the reject pile
0 submissions: Kent & Sussex Poetry Comp
0 withdrawal:
0 acceptances:
0 Longlisting:
0 reading at:
0 reading attended: Broken Sleep Launch
0 rejections:
18 poems are currently out for submission. 1 simultaneous sub
104 Published poems (including what’s in the book)
1 book sold
5 poems written and finished this year
Reviews
0 review finished:
0 reviews started:
0 review submitted:
0 reviews to write:
READ/SEEN/HEARD/ETC
Music
r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music
Black Grape: Orange Head
The Fauns: How Lost
Anna Meredith: The End We Start From (OST)
Dinosaur Jr: Farm, Give a Glimpse of What Yer Not
The Go Team: Get Up Sequences Part 1 & 2, Live At lollapalooza, Proof of Life, Rolling Blackouts, The Scene Between, Semi-Circle. Thunder, Lightning, Strike
The Charlatans: Between 10th And 11th, ST, Different Days
That’s How I remember it: Eric Bachman, Duff McKagan
Ride: Going Blank Again
Archers of Loaf: Icky Mettle, Reason in Decline, Vee Vee, Vitus Tinnitus
Crooked Fingers: ST
The Smile: Wall of Eyes
The Clientele: I am Not There Anymore
Cowboy Junkies: Such Ferocious Beauty, Remnin Park
Explosions In The Sky: End, the Wilderness
Gladie: Don’t Know What You’re In
Planet Poetry; Jane Clarke
Depeche Mode: Songs of Faith & Devotion
Apartment Houses; Laurence Crane:Chamber Works
Snakes Don’t Belong In Alaska: Interstellar Psychedelic:
1000 Violins: Hey man that’s beautiful
Olafur Arnalds: Eulogy For Evolution
Dropsonde Playlist
New Order: Power, Corruption & Lies, Brotherhood
Nerina Pallot: Fires
Neil Young & Crazy Horse: Year of the Horse
Ned’s Atomic Dustbin:Brainbloodvolume
My Sad Captains: Here and Elsewhere
Massacre Massacre: Vend
Greg Dulli: Random Desire
50 Foot Wave: Golden Ocean
The wonder Stuff: Never Loved Elvis, 30 Goes Around The Sun
J Mascis: What Do We Do Now
Katy Kirby: Blue Raspberry
Josh Ritter:Spectral Lines
Swervedriver: Ejector Seat Reservation
Josephine Wings: We Fall
Bob Dylan: Tempest
Read
Holly Magill: 20
Emma Simon: Shapeshifting for Beginners
Kit Wright: Ode to Didcot Power Station
Luke Samuel Yates: The Pair of scissors that Could Cut Through Anything
Graham Mort: Black Shiver Moss
Jodie Hollander: Nocturne
PD James: Cover Her Face
Watched
New Girl
The Thick of It
Fargo
Bones (When will it end???)
True Detective
Criminal Record
Griselda
Ordered/Bought
Damian Walford Davies: Viva Bartelli
Martyn Crucefix: the Lovely Disciplines
Victoria Kennefwick: Egg/Shell
Arrived
Nothing
Wear The Fox Hat 