Not my own success in this case but a friend's, Jan Bengree, (whose blog, jan's writing journal, you can read). Jan has recently had a run of success with flash fiction and short stories - second Prize in the Keele University short story competition and several short pieces published in Flash magazine (published by Chester University); success she shared at Words and Biscuits, our writing group of 10 women, who meet every 6 weeks. Jan is a very, very good writer but somehow for years she did not seem to do much, but suddenly she has the bit between her teeth and is at full gallop. And it's great to see!
Not only great to see but inspirational too: I went home after the group meeting and felt really keen to try some flash fiction writing myself so have spent a happy weekend spewing out short pieces. Three seemed really promising and I have sent these off to Flash magazine. Mslexia magazine also regularly features readers' flash fiction but their word limit is 150 words, extremely short - Flash magazine's word limit is 360, a bit more generous!
Words and Biscuits has had an interesting history. It was founded by Jan in the year 2000, and has only seen two people leave and two new faces arrive, and then only because these 2 former members moved away from the area. So we have been pretty constant. We are a mixture of poets and prose writers; some of us write in both forms. We used to broadcast our work twice a year on BBC Radio Merseyside, on the Artwaves programme, and were recorded by Angela Heslop who is very dear to all our hearts, such a relaxed, lovely person. But the programme got axed in favour of sport - totally disgraceful! as Artwaves was a really good and enjoyable programme, which presented details and snippets of art happenings all round our region and kept us in touch with what was going on. One of the few Radio M programmes I used to listen to regularly whether Words and Biscuits were on it or not.
Anyway, a cheerful goodbye to our past in the media! And on to other things: one of our members, Dilys Dowswell, is an active WI member also and she has organised for us to read our work to various WI groups round Cheshire. So we now troop around the county to some of the loveliest villages and read our work to groups that vary between tiny numbers and huge hallfuls of members. We get given wonderful tea and cakes, and we join in the singing of 'Jerusalem' with great gusto. I've never experienced anything quite like it in my life, and I tell you it's been a revelation and a joy. I never thought I would like this but to my surprise I do. Not just the tea and cakes but the obscure places we get to, the variety of village halls or other meeting places, the passionate causes championed by the different groups - yes, the WI is a great campaigning body for rural issues and is currently taking up the matter of the dearth of the honey bee, which I'm delighted about. (But that subject is for another blog post , when I get round to it...) I am beginning to have a great deal of admiration for the WI. They are remarkable women.
And you find out that some villages have Poems and Pints session which you don't know about, and other have 'Poems and Pies' lunches. These forays into Cheshire could almost take the place of Artwaves....
Sunday, 28 June 2009
Monday, 22 June 2009
Midsummer
And where are those long, long beautiful June evenings? Nowhere to be seen up here.
Despite that a pot of runner beans trained up bamboo canes is doing well in my small garden. How tough Mother Nature is - I'd have curled my toes up in this too cool summer weather!
The potatoes-in-the-compost-bag thing are not showing any signs of life yet but I didn't plant them until late; I had a spell of feeling very tired.
And there are only five apples on my apple tree this year.
I might try some rocket in a large pot but if I don't get round to that THEN
it's up to the runner beans...!
Despite that a pot of runner beans trained up bamboo canes is doing well in my small garden. How tough Mother Nature is - I'd have curled my toes up in this too cool summer weather!
The potatoes-in-the-compost-bag thing are not showing any signs of life yet but I didn't plant them until late; I had a spell of feeling very tired.
And there are only five apples on my apple tree this year.
I might try some rocket in a large pot but if I don't get round to that THEN
it's up to the runner beans...!
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Zest!
If you are near Chester on June 29th and have a free evening let me invite you to drop into Alexanders Jazztheatre Bar in Rufus Court (off Northgate St) at 8 pm and join me for an Open Mic Poetry Evening called ZEST! I shall be hosting it and almost everyone who wishes to gets a chance to read at least one poem. Even if you don't want to read you will have a very enjoyable time listening to a wide variety of work, including poems from our guest poet Alicia Stubbersfield.
We try to have a special guest at our Zest! evenings at least twice a year: in the past we have had Pat Borthwick, Chris Kinsey (BBC Wildife Magazine's poet of the year 2008), Matt Merritt, John Lindley, Andrew Rudd, Mandy Pannett, Maggie Norton and David Bateman.
When I say 'we' I mean the Zest! team who are myself together with Leih Steggall and Caroline Hawkridge.
We try to have a special guest at our Zest! evenings at least twice a year: in the past we have had Pat Borthwick, Chris Kinsey (BBC Wildife Magazine's poet of the year 2008), Matt Merritt, John Lindley, Andrew Rudd, Mandy Pannett, Maggie Norton and David Bateman.
When I say 'we' I mean the Zest! team who are myself together with Leih Steggall and Caroline Hawkridge.
Friday, 5 June 2009
Dream Songs
"I am going to give you all some dream songs" said Michael Symmons Roberts early on in last Saturday's Poetry School workshop on writing the poetry sequence.
How wonderful! Everyone should have a dream song; dream songs should be lying on every surface of the house: the fridgetop, the kitchen counter (preferably beside the kettle), on your bedside table, and definitely in the bathroom.
But of course Michael was talking about the American poet John Berryman's great work, a huge sequence called "Dream Songs", written largely when Berryman was in hospital for a long period being treated for depression. And the poet was delighted because in this situation the work came to him and he got it down. Which made me think about the creative act and depression:
Caroline Smailes whose blog I read from time to time has been very candid in a recent post about her own fight with depression some years ago, and this is a young woman who is a very dedicated, enthusiastic writer. I'm not going to go into great lists here of writers who have struggled with serious depression through their lives; anyone can find any amount of examples.
But sometimes illness can trigger creative expression. I am thinking of the poet Molly Holden who was diagnosed with MS, and who wrote some of her most moving poems in the voice of someone shut in behind a window, looking out at a world that was calmly going on without her and which she was no longer able to get out into without help.
A diagnosis of MS is particularly numbing since there is so little that can be done for it. My own husband had MS and when he came out of hospital after receiving that diagnosis, following a crisis that left him paralysed and unable to speak, he recovered enough to throw himself into a fury of doing things, worked very long hours in the lab, and insisted on cutting down a half rotten tree in our garden, a sycamore standing on a slope. I will never forget the manic rage with which he set himself to that task, attacking only the trunk and refusing to do the sensible thing of first removing branches. There was no restraining him and perhaps he needed to express his own helpless despair and anger at being told he had MS, but I can only tell you that when that tree gave way and began slowly to topple down the slope, away from my husband, I have never felt so thankful in my life! It fell against another tree which stood firm.
He was not able to keep this impassioned activity up for long: the disease in his case was quite progressive and he rapidly reached the stage of incontinence, numbness in the hands, problems with speech, his memory shot to pieces, unable even to recognise close members of his own family. He died at the age of 47.
Maybe if he had been a poet he would have written his own dream songs. Instead I have written them for him.
Here's one:
For Finbar
The stars here are like apples
crowding the tree.
You could have picked them one by one,
kept them in the pocket
closest to your heart.
But it is I who watch the stars,
I who cannot name them as you did.
The pockets of my heart are filled
with holes, the bright apples
always out of reach.
This poem was originally published in Poetry Scotland, and later in my pamphlet "Uncertain Days" (Happenstance Press)
How wonderful! Everyone should have a dream song; dream songs should be lying on every surface of the house: the fridgetop, the kitchen counter (preferably beside the kettle), on your bedside table, and definitely in the bathroom.
But of course Michael was talking about the American poet John Berryman's great work, a huge sequence called "Dream Songs", written largely when Berryman was in hospital for a long period being treated for depression. And the poet was delighted because in this situation the work came to him and he got it down. Which made me think about the creative act and depression:
Caroline Smailes whose blog I read from time to time has been very candid in a recent post about her own fight with depression some years ago, and this is a young woman who is a very dedicated, enthusiastic writer. I'm not going to go into great lists here of writers who have struggled with serious depression through their lives; anyone can find any amount of examples.
But sometimes illness can trigger creative expression. I am thinking of the poet Molly Holden who was diagnosed with MS, and who wrote some of her most moving poems in the voice of someone shut in behind a window, looking out at a world that was calmly going on without her and which she was no longer able to get out into without help.
A diagnosis of MS is particularly numbing since there is so little that can be done for it. My own husband had MS and when he came out of hospital after receiving that diagnosis, following a crisis that left him paralysed and unable to speak, he recovered enough to throw himself into a fury of doing things, worked very long hours in the lab, and insisted on cutting down a half rotten tree in our garden, a sycamore standing on a slope. I will never forget the manic rage with which he set himself to that task, attacking only the trunk and refusing to do the sensible thing of first removing branches. There was no restraining him and perhaps he needed to express his own helpless despair and anger at being told he had MS, but I can only tell you that when that tree gave way and began slowly to topple down the slope, away from my husband, I have never felt so thankful in my life! It fell against another tree which stood firm.
He was not able to keep this impassioned activity up for long: the disease in his case was quite progressive and he rapidly reached the stage of incontinence, numbness in the hands, problems with speech, his memory shot to pieces, unable even to recognise close members of his own family. He died at the age of 47.
Maybe if he had been a poet he would have written his own dream songs. Instead I have written them for him.
Here's one:
For Finbar
The stars here are like apples
crowding the tree.
You could have picked them one by one,
kept them in the pocket
closest to your heart.
But it is I who watch the stars,
I who cannot name them as you did.
The pockets of my heart are filled
with holes, the bright apples
always out of reach.
This poem was originally published in Poetry Scotland, and later in my pamphlet "Uncertain Days" (Happenstance Press)
Monday, 18 May 2009
More Readings Etc
Can't believe that I was writing about growing vegetables recently; it's been so cold that even I am shrinking! And Time seems to have shrunk too, in that I never seem to have any.
There are two reasons for this (well, possibly three). The first reason is that The Poem Shed, a workshop group I run, have given a reading of our work and a mini-workshop at Little Sutton library this week: the lavish and warm hospitality we received from Kate Mason and her team of library staff has left me too overcome to even think about writing anything on this blog! Our thanks to them all and also, with congratulations, to the brave group of participants who had an enthusiastic go at celebrating themselves, as in the poem "Who is Who" by Tomaz Salamun, which begins bluntly: "Tomaz Salamun, you are a genius" - we all need a bit more positive thinking about ourselves.
Then Chester Performs, a wonderful group charged with responsiblity for drama and arts events in Chester, organised a film festival called Screen Deva, showing some excellent films in different venues in Chester. I simply had to go to Oddfellows to see "Some Like it Hot" and feel partly embarassed and partly proud to admit that I have seen this film about 18-19 times now, and still love it. I could not go to see "Manhattan", another film I adore, because I'm not a young mum with a baby in a pushchair and this was a Baby Deva event! But I did get to see "La Vita e Bella", held in Olio and Farina's restaurant-cum-Italian deli, and treated a friend and myself to a meal beforehand, the best lasagna we've ever eaten. Another great film to add to my 'see-again' list. And why not? We're only here once - so make the most of everything.
Well , after all this excitement it was time to calm down on Saturday morning and get myself to Bebington library to the Liverpool Dead Good Poets Society reading group and deliver a session on Sylvia Plath whose poetry I have always found so powerful and striking. I sincerely wish the quality of her work was not so much dogged by her life story and the various misconceptions of her famous marriage to Ted Hughes. I much prefer to look at her work for its own sake; I think it's the least any reader can do for a writer. When you think that at the time she was writing, mid-1950's to 60's, women poets did not get much of a look-in, then her writing is even more astonishing.
And now I am going off on a kind of second writers' retreat, at the Oak Barn in Shropshire, which can be found on the net under Oak Barn Workshops. I have written so many of my poems here; it has just that kind of peace a writer needs as if peace were painted or breathed lovingly into the walls. I thoroughly enjoy writing here and am going to spend the time considering how to shape my next book "The Plucking Shed" which is due for publication in 2010. That may seem a long way off but in view of how time seems to have contracted lately I really feel I'd better crack on! Time might shrink again....
There are two reasons for this (well, possibly three). The first reason is that The Poem Shed, a workshop group I run, have given a reading of our work and a mini-workshop at Little Sutton library this week: the lavish and warm hospitality we received from Kate Mason and her team of library staff has left me too overcome to even think about writing anything on this blog! Our thanks to them all and also, with congratulations, to the brave group of participants who had an enthusiastic go at celebrating themselves, as in the poem "Who is Who" by Tomaz Salamun, which begins bluntly: "Tomaz Salamun, you are a genius" - we all need a bit more positive thinking about ourselves.
Then Chester Performs, a wonderful group charged with responsiblity for drama and arts events in Chester, organised a film festival called Screen Deva, showing some excellent films in different venues in Chester. I simply had to go to Oddfellows to see "Some Like it Hot" and feel partly embarassed and partly proud to admit that I have seen this film about 18-19 times now, and still love it. I could not go to see "Manhattan", another film I adore, because I'm not a young mum with a baby in a pushchair and this was a Baby Deva event! But I did get to see "La Vita e Bella", held in Olio and Farina's restaurant-cum-Italian deli, and treated a friend and myself to a meal beforehand, the best lasagna we've ever eaten. Another great film to add to my 'see-again' list. And why not? We're only here once - so make the most of everything.
Well , after all this excitement it was time to calm down on Saturday morning and get myself to Bebington library to the Liverpool Dead Good Poets Society reading group and deliver a session on Sylvia Plath whose poetry I have always found so powerful and striking. I sincerely wish the quality of her work was not so much dogged by her life story and the various misconceptions of her famous marriage to Ted Hughes. I much prefer to look at her work for its own sake; I think it's the least any reader can do for a writer. When you think that at the time she was writing, mid-1950's to 60's, women poets did not get much of a look-in, then her writing is even more astonishing.
And now I am going off on a kind of second writers' retreat, at the Oak Barn in Shropshire, which can be found on the net under Oak Barn Workshops. I have written so many of my poems here; it has just that kind of peace a writer needs as if peace were painted or breathed lovingly into the walls. I thoroughly enjoy writing here and am going to spend the time considering how to shape my next book "The Plucking Shed" which is due for publication in 2010. That may seem a long way off but in view of how time seems to have contracted lately I really feel I'd better crack on! Time might shrink again....
Monday, 4 May 2009
Nantwich
Nantwich is one of the loveliest Cheshire towns, and is genuinely old black and white timbered buildings since it suffered a major fire and was rebuilt largely through the generosity of Queen Elisabeth 1st. Its black and white buildings are worth going to see for themselves alone, especially the bookshop which has settled in towards its middle so severely it looks like it has a bad case of rickets. Knock-kneed and yet very beautiful! There are many things worth seeing in Nantwich but I go there for two things particularly: one is this wonderful furniture shop that looks like an amazing ship that has sailed up the River Weaver by mistake and been stranded in the town.
The other is the very special Harry Clarke window in the church. The Clarke family were a Dublin firm of stained glass makers; much of their work is in churches and convents in Ireland but this window was done for a family that Harry knew very well and it is as if he pulled out all the stops when making it: the colours in it are the richest example of art nouveau stained glass I have ever seen and if you can get to Nantwich in late February or March, around midday so that you might be lucky enough to get the low winter sun pouring in behind the window, you will be dazzled by the intensity and sheer beauty of colour. I have tried to photograph it, but you would need special lighting to convey the stunning colours in it, and the postcard sold by the church shop sadly comes nowhere near the mark.
I was once fortunate to see it in perfect light conditions; I was with a friend and just as we arrived in Nantwich the sun came out. We looked at each other and said "Quick, let's go and see the Harry Clarke window!" and we got there at the precise moment that the sun lit it up fully: glowing greens, purples and blues as in peacock feathers, a thrilling brilliant rose pink and the bright willow green of new leaves in spring, and golds and yellows and fierce oranges. Harry used a great many metals in obtaining his rich colours and so it is no surprise perhaps to learn that he died quite young, at 42, of lung problems. This is the only window in this country as far as I know that he personally supervised the installation of.
Friday, 24 April 2009
It's spring and this picture makes me long to start growing things. I think vegetables and fruit are among the most beautiful and colourful things of our world and this picture is full of colour! I love fruit and veg markets in other countries; huge piles of glorious knobbly tomatoes, shiny onions, exquisite furry-feeling fragrant peaches, oranges that still smell fresh from the tree (oranges in our supermarkets, indeed vegetables and fruit in general in our supermarkets, have very little smell which makes shopping a very dull experience).
My garden is very tiny, but even so I have runner-beans in a large tub, trained up bamboo canes; I have a patch of excellently sweet rhubarb; a Crispin apple tree that generously fruits every year even though it too is small as yet; and I'll be growing salad rocket in pots. On my window-sill are some potato tubers chitting up, and I am going to try growing these in bin bags full of compost. You start them off in a small layer of rich comppost, in a bag with its sides rolled down like sagging socks, and you add more compost and roll the bag up a little more as the plants begin to grow. I am told you can produce quite an amount of potatoes this way. We'll see!
In past years I grew the beans up the fences, muddled in with the roses and summer jasmines, but they never did very well that way so let's hope they do better in their tub. I might try some baby beetroot in the borders in with the flowers, but the soil is very sandy here and dries out very fast; root vegetables aren't too keen on that. Radish maybe? Except I'm not too keen on radish. Probably I should be preparing for climate warming by planting drought-loving flowers, or cacti or something: maybe I could try star apples; they grew on reasonably small trees in Malaysia, or papayas which grow straight and tall, perfect for that 'vertical' element in the garden. Although after last winter's bitterly cold weeks perhaps not. Or not yet at any rate...
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