York Literature Festival HUB 2018 event, Tuesday, 20th March

I'm looking forward to my first event for absolutely ages - at the York Literature Festival HUB. Many thanks to YLF and Valley Press for supporting the event, which will take place at the Theatre Royal. Free refreshments will be available at the event itself.

Of course I'm delighted that the popular Little Apple Bookshop in York will also be stocking 'Homecoming' at the theatre and in the shop.

Booking information is on the York Theatre Royal website.
All the festival events are here and are booking fast!

Poem on the Algebra of Owls website

I'm very pleased to say that one of my poems from 'Homecoming' is up on the excellent Yorkshire-based poetry e-zine Algebra of Owls.

Also, 'Homecoming' is available in the Guardian Bookshop. I have read more than a few of their recommended books over the years and I'm delighted to be in such good company.

book launch of joanna ezekiel's homecoming

Perhaps spring - whatever the weather - is the best time of year in which to publish a book. Both of my poetry collections came out in spring. My new poetry collection, Homecoming, was launched at the Oxfam Bookshop in Micklegate, York, last night. This morning, I saw a rare sight in the back yard - a bumblebee.

I'd like to thank everybody who attended on a cold night: fellow poets, poetry lovers, family, friends, neighbours (especially Pip).

Special thanks go to:

Jamie and Rosa from Valley Press, who are producing five books in five weeks! I was so delighted with Rosa's introduction that I will be including it in my blog profile. The Valley Press book table was very seductive - with a lovely new Valley Press banner behind it -, and I now have books by Di Slaney, Patrick Lodge, Malene Engelund and Kelley Swain to add to my summer reading list.

Rosa from Valley Press

Hamish at the Oxfam Bookshop, who was enthusiastic about the launch from the start, and his wife Sheila, whose room setting advice was invaluable. The bookshop has, among other sections, a large range of poetry books, a children's section, and some great postcards and greetings cards. Also lots of 'Divine' chocolate that I can never resist.

Amina Alyal

Oz Hardwick

Guest readers Amina Alyal and Oz Hardwick. Both Amina and Oz write poems that you can't sum up in terms of saying easily what they are 'about'. There are usually several surprising and creative connections involved. I am proud to have their endorsements on the back of my book, along with three other excellent poets: David Cooke, Fiona Sinclair, and:

Andy Humphrey, who also attended. Even though Andy is very busy he took the time to send out an extra email to remind people to attend.

Terry and Yafa, for the matzos, a kind thought.
And extra special thanks to Chris, Mum and Jon for all their support.

Chris has taken some great photos, which I think show that the Oxfam Bookshop in Micklegate is a nicely-lit venue.

If you have a copy of 'Homecoming'... I hope you enjoy it.

book review: fiona sinclair's write me into bed with casanova craft

Fiona Sinclair's new pamphlet is published by 'Original Plus' Publications, which I think is an apt description for the kind of writing that this publisher brings out, and Fiona's does not disappoint.  As in her previous collection, A Game of Hide and Seek (Indigo Dreams, 2012), Fiona writes with fearsome honesty abut expectations and appearances. Here, she takes us on a journey through internet dating:

'I search through my matches past Kray twin lookalikes,
married men wearing tell-tale dark glasses...'

(Internet dating)

These wry snapshots are interspersed with poems that poignantly explore the poet's relationships with both her parents, particularly her mother. Other poems look, with the same imaginative precision, at pets, proms, and clocks.

I particularly liked the realisations that the memories that stay longer in our minds are not necessarily the ones we expect to remember:


'For years, dreams familiar as TV repeats,
not of the boy, but the jilted A'levels.'

(Unfinished Business)

These are insightful and compassionate poems.



Fiona Sinclair, write me into bed with Casanova craft, Original Plus, Cumbria, 2014

book review: shanta everington's drowning in cherryade

This is an A6 size, fifteen page pamphlet, just right for slipping into a pocket or a handbag. The lively cover is pink and bubbly, contrasting with the mention of drowning. Many of the ten poems in this collection have been previously placed in competitions or published in respectable magazines.

Shanta is also a novelist for young adults, and as well as poems about family, relationships, and motherhood, she explores teenage friendships and crushes to show how private moments often take place in public:

'...I cut the others off

and wait till they walk out laughing, to take you to the counter.'

(Shrine to Justin)

Some of the titles, 'Old Dear', 'Girl's World,' also present us with everyday images that are subverted imaginatively in the poems:

'I make toffee apples of her cheeks,

her eyes a crinkly purple like fading bruises'

(Girl's World)

Bedouin Books is an American publisher, and from this British reviewer's perspective, there is a new vein of fresh poetic voices in the States at the moment, such as Alison Stine, Jordan Davis, and Edward Nudelman. Like these poets, Shanta takes situations that appear ordinary to the casual observer, and floods them with intensity and intimacy, often using longer lines and enjambment to keep us in the moment.

The poem 'Aquatic Alice', in fact, could be a fitting description of how Shanta's imagery look closely at the reality of a situation:

'... Be still. She

has something to say.'

(Aquatic Alice)

Shanta's poetry chapbook is this year's well-deserved winner of the Bedouin Books annual chapbook competition.

Shanta Everington, Drowning in Cherryade, Bedouin Books, Winconsin, 2014.

father's day 2014

My beloved father died nearly a year ago. Here is a link to my poem  'Dad is building' published in 'Iota' in 2004:
http://poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/record.asp?id=14202

book review: andy humphrey's a long way to fall

Andy Humphrey's first collection, 'A Long Way To Fall' was published by Lapwing Press,  in 2012.  Andy runs the monthly poetry event 'Speaker's Corner' in York, and he understands the value of an arresting start to a poem:

'They snatched me out of swirling sea'

(The Mariner's Return)

'It's the sugar I can't stand'

(Sugar)

This 60-page collection is a good example of the importance of editing, redrafting, and not rushing into publication. Every poem has earned its place, and it feels like a collection that draws together different themes. Many poems are narrative poems, written in the first person, and a strong mythical thread, that encompasses past and present, runs throughout the collection:

'He didn't get as far as Valinor.
Instead, he put ashore at Birkenhead,
and discovered rock and roll.'

(I Know Where Gandalf Lives Now)

There are also poems that describe, with great imaginative precision, personal experiences involving love, travel, and loss:

'I tell you about the tea shop
with the higgledy-piggledy floor
where the waitress mixed up the Lapsang Souchong
and I sketched the flowery lady in the hat.'

(Bringing Back Poems)

I hope we won't have to wait for too long for Andy's second collection.

poetry snapshots: claudia jessop

Love Poem, with Obsolete Technology

1

Rotary, manual,

the round drag of days,

the sliding feed of paper

round the cylinder, under the bar,

the bar like a horizon,

the paper like the sea.

The rubber stamp’s stamp,

the wrapping in brown paper

of precious weight

secured with string,

with thumb-pulled knots.

The circle of the postmark,

of the watchface,

of the dial.

The watermark’s grave echo.

2

This photograph in a frame, on a desk

will stabilise, set free.

You stand

against a backdrop of the sea.

But once I have written you down,

you will pose, eyes heavenward,

like a matinee idol,

publishing your smiles.

.

My poem of you

will create artificial conditions

as if for a fish to live

outside water, stretching breath

in raw air.

The small machines of words

will cut your perfect shape: you will look up,

right at me

not like one long gone, not like one

failing to be delivered,

leaving no mark.

Claudia Jessop lives in Hackney with her husband, son and daughter. She works in a library, runs poetry and reading groups for children, and conducts research into local history. Some of her articles have been published on the Hackney Society's website.

This year Cinnamon Press published her second collection, Looking For. Her first collection, also from Cinnamon, was This is the Woman Who (2009). She has published poetry in several magazines and has had poems and short stories placed in several competitions. You can hear her reading one of her poems at the Poetry Magazines website.

I'm very much looking forward to reading Claudia's new poetry collection, and couldn't resist posting a photo of the beautiful cover, which, I think, works very well with Claudia's beautiful poetry:

 

  

poetry snapshots: david cooke

I always enjoy reading new poems by David Cooke, and hope to see more from him in the future. We're very lucky to see one of his new poems, Pilgrims, here. Thanks, David! He has recently had poems published in The Cortland Review and London Grip Poetry Review, and on websites The Screech Owl and The Dock, with a forthcoming poem in the Irish Literary Review. David's excellent latest poetry collection, Work Horses, is available from Ward Wood Publishing, and he also has a page on the poetry pf site.

PILGRIMS

for Ziyad, Tamim & Rafiq

When the day has come,

you will make a journey

to the city of Mecca.

Each of you a pilgrim

dressed in white,

you will cast the stones

that set you free

from Shaitán, the evil one.

Circling the Ka’aba

you will feel around you

the crowd surging

like a river in spate;

and though it’s a distance

I cannot travel,

the scallop shells

on my school badge

made me a pilgrim too

like those who had tramped

to the far-flung shrine

of Santiago

de Compostela

poetry snapshots: shanta everington

Debut poetry chapbook from Shanta Everington

Shanta Everington’s debut poetry chapbook, Drowning in Cherryade, is published this month by US-based independent publisher, bedouin books, after winning their annual poetry chapbook competition.

 

Editor Michael D'Alessandro says, ‘Drowning in Cherryade conjures candy-colored scenes of youth mirrored in an examination of memories. Overwhelmed by first experiences, the poems are at once told with a resignedness to their outcomes, while maintaining a perspective of awkward fumbling for an anchor. This parallax affect helps complete the pictures presented here with a quick wit, a rooted voice and a few playful surprises.’

Excerpt:

 

To Die For

 

Half a packet of raindrops and

as much ice cold water as

you can drink for your body

to warm up and burn. He

 

pinches half a millimetre

of flesh on my ribs and says,

You need to take better care

of yourself, my dear. I peer

 

through the veil of my fringe and

nod my head three millimetres,

picturing my picture in the papers.

I can be ready in a week. I peek

 

at the tick next to my name.

Next. My smiling eyes roll

down over the twigs of my toes

and all the way to the park where

 

I will perform a hundred star jumps

and remember how your skin

used to shine when you laughed.

For you understood it was important.

 

***

 

Shanta has an MA in Creative Writing with Distinction from MMU and teaches Creative Writing with The Open University in London. In addition to Drowning in Cherryade, she has published three novels and two non-fiction books. Visit http://www.shantaeverington.co.uk

book review: red roots, orange sky by csilla toldy

I always look forward to reading a Lapwing publication, and Csilla Toldy's poetry pamphlet is no exception. Relationships are a strong theme, with the first section of the pamphlet, 'Red Roots', exploring growing up, and the second section, 'Orange Sky' looking at the twists and turns of a relationship. Csilla is also a film-maker, and many of the poems feature surprising visual images:

Quick, bring
the needle to pin
her down into the dark -


(from 'The Sewing Machine')

Repeated images of losing blood show us the vulnerability contained in the narrative and impressionistic poems, while the orange sky seems to represent the weight of the past.  The free verse formats, punctuation, last lines, and titles work very hard to show us, rather than tell us, the strong emotions here. This is an ambitious collection and I was left with the feeling that the poet has more to say. I hope to read more from Csilla in the future.

Find out more about Csilla, including details of 'Red Roots, Orange Sky' on her website.

a braid of words: ten years on

It's now been ten years since my first pamphlet collection A braid of words came out with Poetry Monthly Press. Chris and I had spent the previous day moving house: I remember how exciting it was when the little box of pamphlets arrived at our new home. Here are two poems from A braid of words to mark the occasion.

A braid of words

I cling to the edge
of the roar of a lion,
its white-gold edge
like a coast at sunrise,
My feet hang clear
of the quicksand below
as it bubbles and sucks.
I will scramble up
to face the roar,
its mountains and valleys,
my breath a sirocco,
my pulse a landslide.
I will hear my calm voice
through the tremor,
a braid of words
like a pulley-cable
to haul myself across
until I fall off
into full noon sunlight,
blinking, my palms
stripped and raw.



(This poem was first published in Iota magazine, and also appears in Centuries of Skin)





Angel in the shopping centre

Next to this High Street bench
I sustain your thrown fag-ends,
your empty cans of Coke -
their teardrops brand my palm.
All day I am brushed
by the fingers of your children.
They are unafraid,
but you will only seek me
in your dreams.

poetry snapshots: andy humphrey

The Green Man




Each evening, his labours at an end,

the green man

catches the number ten bus

and makes his silent way

through the glistening, lamplit streets.



I didn’t realise

it was him at first,

muffled under moss-coloured wool

and capacious, earth-stained coat.

But that musk gave him away:

the autumn-scent of crumbling bark and badgers,

brown as leaf-litter, heady

with mushrooms, moss and leather. The air

tastes of tilled earth as he passes.



I sneak a glance

when he’s not looking, try to make out

stray twigs poking

from under the cap, the stubble-fuzz of lichen

on his jowls, the weatherbeaten

crags of brows. I picture great fat hands,

hoary, ripe as apples,

curling up hedgehogs into puffballs,

scuffing truffles, turning insect-teeming logs,

bedding in horse-chestnuts until spring.



In cracked grey hobnails

he disembarks like rustled leaf-breath.

A flavour of loam and windfalls

lingers in the air behind him:

the must of seasons turning,

festivals,

harvests.




Andy Humphrey is a freelance writer, part-time law student, trade union activist and former research scientist. He has lived in York for the last five years. His published output includes nearly 50 poems and a number of short stories and he writes his own opinion blog, The Poet's Soapbox. He has won numerous awards for his poetry including six First Prizes in national and international competitions. He spends much of his time promoting up-and-coming writers as a competition judge, poetry slam organiser, and MC of The Speakers' Corner open mic night in York. His writing is heavily influenced by his favourite things which include twilight, fairy stories, English and Celtic folk music, and single malt whisky. His proudest achievements include surviving three years in Milton Keynes, and his ambition is to prove that Dragons really did exist, and possibly still do.


You can read more about Andy and his writing here.

poetry venue: buzzwords

About Buzzwords. Buzzwords poetry night has an excellent host in Angela France, and an audience of local poets who are working hard at their poetry themselves.


Buzzwords meets regularly for a poetry reading, open mic and workshopping session. See their program for dates and guest poets.

Upstairs at The Exmouth, Bath Road, Cheltenham. The first Sunday of every month.



7pm - workshop

8pm - Guest readings and open mic


£5 waged, £3 unwaged

poetry snapshots special: brian evans-jones's poetry 20:20

This month, I've been enjoying a daily poem by poet and creative writing tutor Brian Evans-Jones, so I invited him over to my delayed reactions, along with a poem, to talk about his October poetry project.

This poem was written on Friday 7th.



Half five,
the alarm clock
machine guns sleep. Bedroom
black as a bin with lid pressed tight.
Woman


sandbagged,
bunkered in dreams.
He coughs, curses, rises.
No point washing: sweat will oil him
all day.


Red cig
lights a flare path
down the stairs. The kids breathe,
dervishes on hold. Here’s his kit:
thick boots


the weight
of half-lost dreams;
trousers that hiss his steps;
his yellow wasp’s coat. One quick brew,
and go.


Cold bites
like a puppy
learning its lock. He jogs,
joins the wan swarm at the depot,
laughing.





The poems are going up on Facebook at Brian Evans-Jones's Poetry 20:20. Please send a request to join if you'd like to come and read them. For more about the rationale and progress, see Brian's blog.


Brian says: 'Poetry 20:20 is a project I'd been mulling over for a few months and finally decided to do. The basic concept is simple: for four weeks in October, I write a new poem every day, Monday to Friday - making 20 poems in all.

However, because I prefer doing things that are not just difficult but really really difficult, I also decided to set myself a whole other set of constraints: 15 in all, 5 relating to subject matter and prompts, 5 to form, and 5 to style. So most days a poem conforms to 3 constraints, in addition to the simple one of being written at all.

Why set myself such a daft task? Several reasons. Firstly, I've been through a year when I had very little time to write, and now that's over I want to take on something big.

Secondly, perhaps because I hadn't been writing very often, I felt that my poetry had become stuck in a rut of sameness. So I set the constraints to make sure that I would be forced to do other things.

And lastly, because I just want to see if I can do it! So far it's going well: I'm enjoying the pressure and am pleasantly surprised at the quality of what I can produce in just 1 to 2 hours' work.

I'm also reaping some benefits that I didn't anticipate: a big boost in my negative capability, for example, since day after day a chaotic process magically turns into a complete poem. Also a burgeoning ability to cut, quickly and cleanly, to the heart of what I want to write about, without getting hung up on small issues.

Without a doubt, writing a daily poem is something I would heartily recommend.'

poetry snapshots: farhan khan

For A Few Coins



Shambling along a dirt road,

I come across a pauper girl,

not older than six or seven --

skinny, tanned, in ragged clothes.

She is readying herself

for her amusement trick

to earn some money

off the passers-by.



There is a five-meter tightrope

stretched, half a meter from the ground,

between two short wooden poles.

The girl now walks along it, slowly,

carefully balancing,

encouraged by the clapping and wiggling

of the gathering crowd.



Do they see her tired face,

no light in her eyes?

Do they notice how thin

her stretched little arms are?



Two quick last steps,

and she plunges to the ground

to collect the scattered coins

with speed and zeal.





Farhan, a young poet from the tiny town,Budaun of the vicinity of Uttar Pradesh, India, is doing his Masters of Arts in English Literature from Rohil Khand University, Bareilly. His picturesque poems make a film in the reader’s mind, taking the reader into the abode of palpable emotions to touch the bottom of their heart. His early poems have been placed in an International Online Journal known as Kritya, which is published from Kerala, India, and in several other ezines. He has a blog where  a few of his poems can be read by clicking on this link-http://farhanpoetry.blogspot.com/

poetry snapshots: david mac

Red Beat




Your heart is a big red bell,

a pumping howl,

a hot steamy pie,

and so is mine.

They keep their legendary ticking,

their sore beat

like the glad voice of God.

Listen…

We are alive, we are in love,

the pulse is fierce.

Do you hear?

Listen…

Our hearts’ clock is

the only time that matters.





David Mac is 32-year-old wino forklift driver whose work can be found in Ambit, Purple Patch, The Journal, Weyfarers, United Press, Monkey Kettle, Clockwise Cat, Urban District Writer, erbacce, Streetcake, Urban Landscapes, Neon Highway, KRAX, Moodswing, Antique Children, Danse Macabre, Mud Luscious, Burning Houses, This Zine Will Change Your Life, Poetry Over Coffee, Global Tapestry Journal, Obsessed With Pipework, Howls and Pushycats, Word Riot, Decanto, as well as being a featured poet on The Poetry Kit’s ‘Caught On The Net’.


Many self-publishd chapbooks available plus ‘These Dirty Nothings’ and ‘Room is Brutal’ from erbacce-press.

He is currently locked in a mad room somewhere in the Bedfordshire Hell writing his cheap, dirty, twisted words, and drinking his vat of cheap red wine.

Read more words on Write Out Loud: www.writeoutloud.net/poets/davidmac

lutonghoul@hotmail.co.uk

poetry snapshots: andrew oldham



The Real Icarus



The men have taken to shore,

drunk and singing, arm in arm with whores.

My son, their Captain, he yells, keep her fast,

sing my shanties or feel the lash.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.



Down by the docks he pisses on tramps,

shows them wax burns, all born from lamps.

In alleys, in taverns, he spreads his lies,

shows them goose feathers, bullshit flies.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.



I am immortal, says my son, women snigger,

cocks his pistol, smiles, pulls the trigger.

A snap, a fizz against wax, a misfired dud,

my son is not born of my blood.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.



Icarus fell here, women say, as I come and go,

in a tavern, in a marketplace, he performed his show.

No fizz, I melted the wax from the barrel of his gun,

he took away my home, my life, my inventions, my son.

Away away-oh, away away-oh.








 
Andrew Oldham has been a columnist for The London Magazine. His fiction has featured in The Sunday Times and his first poetry collection, Ghosts of a Low Moon (Lapwing, Belfast 2010), is available at http://www.andrewoldham.co.uk/




poetry snapshots: nina simon

Painting the Oceans


I paint oceans

with violent hues -

heavy lines stir surging seas,

thick brush strokes

smash waves against breakers,

while white foamy spume

pounds shingle beaches.



Blues and greens

swirl into darkness,

leaden clouds

billow in deepest grey.



I stipple in a small sailboat;

tossed and thrown

on turbulent tides,

its lone occupant

clinging to the mast,

as water washes away outlines.






Published in Misfit Mirror: an anthology of poetry and flash fiction by Earlyworks Press, 2008


Nina works for Redbridge Schools’ Library Service.. Although she has always loved to read, writing is something she only began by accident about seven years ago. At last she feels she has found a means to express herself and channel her over-active imagination into poetry and short stories.

poetry snapshots: michelle mcgrane

'Terra Marique Potens'


So, there we were, me and the wee'un at my breast, nestled in my sheepskin coat, cradled by the pitch and roll, when a fearsome din broke out on deck. While Tioboid slept the sleep of newborns, Cap'n O' Domhnaill burst into the cabin urging me to rally the crew. Sticky with birthing, milk and sweat, cursing the eejits who wouldn't grant a woman rest after labour, I sallied above with my musketoon, legs shaking as if I'd been keelhauled from Inishlaghan to Carrigeenglass Norht. Through flags of smoke, a square-rigged galley, its blackjack flapping as corsairs swarmed aboard. Snugging the stock into my shoulder, I picked out a flinty crag of a man bawling like the divil hisself and assailing my lads with a boarding axe. Aiming the flared muzzle, I cocked the hammer, squeezed the trigger. When he hit the boards, mouth agape, the remaining Berbers scarpered like bilge rats. I succoured the babe wrawling for teat and ordered all hands to bear up for port.






Published in The Suitable Girl, Pindrop Press, 2010


Michelle McGrane is the author of The Suitable Girl (published by Pindrop Press in the United Kingdom and Modjaji Books in South Africa). She lives in Johannesburg and blogs at Peony Moon.