I occasionally read back through these posts, especially when I note a new follower or see that someone I admire has retweeted, etc, to check that I’m saying something vaguely coherent. Chances are that I’m not,. but y’know..
I read back through some recent posts the other day and came to the conclusion it’s mainly been a lot of complain gin about not doing stuff, not writing…not having time, not having energy, not getting on…And that’s fine, but it’s not getting me anywhere. And quite frankly, I’m tired of my own voice.
I’ve decided to spend less time reviewing in 2024. And I’ve decided to spend less time writing this blog as well. My original plan was to do something weekly, and to a greater or lesser (mainly lesser) degree I’ve kept to that, and I’ve enjoyed posting the poems from other people, and I may do that as and when, but I can’t think that stopping/pausing the rambles that came before will cause much weeping or gnashing of teeth.
I’ll round things out with the last annual post of my stats.
Headlines are that everything is done this year. I could include poems published in Collecting the Data (copies available, etc), but that feels like cheating/massaging the stats…And fuck knows, there is a enough of that going on..
Almost a 3rd of this years subs are still waiting on news. Exactly one third of those still waiting have been out per 35 weeks so far. Which is 15 weeks over the twenty-week wait on their website (It’s Dark Horse, BTW). I’ll keep waiting for a response to the email I sent 15 weeks ago (as per their recommendation and see how I get on) because I know Gerry has been a) busy b) unwell c) I very much want to be published in Dark Horse d) why wouldn’t you? I say none of this to name and shame as there is no shame.
That said, 3 of the poems subbed there are now in CtD, so perhaps they aren’t likely to be picked up.
Thank you for reading, thank you for buying CtD if you have.
Have a wonderful 2024.
Oh yeah, and if you get. a cache have a read of this Jon McGregor post about feedback.
Death Cab For Cutie – New Year
THE LAST TWO WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 5K running. First time in 2 weeks I’ve felty like running was this morning 15K walking 1days without cigarettes… 0 day since drinking 2 bouts of insomnia
LIFE STATS 1 x Xmas 1 X late night 1 x 3 year old in the house over Xmas 2 x in-laws that couldn’t make it due to Covid 1 x trip to North London to see a mate 1 x Xmas present that got duplicated
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 0 submissions: 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 reading at: 0 reading attended: 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
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Dropsonde playlist The Archers Guided By Voices: Half Smiles of the Decomposed Irainia Mancini: Undo the Blue Goat: Levitation Sessions Charles Mingus: Tonight At Noon Death Cab For Cutie: Asphalt meadows Low: At Xmas Gabor Szabo: Jazz Raga Cowboy Junkies: The Caution Horses Grachan Moncur III: Echoes of Prayer Beth Orton: Kid Sticks
Read Jay Owens: Dust Carl Tomlinson:Changing Places John Clare: Selected Poems
Watched For All Mankind Dark Wind Fargo (Series 3) Indiana Jones & the Dial of Destiny (Turned off after 30 mins) Little Women The Winter King Great Escape Guardians of The Galaxy 3 Where Eagles Dare Die Hard 2 Bluey Arsenal Vs West Ham (Boo!!)
Ordered/Bought New running trainers Emma Simon: Shapeshifting For Beginners
The first draft of this post was basically one long grumble and complaint. It’s impossible to concentrate because REASONS. Not least that the world is ongoing madness, I’m waiting to hear if I’ve made it to the next round of a potentially life-changing job interview (I don’t think I have, but the not knowing breeds some sort of hope and we know what happens with hope..), there are other demands in my time, but in the spirit of turning frowns upside down and to honour the course I went on at work recently about keeping positive I am not going to focus on that.
I have to admit I’ve limped to the end of the year and I’m sitting here writing this a day later than I planned, but I’m here.
I have a whole week off to myself to write. I suspect by the time I get to that it will be Wednesday, but the plan is there. We’ll see. I think I’m the one holding myself back…and this is after reading several good articles and notes on writer’s block…they all basically say turn up, do the fucking work…So here’s to tomorrow morning.
I’ve just finished one of two reviews I plan to write this week. These reviews are one of the things that may well be hiding me back from doing my own writing, but I really enjoyed the book I’ve just reviewed, so it feels hard to let go. I think I may have to next year though.
A big project for the year at work is well underway, and I look forward to carrying on with that in the new year.
A big project outside of work is just about done. I had hoped it would be completely done this side of Xmas, but the redecoration of our hallway is done bar varnishing the bannisters on the stairs. We’ve been doing this on and off since about May. I’ve had to admit I can’t do the electrical work required after I spent at least an hour trying to deepen a hole in the wall to put a new backbone in for a new plug socket in this weekend (1 of 6). However, there is something to be said for admitting this is something you need help with (however galling and frustrating that is).
I have time to read things like new (and the last for that matter) Bad Lilies, Iamb A Poet, etc…all the mags that have landed of late before I go back to work on Jan 2nd
My book continues to sell.
I have a book with my name on the front.
People have said lovely things about it
The Xmas curtain is about to fall..
A poem for the week.
I re-read this poem recently while looking for something else, but it feels apt for both the work on the house being (almost) done and for the kind of self-help notes I saw in the articles. My thanks to Davina Prince for permission to publish this.
Clever Ways to Create a Clutter-Free Spacious Home
Identify the problem corners. You are not alone— though that in itself is no encouragement.
That you have covered every wall— rag-rolled, silk, or blood— only makes it harder.
Consider doors —and when, exactly, you last used one. You have not yet escaped.
Be honest: every year you brought more stones indoors as paperweights, or for their uselessness.
Windows open onto emptiness. Reflect on this, without mirrors.
Discard all magazines; they only prescribe ways you would never have considered reasonable.
These are the clever ways. The simple ones are incalculably more difficult.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Taken from Nearly The Happy Hour (HappenStance, 2008) by D.A Prince.
I love the way this poem flips and leaps from accentuate the positive to question the positive, to question that reductionism isn’t always as easy as it sounds; that it isn’t always the way forward. Sometimes things are just fucking hard and we should accept that.
Reading this again has reminded me I have gaps in my Davina collection..that’s a job for 2024 Mat to resolve.
If you think I deliberately used the phrase Xmas Curtain above to include this…well, you’re right
THE LAST TWO WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 5K walking. I’ve pretty much accepted no running this side of the new year. 2days without cigarettes… 0 day since drinking 2 bouts of insomnia
LIFE STATS 1 x job interview 1 x Xmas do All Xmas presents bought Most wrapped and sent, etc 1 OOO on for the year
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 0 submissions: 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 reading at: 0 reading attended: 0 rejections: 16 poems are currently out for submission. 1 simultaneous sub 104 Published poems (including what’s in the book) 1 book sold
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Pearl Jam: Vs Live, Lightning Bolt Live Gilroy Mere: Gilden Gate Hurry: Don’t Look Back The Archers LCD Soundsystem: The Long Goodbye Linda Ronstadt: Don’t Cry now, Hasten Down the Wind Lucy Dacus: Home Video Luke Abbott: Holkham Drones Octopus Project: Hello, Avalanche Goat: Levitation, Oh Death VA: After Hours: Northern Soul 1-3 Tara Clerkin Trio: In Spring, On The Turning Ground Shirley Hurt: ST Slaughter Beach, Dog: Crying, laughing, Waving, Smiling Bobak, Jons, Malone: Motherlight Jeffrey Cantu-Ledesma: A Year with 13 Moons Myriam Gendron: Not So Deep As A Well Seaweed of Battery: Clockwatching Mal Waldron: Reminiscent Suite, The Quest, Sweet Love, Bitter Talking Heads: True Stories Mudhoney: Now We’ve become Translucent
Read Jay Owens: Dust
Watched Monarch For All Mankind The Morning Show Die Hard Slow Horses Batman Trilogy
Ordered/Bought Xmas Presents Catch for a cupboard
Arrived Xmas Presents Katie Donovan: Watermelon Man
I had grand plans for this post, but I’ve run out of road, so those plans can wait…
Anyway, it’s more exciting to point you towards some recent news…
Firstly, Matthew Paul’s review of ‘Longleat‘ will always be my first review, but two weeks ago my first full book review was published over at The Friday Poem. Isabelle Thompson has written a wonderful review that captures the spirit and intention of the book. While describing the opening poem, I think “The poem’s experimentation with language and wordplay allows it to ask big questions while remaining fun and bright.” also works as a description of what I was trying to do. And I will absolutely settle for “The focus of these poems is squarely on a moment of human connection and warmth.”
I am also considering getting a tattoo of “These are poems that look at life at once deeply and humorously. With playfulness and compassion, they are unafraid of probing the darkest places, but are always prepared to turn on the light.”. That said, I’ll need to do (some) more lifting of weights to get arms big enough.
Secondly, while magazine/journal acceptances have been few and far between this year (more on that anon), the lovely folks over at Creative Writing At Leicester published A City Break. It’s a poem I’d hoped would find a home in a quality journal, so I’m pleased it did in the end.
Finally, this week saw the publication of a lovely review over at London Grip. Davina Prince has done me the great service of a close reading of the book (it’s a review, Mat…of course she has, FFS)…Interestingly, and pleasingly she’s picked up on the interplay between the poems, the work that went into the sequencing.
“The overall ordering of this pamphlet and the way the poems sit in relation to each other reflect the care given by both poet and editor: it’s all too easy to take this professional attention for granted. Red Squirrel have served Mat Riches’ poems well. This is a warm, witty, generous-spirited collection.”
Much like the TFP review, Davina’s picked up on “Riches’ relaxed style and consistently colloquial register: there’s a comfortable match between content and syntax in his poetry, plus a vocabulary that sits naturally around the familial and domestic.“
I enjoyed the brief challenge at the end where she picks up on a point in Goliath and describes it as feeling “imposed on a poem that has no need of them“. I can sort of see what she means; I think I disagree for now, but the note will sit with me for a while. And I’m glad it’s constructive criticism.
I know there’s at least one other review to come, but I hope there are more to come.
Please contact Sheila at Red Squirrel Press if you’d like to review the book..
And me or Sheila is you’d like to buy a copy. I have “re-upped*” so I have stock. Both Sheila and I are out of the initial print run, so they are going fast. Don’t miss out…
* Must be time for my annual rewatch of The Wire soon.
A poem for the week.
I found my copy of the book this came from in a local charity shop a few weeks ago. It’s been sitting by my bed, and somehow came to hand a week or so ago when I reached out for a different book. I flipped to page one and couldn’t read anymore of the book after this. There are cleverer people than me able to say things with far greater erudition, but by Christ…sometimes a poem just punches you, and feels of its time, out of time and ahead of its time. One of those sometimes is now.
Ancient History
The year began with baleful auguries: comets, eclipses, tremors, forest fires, the waves lethargic under a coat of pitch the length of the coastline. And a cow spoke, which happened last year too, although last year no one believed cows spoke. Worse was to come. There was a bloody rain of lumps of meat which flocks of gulls snatched in mid-air while what they missed fell to the ground where it lay for days without festering. Then a wind tore up a forest of holm-oaks and jackdaws pecked the eyes from sheep. Officials construing the Sibylline books told of helmeted aliens occupying the crossroads, and high places of the city. Blood might be shed. Avoid, they warned, factions and in-fights. The tribunes claimed this was the usual con-trick trumped up to stonewall the new law about to be passed. Violence was only curbed by belief in a rumour that the tribes to the east had joined forces and forged weapons deadlier than the world has seen and that even then the hooves of their scouts had been heard in the southern hills. The year ended fraught with the fear of war. Next year began with baleful auguries.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Taken from The Marble Fly (Oxford Poets, 1997) by Jamie McKendrick. I hope he won’t mind me publishing it. The book appears to be out of print. The poem is available to read or hear here
A Kitchens of Distinction classic
THE LAST TWO WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 17K running. Very little due to time, tiredness and some knee knack. I think I’m giving up on this year. 2days without cigarettes… 0 day since drinking
LIFE STATS 2 days locked in a room for work strategemisation 1 x running club Xmas do 1 x work Xmas do 1 box of books 1 all day course about Data Science Woodwork painted and finished. 3 doorknobs fitted Hallway and stairs painted
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 0 submissions: 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 reading at: 0 reading attended: 0 rejections: 16 poems are currently out for submission. 1 simultaneous sub 104 Published poems (including what’s in the book)
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Week 1 The Reds, the Pinks and Purples: Murder, Oral Sex and Cigarettes Thinking Fellers Union Local 282; I Hope It Lands Allah-Las: Calico Review The Dream Syndicate: Ghost Stories The Bevis Friend; Any Gas Faster Talking Heads: Stop Making Sense Blind Boy Podcast: Patrick McCabe(p), Chips in shopping trolleys The Archers Dropsonde playlist Seren Poetry Podcast: Rhiannon Hooson, Glyn Edwards(p) LCD Soundsystem: The Long Goodbye Dorothy Ashby: Plays for Beautiful People Stornoway: Dig The Mountain Craig Finn Podcast: Deer Tick Cowboy Junkies: 200 More Miles Deer Tick: Emotional Contracts Week 2 The Polyphonic Spree: Together We’re Heavy The Durutti Column: Another Setting The Twilight Singers: Blackberry Belle Planet Poetry Podcast; Martyn Crucefix AO Gerber: Meet Me At the Gloaming Acid Arab; Musique De France Acoustic Ladyland: Skinny Grin Agnes Obel; Aventine Dropsonde Playlist
Read Jamie McKendrick: The Marble Fly Martyn Crucefix: Between A Drowning Man Jay Owens: Dust
Watched Monarch For All Mankind Shetland The Morning Show
Ordered/Bought Jay Owens: Dust Xmas Presents
Arrived Poetry Wales New Welsh Reader Orbis Box of Collecting the Data Jay Owens: Dust Xmas Presents
I’m not long back from a conference in Malaga. It was a work-related thing, and so lots to do with Data. Lots to do with creativity in research, and I was meant to be speaking there as part of a presentation about the use of AI and processing open-ended survey responses.
My intention was to plug the book there as my first slide. Given they had a comedian open the final day of the conference, I might see if they want a poet next time…well, perhaps in two years. It’s one;y abroad every two years and you’ve got to go for the travel bit haven’t you.
As a result of the travel, the late nights and a brief visit to A&E to get stitches in my chin (long story; quick result) all I can offer you is this photo I found. It’s the actual monkey that lead to the Longleat poem posted last week. So that tells me that poem started germinating in my mind about 8 years ago.
The other thing to note is I saw this quote below in an email from Perverse. Sign up here.
“poetry is kinda hard and there are a lot of poems that I want to write but for one reason or another am almost certainly never going to. also frustrations with aesthetic limitations (is there something weird about the idea of specifically aiming to write A Poem about A Thing – maybe/maybe not/maybe sometimes?). I guess also writing as an action (the action of writing? I guess?). basically, Words.”
I don’t really know how to respond to it…I genuinely can’t work out if it is genius, gibberish or something else. perhaps it can be both, but every time I start to say “Yes poems are hard, thank you, Captain Obvious”, or agree that there is something weird about writing poems specifically about a thing I then contradict myself and start heading in circles, so I’ll just leave it there.
I will note the poem it refers to* contains the line “fibres coalesce & are extracted”, and given I’ve got to go and have my stitches taken out in a week or so, I have my connection sorted and I should stop.
*It’s called ‘just do your job’ by David Greaves. Do sign up and check it out.
A classic from Pixies
THE LAST WEEK IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 5K running. Very little due to time, tiredness and some knee knack. The next weeks will be better. 1days without cigarettes… 1 day since drinking
LIFE STATS 1 wife’s birthday 1 trip to Malaga for a work conference 1 trip to A&E
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 0 submissions: 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 reading at: 0 reading attended: 0 rejections: 1 5 poems are currently out for submission. 1 simultaneous sub 104 Published poems (including what’s in the book)
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Thinking Fellers Union Local 282: Bob Dinners and Tubby Turdner Present… Melt Yourself Down: Live Drop Nineteens: Hard Light Movietone: The Sand and the Stars Sufjan Stevens: Javelin PIL: Metal Box The Archers LCD Soundsystem: This is Happening, Silver, American Dream, ST
Read Split Screen (RS) Mike Barlow: A Land Between Borders Nothing apart from conference biogs
I started training for a thing called Race to the King about 4 years ago. It was my first (and to-date only) Ultra Marathon. It started in Arundel and ended in Winchester.
I say this for a few reasons. Mostly because I’ve just been tidying up my home office and found my medals (On a side note, I’m seeing a trend in running medals towards wooden medals. I am fine with this for environmental reasons, but they did’t make the same satisfying clank).
However, the other reason was I was reminded of something earlier on a run when my running buddy was discussing a big run they’d done a few years ago, and they talked about the existential crisis that followed it..the training and the event was done, and nothing felt right for a while after that.
He, my running buddy, had mentioned this to me when I was training for RTTK, and I totally dismissed it. Surely that won’t happen to me, I thought…I love running..I can’t do much at the moment due to knee knack being back (damn my doggone bones), but goddamn it, the swine (lovely man) was bang on. The hangover (not booze-related) or perhaps it was more like a sort of adrenalin-based jet lag lasted far longer than the blisters and aches…I think I’ve documented this here before, so I won’t dwell on it (what, for longer than four paragraphs, Mat??)
Anyhoo, it also made me think of something that I’ve noticed in the last twelve (TWELVE!!) days since my book (MY BOOK!!!) came out (I HAVE A BOOK OUT!!!).
And that’s a dip in excitement. It is basically 4 years to the day since I got the nod that it would happen. Obviously, I’ve been working towards it for the last 40-odd years (eg something like 40 years and 40 FUCKING ODD years) since I first wrote some sort of rhyming thing in pink felt tip in my nan’s utility room…(WHERE’S THE BLUE PLAQUE FOR THAT?) I have to caveat all of this by saying I am massively overjoyed about all of the having-a-book-out, and that none of this is due to a lack of gratitude for anyone that has been part of the voyage. it’s just that it feels like a sort of weird combo of closure, fear of what next and a sort of of loss of ownership of the thing.
It’s a closure because all of the work, all of the writing, the editing, the obsessing over commas vs semi-colons, the syllabics, the turning of phrases, the replacing phrases, the putting them back in then removing them again, the worrying over running orders (thanks to the cats for mixing it all up whenever I laid the poems out), the proofing of pdfs, the cover work, the gathering of endorsements, the phone calls, the touting it out for reviews (more on that anon), the waiting on deliveries, the organising of the launch, the launch, the actual hangover after; it’s all over. All done.
I have all the poems (and their drafts, all the scribbled running orders, the proofs and notes in a box) that I’ve finally stowed away after it sitting on my desk for the last 18 months like some sort of monolith. It made me think of the scene at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Scroll to 1.23 in case you have no idea what I’m talking aboutThe CtD time capsuleAll the other finished poemsThe unloved and the discarded poems
There’s a fear what next because what if I don’t get to do this again? Will I ever get another pamphlet published, let alone a full collection (Say hi if you fancy publishing either)? Will I ever accrue enough new poems to put in one (of either stripe)? Will I write any bloody poems? I think I’ve managed 5 new poems this year. I have a backlog of older ones that didn’t make the pamphlet—should they be considered? Will I have moved on enough? And who is that moving on for? me? Some notional reader? Who bloody cares? Musicians often talk about the ‘difficult second album’, about having their whole life to write the first record and then a rush to follow that up if it is any sort of success.
I’m not 100% sure what success looks like in poetry-land, but I think Collecting The Data has been a success so far; we’ve shifted almost 200 copies in twelve (TWELVE!!) days, and the majority of those are actual sales. I think that’s pretty bloody good.
Sheila is printing more, so does that count as a second edition? NB if it does, I have 9 copies left of the first edition, so get in fast. NB in a positive move, I listed the book on ALCS this week; that felt weird.
I’m not going to worry about all of the above too much because it’s far too soon and all very irrational. One poem after another will be enough to accrue an answer to most of the questions. I’ll start submitting again too in order to maintain momentum, etc
As to the loss of ownership, I can’t really explain it, but the idea of the book and the actual content has been swirling about between a very small group of people for the last year. Yes, individual poems from it are out there in various mags and journals (thanks to them all, as ever), but as soon as the book started selling it was in the hands of people, and they form their own thoughts and opinions. I hope it will all one positive, but I’m not there to read it, explain stuff, etc. That’s scary, and massively requires a letting go.
And not all of the above is bad by any chalk or stretch of the imagination; they are just thoughts and considerations that have occurred to me. However, there are clear positives from all of this.
I have a book. Written by me. I will have that forever, even if I never write some much as a stanza again. I have a book that I will be reading from for a while.
I’ve had several lovely messages from people telling me they love it, and that they are either inhaling it or slowly reading it.
I have three reading dates lined up next year. I want more because the back of the tour t-shirt currently look like Jan 23 Feb 23 LONG GAP September 23
Anyone that puts on a reading night and wants me there, I will either be in touch or don’t let me stop you getting in touch with me.
And while there is a sense of loss of ownership, there is a sense of it opening up and discovery. People are telling me poems they like from it. Clearing My Dad’s Shed is getting a lot of love among others, and this week I had the honour of what i m referring to as my first official review. The lovely man that is Matthew Paul asked me for permission to publish a poem from CtD on his internationally renowned blog.
If you’re not reading it or subscribed to his posts then I urge you to do so. I joked on the socials that reading it usually costs me money as he reads so widely, and recommends or reviews so well that I end up buying books all the time. I also joked that for once it had cost me money upfront this time to get him to say such lovely things.
I very much didn’t pay him, but I owe him a pint for this (if not more). Have a read of it when you get a sec here. My jaw hit the floor when I read the review—which was embarrassing as I was standing on the platform at Notting Hill Gate waiting to go home from a shit day at work. I positively floated home after that. I’ve almost to dared to go back and read it again in case it was a hoax, but it’s not, and it’s been wonderful to see someone say such amazing and insightful things, to see where he’s absolutely picked up on things I intended to do like
“and also gives a pleasing half rhyme between ‘been’ and ‘Blaine’ (which is echoed later in the poem by the full rhyme with ‘domain’)”.
That was as deliberate as I can make it. Domain wasn’t there from the get go, but looking back at the drafts it was there from draft 2 (of 14). I note it was called ‘ That Bastard Rhesus Monkey At Longleat” in draft 1 and then ‘Evolution‘ in draft 2, so when Matthew notes
“The title of the poem helpfully tells the reader where and when the poem is set, with the implication that this is a probably-much-anticipated family visit; but it also assists the poet because the title does enough scene-setting to allow him to dispense with preliminaries in the poem itself and instead open it with two lines of description which plunge the reader straight in.”
he’s absolutely bang on. That appeared in draft 5 and opened up a lot of ground. The poem took it’s shape by draft 5, and I’ve just noticed that the Blaine reference didn’t appear till draft 8. It was Penn and Teller before that, but that half and internal rhyme must have followed soon after. However, what has been even more instructive is the stuff he’s highlighted that wasn’t deliberate, or certainly wasn’t a conscious decision.
“It’s noteworthy that the verb construction in the second line is in the future tense and not the past; compounded by using ‘might’ in the third line. Does this mean that this reminiscing about the trip is happening during the same half-term holiday?”
I’d love to say that it was a deliberate move to suggest the timeline of the remembering was happening in the same half-term, but it would be a lie. However, I’m going to claim it was moving forwards and because if I’d have thought about it consciously at the time I’d have ruined it, I suspect.
I already loved it enough to put it in the book, but I am so pleased by what Matthew has seen and picked up on. It’s making me look at the poem again with a deeper love than before. It’s also made me worry that the reviews that are coming might not be so glowing. I hope they are, but I’m braced for them not to be. (So you say, Riches. You’ll be a dribbling wreck if someone so much as says a word about a misplaced full stop). Let’s see. And let’s stop here.
Although before I go, head here to read a poem from Matthew’s excellent full collection. And head here to read new work from him over at The High Window. Music, in particular, is a masterclass in control, delivery and covering a lot of ground in as few a steps as possible.
If you think I gave this post the title have as an excuse to post this, you’re wrong, but I am happy about it
THE LAST WEEK IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 3.5K running. Very little due to time, tiredness and some knee knack. The next weeks will be better. 2days without cigarettes… 2 day since drinking
LIFE STATS 1 very busy week 1 promotion at work 1 very accidental late night 1 box of top up books arrived
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 3 submissions: Wild Court, Northern Gravy, Creative Leicester 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 1 reading at: Cafe Writers Open Mic 1 reading attended: Cafe Writers. Jill Abram and Paul Stephenson (+ open mics) 0 rejections: 1 5 poems are currently out for submission. 1 simultaneous sub 104 Published poems (including what’s in the book)
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Makushin: Move into the Luminous The Archers (p) That’s How I Remember It: Bob Mould (p) REM: Up Pixies: Come on Pilgrim It’s Surfer Rosa Dropsonde Playlist Various 80’s tunes at the accidental party The National: First Few Pages, High Violet, Laugh Track, Sleep Well Beast, Trouble Will Find Me
Read Split Screen (Red Squirrel Press) Collecting the Data
Watched Shetland Foundation Monsters thing For All Mankind
The walk up to our front door is often a bit of a dampness minefield. On one side there is a hedge that tends to get a bit overgrown (Yes, it’s a bank holiday. No, I am not going to cut it because, perhaps ironically, it’s too wet), and on the other side is a lot of lavender. This combination can make it a bit damp when walking down the path to our front door.
Not my car. And yes, the path does need pressure washing
The lavender is sagging now and past its best. It’s time to slash it back for the winter, but I can still see a couple of bees gathering round it. I think they are mining it for all it’s worth, extracting the very last of its heady goodness like cutting open a tube of toothpaste to get the last of it out.
Those plucky bees put me in mind of the poem for this week. This poem is also top of mind this week for three other reasons.
I heard Toby helping Ruth with the bees in an episode of The Archers
I reviewed Luke’s debut collection, Dynamo, recently and it was published this weekend over at London Grip. I wanted to write about this poem in the review, but ran out of space. However, that means I (and now you) get the added bonus of reading it here.
It wasn’t the varroa
I kept bees in the noughties. I had an apiary with a guy called Pele. I haven’t seen Pele now for a few years. We fell out over something bee-related.
Colony collapse, they called it in the United States of America. After six years most of our bees had gone. It wasn’t the varroa: we were on top of the varroa.
Pele got into recruitment consultancy and made considerable sums of money. I told him I thought all suits looked the same. I remembered he had always belittled me.
It’s been a few years now since I’ve seen Pele. I don’t exactly have a job at the moment. I buy and sell things on the internet. There are websites where you can fill in questionnaires for money.
++++++++++++++++ Published with permission of the writer. Taken from Dynamo, By Luke Samuel Yates, Smith|Doorstop, The Poetry Business, 2023. You can and should buy it here.
This poem was in Luke’s pamphlet, ‘The Flemish Primitives‘, and has undergone a few subtle changes. In TFP “colony collapse” was in inverted commas. The third line of the same stanza was “After six years most of our bees had collapsed”. I do like the call back to collapse in this earlier version, but I can see why that’s changed. It’s clearer the bees have gone, rather than requiring a spoonful of sugar water to revive them. (Remember to revive a bee if you see one in need, folks).
The last line of the 4th stanza reads “I remembered he had always tended to belittle me.” The shift makes it more powerful, it makes Pele sound like even more of a wanker.
The biggest change, however, is in the final stanza. The last lines read
“I buy and sell things on Ebay. There are also websites where you can fill in questionnaires for money.”
I wonder if this change to “on the internet” instead of eBay is what someone else referred to this week in an email about how quickly references to tech can date a poem. I haven’t checked the performance figures, but I’m assuming that eBay as a source of selling has dropped off since TFP being published in 2015. The rise of Facebook Marketplace, etc has possibly led us to this change. Or not.
But enough about changes and tweaks.
I love this poem for the sense of someone outside of things, or someone that could be labelled a parasite of sorts, but which one. Is it the protagonist? Is it Pele? If varroa are mites that latch on to bee colonies then who latched on to who? For my money, the parasite isn’t the protagonist, but I have a fairly dim view of most recruitment consultants.
If it wasn’t the varroa, then what was it that caused the collapse? Neglect seems unlikely if they were “on top of the varroa”. It could be more inertia, this poem feels riddled with it. It looks back…”I kept”, “I had”, “I haven’t” “Pele got into…”—Is he still in recruitment, I guess we d’t know because he hasn’t been seen for years—, “I don’t exactly”. It’s almost all past tense or negatives until those last few lines.
Despite me not writing about in my review, I’d argue this poem is a fairly strong representation of many of the themes in Dynamo. I suggest you go and read it (the book and the review) to either agree or disagree.
Also, check out Luke reading from Dynamo here.
Oi, you said three reasons earlier, Mat
Ah yes, well on Tuesday this week I posted online that my pamphlet was being released into the world on 7th November and that it will be called ‘Collecting The Data’. That title relates to the content of some (if not all of the poems) and to my day job as a market researcher. And that day job often involves processing the data collected from the “websites / where you can fill in questionnaires for money”.
Obviously, we use reputable firms that have well-checked panels, and would look down upon anyone employing river-sampling methodologies, etc.
I can now share/remind you that the launch event will also be on the 7th November, at The Deverux Pub in Temple. I will be reading with Matthew Stewart (launching his second full collection. I’ve read it and it’s excellent). There will also be readings by Maria Taylor, Hilary Menos and Eleanor Livingstone. It’s a Red Squirrel Press and HappenStance read off. Who will win? Who will hold the coats???
Come along to find out…I am very pleased as it will be the first time I’ve actually met Sheila, Hilary, Maria and Eleanor.
More details here. And my thanks to Nell for putting this up (and for putting up with me). And very much thanks to Sheila for agreeing to publish me in the first place.
More from me on the book when I have it, but I am very, very excited now and it’s all starting to feel scary.
How about 23 minutes of Pele’s ‘Apiary’. Seems bang on to me.
THE LAST WEEK IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 16K running. slow week running as long week at work. Must get back to a rhythm. 1 lunch time run at work (First in ages) 2 days without cigarettes… 1 day since drinking.
LIFE STATS 1 busy week 1 party with friends 1 friend’s play 3 late late nights 1 meal out with family 1 child with excellent GSCE results 1 child enrolled for A-Levels
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 1 submissions: And Other Poems 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 readings: 1 rejection: North. Timed out. Will I ever get in The North 20 poems are currently out for submission. No simultaneous subs 94 Published poems
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music boygenius:the record Murray A Lightburn: Once Upon A Time in Montreal Wednesday:Twin Plagues Grant Green: OLEO Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton: Knives Don’t Have Your Back Massacre Massacre: new dawn, New York First Aid Kit: Palomino Dropsonde Explosions In The Sky: End (or what’s available of it) Lucy Dacus: Home Video, Historians The Archers (p) The Lucksmiths: Cartography For Beginners Luke Haines: 21st Century Man The Verb: Confidence Mark Eitzel: Hey Mr Ferryman Goat: Oh Death Pixies: Doggerel Pharaoh Sanders: moon Child Mary Lattimore: Slant of Light Bettie Servers:Lamprey Pearl Jam: Gigaton Guided By Voices; Mag Earwig! The Auteurs: New Wave Julian Cope: Robin Hood Chris Forsyth & The Solar Motel: Intensity Ghost Sonic Boom & Panda Bear: Reset In Dub The Clientele: I Am Not There Anymore Another Sky: I Slept On The FloorPele: A Scuttled Blender In The Water Closet The National: The First two Pages of Frankenstein
Read Cal Flynn: Islands of Abandonment Charles Tomlinson: The Shaft.
Watched The Tower The Bear
Ordered/Bought Various: BEFORE THE DREADFUL DAYLIGHT STARTS
No time this week (and I think writing this at 8.30m on a Monday should still be allowed to count as last week), so I’ll be brief.
I took my daughter to see boygenius at Gunnersbury Park yesterday. The day was a sort of mini festival with Soak, Ethel Cain, Muna ad boygenius playing.
Obligatory awful photo from a gig
For those unaware, boygenius are a “supergroup” (and a super group) of Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker. I am a fan of all three in their own rights, and they’ve made two lovely records together that I commend to thee as well as 2 or 3 albums each that I also commend to thee.
I’d introduced Flo to Phoebe and Julien’s work a while ago and we were meant to go and see Phoebe Bridgers together last year, but it fell when I got the Covids, so I couldn’t go. Despite feeling like the oldest persons there by about 20 years the day was a wonderful day out with a nice sense of community and people looking out for each other.
I am writing all of this here as the last song on the boygenius album is called Letter To An Old Poet (they played it towards the end of their set yesterday). Obviously that has echoes of Rilke.
While I can’t make a leap from boygenius to Rilke, This week I have been reading issue 46 of The Dark Horse. To cut a long story short, it’s a tribute issue to Douglas Dunn in his 80th year, and a poem that pops up repeatedly in the contributors’ recollections and comments is Friendship of Young Poets—not sure this a a sanctioned link/publication of the poem, but have a look if you don’t know it. I didn’t, having only read Elegies and bits of Terry Street. I will be working my way through the lad’s catalogue now though.
After a week where there’s been some fractiousness in what we can loosely call “poetry world”, or at least a small corner of it, a line like “the friendship of poets,/ mysterious,[…]” seems apt enough for me, and a good place to end.
A reminder of the small announcement ahead of a bigger announcement
One thing to come out of the NWR thing is that they asked if they could make reference to my book’s title and release date. I am overjoyed to be able to say the book is called Collecting The Data and it will be out on 7th November. There will be a launch reading on the same day alongside some excellent poets. More on all of this later, probably when I have a cover to show you and a link for ordering, but for now, get the 7th in your diary. See you there.
A Song that is in some vague way linked to something above
The Cocteau Twins, Rilkean Heart
THE LAST WEEK IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 15K running. slow week running as long week at work. Must get back to a rhythm. 1 day without cigarettes…(fell off the wagon yesterday after 5 days) 0 days since drinking.
LIFE STATS 1 work planning afternoon 1 gig with Flo: Soak, Ethel Cain, Muna and boygenius
POET STATS 0 loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 0 poem worked on: 0 poems committed to the reject pile 0 submissions: 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 readings: 0 rejection: 18 poems are currently out for submission. No simultaneous subs 94 Published poems
Reviews 1 review finished:Luke Samuel Yates 0 reviews started: 1 review submitted: Luke Samuel Yates 0 review to write: FINALLY!!!
READ/SEEN/HEARD/ETC
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Rob Moose: Inflorescence The Move: Looking On Girl Ray: Prestige Julie Byrne: Rooms With Walls and Windows Sheryl Crow: C’mon, C’mon The Archers (P) Dropsonde Playlist Gladie: Don’t know what you’re in until you’re out REM: Monster The Clientele: Strange Geometry, Suburban Light, The Violet Hour Gladie: Safe Sins The Wolfgang Press: Bird Cage Wood
Read Graham Mort: Cusp Poetry Wales Jo Haslam: Lunar Moths Luke Samuel Yates: Flemish Primitives
Watched The Traitors The Bear Star Wars: Last Jedi, Rise of Skywalker Look Around You Crocodile Dundee WWC: Spain Vs England
Ordered/Bought Tickets to my friend Het’s play
Arrived Kling Strip Early Doors Beer Luke Samuel Yates: Flemish Primitives Robert Hamberger: Rule of Earth. New Welsh Review
Before we start this week, I totally failed to link to a relevant article over at The Friday Poem about dialect. It seems relevant to the theme of last week. And I also forgot to push you towards a Norfolk-themed anthology that has just come out. Compiled by Cameron Self and Kevin Gardner, I’m looking forward to getting a copy of Before The Dreadful Daylight Starts.
Right, off we go.
I ended last week by linking to an article about NASA losing touch with the Voyager probe, and then using that as a spurious link (me, spurious links…Well I never did, etc) to the news that I had a poem due out in New Welsh Review. I was overjoyed to check in at the start of this week and see that the poem had indeed been published. The poem is not available for general consumption as it is behind the NWR paywall. You can access it here if you’re an NWR subscriber
However, I think a signal got lost somewhere along the way as when I checked in it looks like something has gone very wrong with the formatting. I won’t share it all as I suspect that contravenes the acceptance Ts and Cs, but the two images below should give you a sense.
On siteAs sent (minus the filing notes)
I’ve emailed the team to let them know, but I think everyone is having a well-deserved holiday. I have to stress I am not complaining—these things happen and I’m sure it will get resolved. It could be aliens, I guess. And I can well believe this, having spent the week watching a show called Invasion on Apple TV about, yes, you’ve guessed it, an alien invasion where said aliens disrupt technology and signals here. While we wait for the formatting to be fixed, why not have a read of the free content on the site, especially Matthew Valades‘ excellent poem, ‘The Internet Stops By’.
Right, stand-by for a tenuous link.
A key theme of Invasion is the way one particular scientist (played by the excellent Shioli Kutsuna) learns to pick up messages from the extra-terrestrial invaders by deciphering messages seemingly buried in the silences of space. Last week’s post finished/was draw to a close after a note about silence.
Right, let’s have a poem
Interval
Another attempt at silence fails. We name the rift between our speech and not the want of sound. In this, silence wakes the genes of unheard things that crowd where words have been. You don’t have to take a vow to change your life. But who are you? Without a voice to muzzle the roaring world you hear your heart fend for itself, the tinnitus of your singing nerve. I found a place where cars and planes were silent too, the air stilled to standing water clear enough to drink, and all my body drank. A gnat at the distant lip of the land flared aloud, fed on the pulse of earth. For a while I couldn’t return. The closer you come to silence, the further it recedes. I am far from you right now, at work on something lonely. I hope the language is listening.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + Published with the permission of the author. Taken fromMaskworkby Gregory Leadbetter Nine Arches Press, 2020. Click on the book title to purchase.
Having just typed in 2020 as the publishing date that means I have been sitting on this book for three years. Crikey, I could have sworn it had only just arrived. Still, if we think about it in terms of light travelling through space then 3 years isn’t long. Anyhoo, we’re here now.
I’ve been enjoying Greg’s work for a while now, certainly since receiving his first collection, The Fetch, as part of my Nine Arches Poetry Book Club Subscription, and that first book was very much brought to life when I saw him read one night at a Poetry Book fair alongside Jacqueline Saphra (I think) and Paul Stephenson (Definitely).
Regardless of my memory failings, there is a lot to admire here. If I am honest, I sometimes feel a little locked out of Greg’s work at first. No disrespect to Greg, as this is true of any poet I read where we clearly have different points of reference. The volume of notes at the back of this book are testament to the knowledge needed to unpick/access some of the nuances at play in his work. However, I must stress that it is worth the time being taken to engage with re-reading the poems and studying the notes as I always come away moved and educated.
In other news, my friend Dunc sent me the cartoon below on Saturday night, and I posted it on the socials with the word discuss as the caption. The majority of the few responses all disagree with Linus.
But back to Greg’s poem. The notes to this poem stress that the interval of the title refers to musical sense of interval and “the difference in pitch between two tones.” I love that it seems to start with a sense of striving— the attempt at silence has failed, and for all its notes (no pun intended) about silence it is noise that interjects the most, from the “roaring world” going unmuzzled by a voice, a “singing nerve” throbbing in our ears, a buzzing gnat. I also love that it ends with a sense that we have to keep striving, to keep working at something lonely. It’s almost a Sisyphean task as “The closer you come to silence, the further it recedes.”, but we’ll get there. Dear god, I’m veering into self-help speech. Sorry.
However, what leaps out at me in this is the centre of the poem..
I found a place where cars and planes were silent too, the air stilled to standing water clear enough to drink, and all my body drank.
The idea here of a calm and quiet place that feeds the whole body. As with restorative silence of home last week, I want to go to the place Greg identifies here and drink deeply, even if it is only possible in my own head. Even if such a place only really exists in our heads.
Go, but The Fetch and Maskwork. I’ve yet to get his latest pamphlets with Broken Sleep or Dare-Gale Press so I can’t comment, but I will and then I will.
A small announcement ahead of a bigger announcement
One thing to come out of the NWR thing is that they asked if they could make reference to my book’s title and release date. I am overjoyed to be able to say the book is called Collecting The Data and it will be out on 7th November. There will be a launch reading on the same day alongside some excellent poets. More on all of this later, probably when I have a cover to show you and a link for ordering, but for now, get the 7th in your diary. See you there.
A Song that is in some vague way linked to something above
Intervals, Bitchin’ Bajas
THE LAST THREE WEEKS IN STATS
HEALTH STATS 10K running. slow week running as long week at work. Must get back to a rhythm. 1 day without cigarettes…(fell off the wagon yesterday after 5 days) 0 days since drinking.
LIFE STATS 1 new colleague 1 child back from her week away 22nd blood donation 1 impromptu pub trip
POET STATS o loose ideas/articles gathered 0 poem finished: 1 poem worked on: Time To Cut A Stick 0 poems committed to the reject pile 0 submissions: 0 withdrawal: 0 acceptances: 0 Longlisting: 0 readings: 0 rejection: 18 poems are currently out for submission. No simultaneous subs 94 Published poems
Reviews 0 review finished: 0 reviews started: 0 review submitted: 1 review to write: Luke Samuel Yates
READ/SEEN/HEARD/ETC
Music r= Radio, A = Audiobook, P=Podcast. The rest is music Monday The Archers (p) Foxhole companion (p) Dropsonde Tuesday The Move: Move The Archers Wednesday The Move: Live At The Fillmore Aaron and Bryce Dessner: Transpecos OST LYR: The Ultraviolet Age Dropsonde Thursday Jah Wobble: A Brief History of Now The Band: The Band, Music from Big Pink Art School Girlfriend: Soft Landing Band of Horses: Things Are Great Friday Antena: Camino Del Sol Dropsonde Playlist Saturday The Archers boygenius: the record The Wonder Stuff: Escape From Rubbish Island Sunday Siouxsie & The Banshees: JuJu Sleeping States: In the Gardens of the North boygenius: boygenius, the record The Go-Betweens: The Friends of Rachel Worth Beth Orton: Weather Alive Suede: ST Joan Shelley: The Spur
Read Gregory Leadbetter: Maskwork Poetry Wales Poetry London New Welsh Review Ben Banyard: Hi Viz
Watched Invasion The Traitors The Change
Ordered/Bought Kling Strip Robert Hamberger: The Rule of Earth Luke Samuel Yates: The Flemish Primitives 2 x cans of Beer in tribute to Early Doors
Wear The Fox Hat 