WHAT YOU FIND IN THE GARDEN AFTER WINTER.

A whole "caravan" of snails glued to each other, their shells sealed with their mucilaginous slime to protect them from the cold. Isn't Nature wonderful!

THE PLUCKING SHED

At last!! The cover of my new book, my first full collection of poetry, published by Cinnamon Press.

It's already on their poetry list with some very fine comments, although it is not due out until July.

The launch will be held in

Alexander's Jazztheatre Bar,
Rufus Court,
Chester, CH1 2JW.

on Monday July 19th at about 8 pm. Alexander's is a place with great atmosphere and good microphone systems, perfect for a book launch. It's also the place where my friends and I hold (packed) Open Floor Poetry nights, known as Zest!

I can't wait to hold a copy of The Plucking Shed in my very own hands. The book has been in preparation for over eighteen months, mainly because Cinnamon's lists and publishing schedule were so full, and during that time I have experienced an amazing creative rush, writing far more poems than this one book can hold. So at some point I shall have to start thinking about a second collection. But for now I just want to rejoice in this wonderful feeling of anticipation (which is occasionally dispelled brutally by waking in the night and thinking oh grief, suppose the reviews are bad...? And then - no, Redbotinki, don't go there, put your red boots on and keep walking!!)

SNAKESKIN AND HAPPENSTANCE

The online poetry webzine Snakeskin, run by George Simmers, features no less than three Happenstance poets this month, Alison Brackenbury, D A Prince, and myself. A veritable Happenstance coup.

Both of my pamphlets have been published by Happenstance, and this press has a wonderful scheme whereby if you sign up as a subscriber you receive a free Happenstance pamphlet of your choice, a discount on other purchases, and also - and this is a remarkable thing - an annual copy of the Happenstance Story, published each year as a Chapter in the life of the press. It is totally fascinating to have this glimpse behind the scenes of a publisher's life, frustrations, joys and responsibilities and every poet can learn an enormous amount from reading it.

It's not expensive to subscribe: £7.50 per annum, and the benefits are great because this is a truly great press, with a very thorough and generous editor in Helena Nelson who takes time over her poets' work, gives superb editorial advice, and produces some fine pamphlets. The press was only established in 2005 and has already been shortlisted for the new Michael Marks award for pamphlet publishers. How could you not want to be part of a press that has published Michael Mackmin, D A Prince, Alison Brackenbury, Rob A Mackenzie, Matt Meritt, Sally Festing? Apologies to those I've missed out but the list is very long, which in itself is proof of the extraordinary dedication of this press to publishing excellence. Do yourself a huge favour - subscribe and enjoy the poems!

FINISHING THE QUILT THREAD

This quilt was made to illustrate Thomas Hardy's poem "August Midnight". It was in the richest purples and blues and golds, made chiefly of velvets and silks, with some printing and also some embroidery. It was utterly sumptuous and, not surpisingly, had picked up a number of awards. My camera would not bring out all the detail in one shot - it was a big quilt, a huge undertaking. I was enchanted by it.

Here are some lines from Hardy's poem:

August Midnight

A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
and the beat of a clock from a distant floor:
on this scene enter -winged, horned, spined -
a longlegs, a moth and a dumbledore.


The moth, in its gorgeous silks, is shown in the above picture, with part of the clock, and printed round the clock in a spiral was the whole poem. I kept going back to look again and again, thinking how wonderful poetry is if it inspires something so magnificent.

I have also been re-reading the poems of George Mackay Brown - they are spare and apparently very plain in their language yet rich, rich, in setting and atmosphere - read a dozen and you can smell the salt, the fish, see the small daffodils of the Orkney spring, feel the sun, and the winter cold.

Lines like this from "Island School" in which a fisherman's son and a young farm girl are shown leaving for school:

The boy

"leaves a small house
of sea light. He leaves
the sea smells, creel
and limpet and cod."

The girl

"comes, cornlight
in the eyes, smelling
of peat and cows
and the rich midden."

But the girl is late and arrives, running, to

"sit
among twenty whispers."


I just love it!