tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166081802024-03-19T03:48:47.777+00:00Raw Light: poetry & opinion since 2005Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger614125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-63598200763552495012022-10-17T13:11:00.001+01:002022-10-17T13:11:40.019+01:00FAB Cover Reveal for A MOTHER'S HOPE FOR THE CORNISH GIRLS [my new warti...<iframe width="480" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/iPYNRs8oFus" frameborder="0"></iframe>JANE HOLLANDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06106938110286631948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-35481471347503338772019-07-03T11:19:00.003+01:002019-07-03T11:19:53.027+01:00THE HIVE: when books get declinedFirstly, I apologise for not being able to change titles listed in the sidebar. I've managed to get locked out of my blogger acount, but still have access as a post writer! 😮<br />
<br />
So, as part of an eleven-book contract with my publisher, I have written a new dark thriller.<br />
<br />
It's called THE HIVE.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWM9z7aKJUac_bs6zV7hq3Hwvdas6BEzqMQgiDbBQcyqSG72CSJlm8dhBaQ9LmQhFQpgQ2fFh29jSw8aQUI5h2KcQ5xR888MXq4iXlqWIDTRErWJ6jGdNZnYIdI4BfqETMPDtzKQ/s1600/jane+holland+the+hive+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWM9z7aKJUac_bs6zV7hq3Hwvdas6BEzqMQgiDbBQcyqSG72CSJlm8dhBaQ9LmQhFQpgQ2fFh29jSw8aQUI5h2KcQ5xR888MXq4iXlqWIDTRErWJ6jGdNZnYIdI4BfqETMPDtzKQ/s320/jane+holland+the+hive+cover.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07TTD5L91" target="_blank"><strong>The Hive on Amazon UK: 99p</strong></a></td></tr>
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<br />
On sending it to my publishers a few months back, I noted that it was rather darker than previous psychological thrillers I had written as Jane Holland, leaning toward horror in places, and suggested we might want to use another pen-name instead.<br />
<br />
They didn't reply for two weeks. Then they wrote back, declining THE HIVE and terminating my contract with them, except for the final romance <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/All-Summer-You-Beth-Good-ebook/dp/B07H8HQ42Q" target="_blank">in a series</a> due later this year. <br />
<br />
Just like that!<br />
<br />
I was devastated. I talked the situation over with my very supportive agent. I explained how much I'd been depending on that contract to keep me afloat financially. Everyone knows it can take anything up to a year from acceptance for a new publishing contract to be signed and the initial advance paid. Assuming there even is an advance in these digital-first days.<br />
<br />
Only I don't have a year to pay my bills. They need to be paid every month, or things start to fall apart. A full-time writer's life is precarious like that. Which is why I first turned to self-publishing back in 2011 and still regularly publish short fiction online under an array of names. But I rely on my traditional contracts to add cash advances to that income.<br />
<br />
So we both agreed that self-publishing this rejected book was the best way for me to keep solvent, while I work on a completely new book to be submitted to other publishers later this year. And I thank my agent profusely for being so understanding.<br />
<br />
But that plan, of course, depends on THE HIVE actually selling more than a few copies. So I've decided to publish it as a Jane Holland thriller, as that is my best-selling name. <br />
<br />
Worried about the future, with three dependent children still in school, I've now started several online shops as well as my self-publishing sidelines. More on that anon. Jobs are hard to come by in rural Cornwall, and in my fifties with no work experience to speak of, online hustles are probably my best bet. So I'm learning new skills in that area, and working hard to get by.<br />
<br />
Curiously, this is not the first time a book of mine has been rejected by publishers (though not while under contract!) and then self-published. Last time, it was <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B01ELCZO0S" target="_blank">GIRL NUMBER ONE</a>. I self-published that in 2015 after multiple rejections, and it reached #1 in the UK Kindle store within a few months of publication. It has since sold over 100,000 downloads.<br />
<br />
If THE HIVE manages similar success, I'll be ecstatic. But times have changed since 2015. All I'm hoping for is that this book helps me stay afloat as a struggling writer. I'm not well-off. I didn't marry a wealthy person. I rent my house, I drive an old banger, I have no capital or investments or savings. But I am a hard worker. I write several 'big' books a year, and also self-publish multiple novellas and short stories under other names to supplement that. I am constantly working on something new. Yet still I struggle to pay my bills.<br />
<br />
The book market is saturated. Only top names seem to do well these days. Writers get the tiniest slice of the publishing pie, often only a few pennies per sale. Publishers do not support writers by growing them and investing in their careers, as was once the norm, but discard them at the first sign of low sales. Nobody is safe, not even established writers. Readers who want to keep their favourite writers in the game need to help them compete in this dog-eat-dog marketplace, via word-of-mouth and retweets etc. Because what publishers want most is the next shiny new thing ... and while I may be shiny on occasion, I'm not new!<br />
<br />
So please, if you like thrillers - or me! - help me get THE HIVE out to new readers. Especially in the US market, which is yet to discover me en masse.<br />
<br />
Share, retweet, mention, read, discuss ... Amazon, social media, Goodreads. It all helps.<br />
<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b>THANK YOU </b></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b> </b></h3>
And I've initially priced THE HIVE at 99p/99c to encourage impulse buys!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Hive-spine-chilling-thriller-turning-pages-ebook/dp/B07TTD5L91/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=the+hive&qid=1562148974&s=digital-text&sr=1-3" target="_blank"><em>The Hive: a brand-new thriller for 2019 from Kindle #1 bestseller Jane Holland</em></a><br /><i><br />Scarred
by fire from infancy, with a persistent stammer, Charlotte has always
been in the shadow of her glamorous theatrical parents. So it's a shock
when her mother commits suicide.<br /><br />Left to care for her sick father
in the dark maze of her childhood home, Charlotte begins to unravel.
First, there's the mysterious arrival of a box of dead bees. Then
buzzing noises in the attic. People are watching her. Listening to her.<br /><br />Everyone thinks she's losing her mind. But an old photo suggests another, more sinister possibility ...</i><br /><br /><strong>Jane
Holland's bestselling thrillers have sold more than 220,000 paid
downloads across several continents, and she loves finding brave new
readers! </strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXf3B4hC541mNAoFx0E5wbuEsNPFmWVSQqjAeLwt6rqdDd3leKCpEZ4THOYWGIt1H0eFxb5aLVVXAjZ7wvj_oyUkgVA_sTKKVioC6miTARpOxvq_6aFfbUGMPPNEzsVWww3xFlsw/s1600/jane+holland+the+hive+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXf3B4hC541mNAoFx0E5wbuEsNPFmWVSQqjAeLwt6rqdDd3leKCpEZ4THOYWGIt1H0eFxb5aLVVXAjZ7wvj_oyUkgVA_sTKKVioC6miTARpOxvq_6aFfbUGMPPNEzsVWww3xFlsw/s320/jane+holland+the+hive+cover.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong> <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07TTD5L91" target="_blank">The Hive on Amazon UK: 99p</a></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong> </strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Also</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07TTD5L91" target="_blank">THE HIVE on Amazon US</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B07TTD5L91" target="_blank">THE HIVE on Amazon AU</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07TTD5L91" target="_blank">THE HIVE on Amazon CA</a></div>
JANE HOLLANDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06106938110286631948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-43973808696816643182018-09-27T20:41:00.001+01:002018-09-30T12:38:34.546+01:00Back Into Poetry via Ted Hughes<b><i>'Surely some revelation is at hand ...' - W.B. Yeats</i></b><br />
<br />
Back in late October 1998, I had lunch in Oxford with the novelist and poet Mark Haddon. We discussed the recently published <i>Birthday Letters</i> and Hughes' poetry in general, and considered where he might go from there. A few hours later, like a bolt of Hughesian lightning, the great man's death was announced on the news, and suddenly our lunchtime discussion had become an act of retrospection.<br />
<br />
The death of the Poet Laureate was a seismic shock within the poetry world, and a source of great distress for me, as a lifelong fan. I had studied poems from <i>The Hawk in the Rain</i> and <i>Lupercal</i> while at school, thanks to a visionary English teacher named Linda Clayton, and went on to write a rather involved essay on <i>The Feminine in Ted Hughes's Gaudete</i> as a mature undergraduate at Oxford. I had constantly reached for his collections to inform my own poetry, happiest under that influence. Yet he had always felt somehow out of reach for me intellectually, my responses to his work instinctual, even visceral.<br />
<br />
So when I spotted that the Arvon Foundation was running a Ted Hughes-related writing course to commemorate the 20th anniversary of his death, I booked immediately. This, despite the fact that I stopped writing poems about eight years ago, feeling that poetry had run dry in me, and moved on to prose fiction instead. But I knew that if anything was going to stir poetry in me again, it would be my love of Hughes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFsg6LTfUNcHvQtkxLZx_m8iicOxyZMQ-n0U73HNGTuku8F2pKELg1ZTLR9wEFL_Iddew1kjBi87wtvTRyqHIIRnefL9PciNyVLlZSflL-GEmgvreWqPs8ofP4knM3U1K86Pjf2w/s1600/IMG_5248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFsg6LTfUNcHvQtkxLZx_m8iicOxyZMQ-n0U73HNGTuku8F2pKELg1ZTLR9wEFL_Iddew1kjBi87wtvTRyqHIIRnefL9PciNyVLlZSflL-GEmgvreWqPs8ofP4knM3U1K86Pjf2w/s400/IMG_5248.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The 5-day course was held in South Yorkshire at Lumb Bank - a large, eccentric house on a steep bank of the Calder Valley, long coveted and eventually owned by Hughes, who later donated it to Arvon to help other writers.<br />
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The tutors were Christopher Reid, Hughes's editor at Faber and a poet in his own right (I thoroughly recommend his comprehensive edition of <i>Letters of Ted Hughes</i>) and Steve Ely, a Hughesian with three poetry collections from Smokestack and a non-fiction book, <i>Ted Hughes's South Yorkshire: Made In Mexborough</i> (2015). The midweek guest was Dr Yvonne Reddick whose recent pamphlet <i>Translating Mountains </i>(2017) won the Mslexia Poetry Pamphlet Competition and whose scholarship includes <i>Ted Hughes: Environmentalist and Ecopoet </i>(2017). A surprise drop-in guest at the end of the week was star of the Faber New Poets scheme, Zaffar Kunial, whose debut <i>Us</i> is published by Faber (2018).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfXma7zYOiLUHYBP1QXv_K5G_99RuQJ_F7a-ZB4-Gx8KoIN1dimt-lBYUNHoFC_BX3PJmoBbga59MR5dgEtBjT1tgar2zjl6eK0cAfxqj3ICXfS4ZtzFKSC0YjPJs3tvRKb7tcA/s1600/arvon+lumb+bank+september+2018+christopher+reid+steve+ely+group+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="939" data-original-width="1252" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfXma7zYOiLUHYBP1QXv_K5G_99RuQJ_F7a-ZB4-Gx8KoIN1dimt-lBYUNHoFC_BX3PJmoBbga59MR5dgEtBjT1tgar2zjl6eK0cAfxqj3ICXfS4ZtzFKSC0YjPJs3tvRKb7tcA/s400/arvon+lumb+bank+september+2018+christopher+reid+steve+ely+group+photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'Writing with Ted Hughes' - Lumb Bank, Sep 2018</i></td></tr>
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The format of the course was a Ted Hughes fan wet dream, frankly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl4APUbHlHWTz2rBQz2TyImR1bL4SEZ2uPa6VPhcXOTGUahzfwd_Pb4gujzqc5bFzSG_C5xfOHxcfEXsnJ-HzkwvSH6an0duGovwSzp-ZdzMe89B1CxbCuDq0gIZQ824fyTQwB6Q/s1600/IMG_5215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl4APUbHlHWTz2rBQz2TyImR1bL4SEZ2uPa6VPhcXOTGUahzfwd_Pb4gujzqc5bFzSG_C5xfOHxcfEXsnJ-HzkwvSH6an0duGovwSzp-ZdzMe89B1CxbCuDq0gIZQ824fyTQwB6Q/s320/IMG_5215.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Me, on the road to Mytholmroyd, the small Yorkshire town where Hughes was born in 1930</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Our mornings were spent reading and dissecting his poetry in a group, alongside writing exercises in response to what we were learning. In the afternoons, we had one-to-one tutorials to discuss our own material, or wrote poetry in the house where Hughes himself had penned some of the very poems we were studying. We tried physical exercises - retracing Hughes's steps through the Calder Valley on long rainy walks, visiting Plath's grave in nearby Heptonstall churchyard, even throwing handfuls of sycamore keys in the air to recreate specific lines in his poems - and wrote ekphrastic responses to powerful woodcuts by Hughes's friend and illustrator, the artist Leonard Baskin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyI9psoTSb2ZV5XKe7kcuCQM_A8X6J3bjJKqNAiSU8VsPH-FGTTngrSpy_CTcLraZQIS1PSg4-ZSBZNQuHHlLzYiuQP9FfbEASy0V1yJKTsD7ZsKC8pQ2PpCiypBPhHc6ydl_3Kw/s1600/IMG_5243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyI9psoTSb2ZV5XKe7kcuCQM_A8X6J3bjJKqNAiSU8VsPH-FGTTngrSpy_CTcLraZQIS1PSg4-ZSBZNQuHHlLzYiuQP9FfbEASy0V1yJKTsD7ZsKC8pQ2PpCiypBPhHc6ydl_3Kw/s400/IMG_5243.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sylvia Plath's grave in Heptonstall churchyard: the quotation is from 16th century Chinese poet, Wu Ch'Eng-En</i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "courier new";"><br /></span></span></td></tr>
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<br />
We considered the mythic and elegiac strains in his work, and deconstructed his poems in search of his favourite imagery and poetic techniques, such as assonance, alliteration and visual elements. The midweek guest, Yvonne Reddick, read an unpublished poem by Hughes, 'The Grouse,' which is included in her recent book, and discussed both its fascinating origins and its significance within the canon. For myself, I came across a dead creature in the bee-bole garden at Lumb Bank - I thought this was a young crow, but fellow attendee Abi Matthews says it's a mole! - whose black, melting corpse was reminiscent of Baskin's sketch that inspired 'The Knight,' one of Hughes's strongest pieces in <i>Cave Birds</i>. Naturally, I then wrote my own poem on the find.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxuf96HHaIh50XC4MMOeWCS848LevK_RRPQy5FMua2kQ7uYjMACz9gnh5z02-cGuhHKakvNcX0oK3QfRvmFy8YeWBKDf0qnPipgsZlXfEwnZl_Jt7PRsBl_eI0jl9FdACgS__gg/s1600/IMG_5221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaxuf96HHaIh50XC4MMOeWCS848LevK_RRPQy5FMua2kQ7uYjMACz9gnh5z02-cGuhHKakvNcX0oK3QfRvmFy8YeWBKDf0qnPipgsZlXfEwnZl_Jt7PRsBl_eI0jl9FdACgS__gg/s320/IMG_5221.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The dead crow-mole I found at Lumb Bank, the position of its limbs uncannily similar to a sketch by Baskin that inspired Hughes' poem 'The Knight'.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
Before arriving at Lumb Bank, I had not written any new poems for about
eight years, though I'd occasionally picked at extant work. I work as a writer, but in prose. I wasn't
even sure that I could write a poem (or not what I would term a poem)
and imagining my likely failure was a source of private terror for me.
It felt as though somebody else had written my previous poetry, and I
had no idea how to get back to that person.<br />
<br />
But, as my psyche presumably knew, Ted Hughes was a bridge between
those two halves of myself. Reading his work closely, considering his
various influences - including visionary poets who have always excited
me too, such as Yeats, Eliot, Blake, Hopkins etc. - and allowing his
cadences to ring in the dark crevasse that yawned between me and
that world, all these fed something inside me that made poetry
possible again.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFywjQvVCRV7tmNAlATR-BFY9733PPVvKLjIBoAGWmMUzt6LYhr0fMinE_eiwRLA0LrwpUBglY9ulSA4HaemEEQsvJkz6vmtFOPP7gBoXpacFJGAS5dbNZq9dL5CryizLHx4abw/s1600/IMG_5261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFywjQvVCRV7tmNAlATR-BFY9733PPVvKLjIBoAGWmMUzt6LYhr0fMinE_eiwRLA0LrwpUBglY9ulSA4HaemEEQsvJkz6vmtFOPP7gBoXpacFJGAS5dbNZq9dL5CryizLHx4abw/s400/IMG_5261.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the industrial chimneys of the Upper Calder Valley that
inspired poems like 'Lumb Chimneys' in TH's Remains of Elmet, clearly
visible from Lumb Bank</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
By the end of the second day, I had begun to sense what Lawrence Lipking refers to in <i>The Life of the Poet </i>(University of Chicago Press, 1981) as a moment of 're-initiation'. Suddenly, I understood again how to write poetry, and in fact felt the most incredible pressure to do so, the pressure of dammed-up poems - not a meagre few, but enormous numbers of the bloody things, unwritten yet already formed and perfectly alive in my lizard-brain, just waiting to be accessed.<br />
<br />
The danger is that away from that rarefied air, the sacred ground of poetic initiation, once more earning my daily crust by writing popular fiction, perhaps I'll be unable to tap into that treasure-house of unwritten poems. That's a genuine risk. And it's not one I can avoid. We all have to work and pay our bills somehow, and my day job - a demanding job too - is writing genre fiction.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxNxqPLrW-kanD9_-S7TlXUrYO2L80ehdqIcVf2MkyFgYDnFN0Hh_LIoZBllsw1m8xv5ubvoJec-vgXMHFPsh-mlbBGqiQuqYmY6SxsQRwP7fBhGeh_PqdprLjsP2oZPSB98BAA/s1600/IMG_5266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxNxqPLrW-kanD9_-S7TlXUrYO2L80ehdqIcVf2MkyFgYDnFN0Hh_LIoZBllsw1m8xv5ubvoJec-vgXMHFPsh-mlbBGqiQuqYmY6SxsQRwP7fBhGeh_PqdprLjsP2oZPSB98BAA/s320/IMG_5266.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The view from my bedroom window at Lumb Bank, where I wrote several new poems</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But with diligent watchfulness, I hope to build and protect a few spaces within my life as a prose-writer where poetry has a chance to breathe. To that end, I'll be going back to Ted Hughes - reading, studying, dissecting his work on my own, and hoping to recreate at least a little of the magic I felt at Lumb Bank.<br />
<br />
I also hope to keep in touch with my fellow Hughesians from the course, whose poems, discussions, and intelligent insights made the week particularly special. <br />
<br />JANE HOLLANDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06106938110286631948noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-6541257130383208512016-10-25T12:05:00.004+01:002016-10-25T12:07:18.987+01:00BERTIE'S GIFT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCrBBK7pvsT9jpYRr5MvMLAuniqdEyflReVhMC5r5BXBB5o1a8wiRZ70y18nnBeUTwygDfiXY2FG7U8Wt6ZcjF2T6R3V-teAfGLNKcbSuk8GYTHVT1bV4TS-bG2EdsOMuixYrfA/s1600/Co72ZnxWEAAVRKj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCrBBK7pvsT9jpYRr5MvMLAuniqdEyflReVhMC5r5BXBB5o1a8wiRZ70y18nnBeUTwygDfiXY2FG7U8Wt6ZcjF2T6R3V-teAfGLNKcbSuk8GYTHVT1bV4TS-bG2EdsOMuixYrfA/s320/Co72ZnxWEAAVRKj.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Okay, here's something to make those of you who know me well stare, point, and probably snort loudly with laughter.<br />
<br />
I have published a new novel with Hodder & Stoughton, out now, called <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Berties-Gift-Hannah-Coates/dp/1473643333">BERTIE'S GIFT.</a><br />
<br />
It's written under the pen-name Hannah Coates.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's the first person narrative of a beagle called Bertie who is separated from his beloved sister Molly at a dog shelter. He's adopted by a dysfunctional family with two grumpy cats, plus a mad poodle who lives next door. Can Bertie find poor Molly again and somehow 'fix' his dysfunctional family, despite only being a small dog?</div>
<br />
A feel-good Christmas tale for all the family!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Hardback editions are in larger branches of Asda and WHSmith High Street, and also can be ordered from any bookshop or Amazon.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Berties-Gift-Hannah-Coates/dp/1473643333">BERTIE'S GIFT</a> (Amazon UK)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsc3I-jUmtDK_pD2-uK3ZIXEPgmPkhrPp-yDVXmT72jhyTyAudsa7elFs60a_CRaGe9R-FwQSmyI8oyBdJpUHq2BiffpywtBZ3-Q5JC7_kDpcOlC55qxnG93UtzuWsjljiYjSWg/s1600/IMG_3843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsc3I-jUmtDK_pD2-uK3ZIXEPgmPkhrPp-yDVXmT72jhyTyAudsa7elFs60a_CRaGe9R-FwQSmyI8oyBdJpUHq2BiffpywtBZ3-Q5JC7_kDpcOlC55qxnG93UtzuWsjljiYjSWg/s400/IMG_3843.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />JANE HOLLANDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06106938110286631948noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-65692808816925534282015-11-11T21:18:00.000+00:002015-11-11T21:21:36.601+00:00GIRL NUMBER ONE hits Top 30 in the UK Kindle store<span style="font-size: large;">This is just to thank everyone for their support of my self-published novel, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Girl-Number-One-Gripping-Psychological-ebook/dp/B013VH2AQ0" target="_blank">GIRL NUMBER ONE</a>, and let you know that, less than eight weeks after publication, it reached number 27 in the UK Kindle store today. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I am still pinching myself, wondering if it is a dream ...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">And since I appear to be rather good at selling thrillers, I have a new, dedicated website for mine: <a href="http://girlnumberonethriller.com/" target="_blank">girlnumberonethriller.com</a> </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOor_t-6OPci1_byKaHmQyBhAl7rex01w23os0TNH8WAxQmW2vODNiRQQDUQOnpYESyA5WKwffS7Naruj1NntfJcJZMdPxzLmldHO9-UNC-Z6SF9AMsKj9qfigCSyTfHBwJc8r/s1600/girl+number+one+font+right+way+round+new+butterfly+cover+august+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOor_t-6OPci1_byKaHmQyBhAl7rex01w23os0TNH8WAxQmW2vODNiRQQDUQOnpYESyA5WKwffS7Naruj1NntfJcJZMdPxzLmldHO9-UNC-Z6SF9AMsKj9qfigCSyTfHBwJc8r/s400/girl+number+one+font+right+way+round+new+butterfly+cover+august+2015.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Girl-Number-One-Gripping-Psychological-ebook/dp/B013VH2AQ0" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">GIRL NUMBER ONE (UK link) </span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-69982305787252403762015-09-25T11:01:00.003+01:002015-09-25T11:01:35.069+01:00GIRL NUMBER ONE: new fiction out this week<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-yFMvgvVq1xefY_dS-i6MYOsRNg0ddf3TiSWhe6iS6Z3IqRwlMw8TYGXUPEKHykuJRolFA-QtfDEwAp8_1vQQiNw3CcnRAimHh5XG6TbIuEB7XuSokKW0igYcfXKls8EZ0hH1g/s200/girl+number+one+font+right+way+round+new+butterfly+cover+august+2015.jpg" width="123" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Girl-Number-One-Jane-Holland-ebook/dp/B013VH2AQ0" target="_blank">Girl Number One</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Those
who know me well will agree that, as a novelist, I am a genre-hopper. I hop from one
genre to another with scant regard for market positioning, or what
publishers and retailers like to call 'author branding'. This is one
explanation why, despite having written several dozen novels, I am not a
star in any one genre. (I will leave the other possible explanations
for you to guess at on your own.) But that does not mean I would not
like to be!<br />
<br />
About a year and a half ago, while I was
still knee-deep in an historical fiction series, it was suggested to me
by a senior editor that I should write a contemporary thriller. A crime
novel, but not a police procedural. Being a rabid fan of Lee Child's
Jack Reacher novels, I embraced the idea with enthusiasm and excitement.
At last, a chance to show what I could achieve as a contemporary writer
within a popular mass-market genre.<br />
<br />
But of course it's
also an over-crowded market, and the novel I produced over the next
year did not appeal to the editor who first suggested it. It went
through several laborious redrafts, then was sent out to other
publishers. Nobody wanted it. The rejections differed as to detail but
the overall message was the same. Like the three bears' porridge, it was
too hot, too cold, too salty, too sweet etc. for the market.<br />
<br />
The project was then handed back to me, with the suggestion that I should self-publish. <br />
<br />
To
say I was disappointed is grossly to understate the matter. It was a
serious blow to my self-confidence as a writer, especially as I was by
that stage out of contract with all my publishers. After some years in
traditionally published historical fiction, that book represented my
calling-card script as a contemporary writer. A calling-card that had
been handed back to me by a disdainful majordomo, and the door slammed
in my face.<br />
<br />
After some time nursing my wounds - I wish I
could say 'downing tequila on a desert island' but I'm not that cool - I
sorted through all the rejections I had seen and picked out the main
thrust of their issues. I worked out how I could rewrite the book to
'fix' it. One key change was making my main protagonist older. A simple
enough change, on the face of it. But of course that involved rewriting
every single page of the book, because in the process of recasting her
character, her narrative voice had to change, to mature, to harden.
Rather like me as a writer ...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjxPhvGNUwt6gnXXAhmBKlEsLEfBGZsHVmCdQkLFd7pm-g8bQq0gx3RWELhx7fEhSHnlk_Xq8azwp_KczkCcYE6zTebpTbyR73-ivhrpsJXs4MyAIGb56YeCb7AaZsdoSZSOdkg/s1600/cartoon+man+typing+Robert+Florian+writer+photo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSjxPhvGNUwt6gnXXAhmBKlEsLEfBGZsHVmCdQkLFd7pm-g8bQq0gx3RWELhx7fEhSHnlk_Xq8azwp_KczkCcYE6zTebpTbyR73-ivhrpsJXs4MyAIGb56YeCb7AaZsdoSZSOdkg/s320/cartoon+man+typing+Robert+Florian+writer+photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">I really wish I had not chosen to write this scary scene so late at night ...</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The main differences I noted between
writing GIRL NUMBER ONE (the title of my thriller) and my previous
novels, mostly either historical fiction or romances, were as follows:<br />
<br />
<u><b>Pace</b></u>
- a contemporary thriller is fast and furious. It has to be, to deliver
the requisite thrills and keep an easily distracted reader turning the
page. So introspection and description take a back seat, and action
comes to the fore. The verb becomes king here, the adjective and adverb
have to be rooted out. Not 'I thought' or 'I saw' (I chose a first
person narrator) but 'I did'. Dialogue can take the place of internal
monologue, which means it has to work harder, to underline character,
drop clues and turn the plot.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Tone</b></u> - the
narration of a contemporary thriller is terse, or at least that's how I
prefer it. It's also highly self-aware. This is someone who observes
everything around them, whether a trained or natural detective,
constantly noticing, examining, deciphering, unravelling, <i>understanding</i>. And often without an excess of emotional response, as emotion tends to hamper that process. (Emotional response being the <i>sine qua non</i> of the romantic novel, I often found myself working at the opposite end of the narrative spectrum to my other books.)<br />
<br />
<u><b>Character</b></u>
- the characters in a contemporary thriller are not, in general, those
you might encounter in other genres (though that rather depends on the
writer). They have to be boldly drawn, sometimes even starkly and at
speed, because a thriller is about action and reaction, rather than a
leisurely character study. But the main protagonists also need qualities
that others around them noticeably lack: massive intelligence,
strength, resolve, courage, generosity, kindness, plus a few special
skills. They must leap off the page without being caricatures, and
linger in the reader's memory, not least because some of them may become
suspects later.<br />
<br />
Where the narrator is concerned,
assuming that is your chief protagonist, we need the reader to care
about that person deeply. Otherwise, there will be little reason to keep
reading when he or she is put in danger. Such a character must be
sympathetic and strongly-drawn enough to elicit an emotional response
from the reader. By which I really mean, he or she must feel <i>true</i>.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Truth</b></u>
- a contemporary thriller should seem realistic, even more so than
romantic or historical fiction, and the actions of its characters must
be completely believable too, even when your plot is unlikely or even
preposterous at times. So how to achieve this? In the same way as a
sci-fi or fantasy novel, you have to anchor the world of your novel
somewhere that feels very realistic, and therefore works to distract the
reader from the unlikeliness of your plot.<br />
<br />
In my case, I decided to follow the well-worn advice, <i>write what you know,</i>
and achieve narrative truth that way. So I based the world of my debut
thriller on the Cornish village in which I was actually living at the
time of writing. I was then able to describe, with absolute accuracy and
consistency, the village layout and its surrounding area, the views,
the flowers in bloom at each season, the likely weather, the very feel
of the air ... A bit of a cheat, perhaps, but I wanted to nail that
'truth' element of the thriller first-time-out.<br />
<br />
Did I manage to nail it though?<br />
<br />
The
proof of the thriller is in the reading, and I hope you will give mine a
shot. You can find a free sample or buy <b>GIRL NUMBER ONE</b> on Amazon.
Digital only at the moment, with paperback POD to follow.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRo3dgRm3qrxd-Y65mHaxtNFhhgIS5U2ZsR2O2ePtxjDAikYQdx6IziPfsDmEJlBQjs6xqJtb6xYO6-d8-UrQ2WjT7ML9jo8__IibG_XtFWnB3KkfGLjnuEQQKg_8tKxLnPSRIrg/s1600/girl+number+one+font+right+way+round+new+butterfly+cover+august+2015.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRo3dgRm3qrxd-Y65mHaxtNFhhgIS5U2ZsR2O2ePtxjDAikYQdx6IziPfsDmEJlBQjs6xqJtb6xYO6-d8-UrQ2WjT7ML9jo8__IibG_XtFWnB3KkfGLjnuEQQKg_8tKxLnPSRIrg/s400/girl+number+one+font+right+way+round+new+butterfly+cover+august+2015.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013VH2AQ0" target="_blank"><br /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013VH2AQ0" target="_blank">GIRL NUMBER ONE Amazon US</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B013VH2AQ0" target="_blank">GIRL NUMBER ONE Amazon UK</a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: small;">This blog post first appeared September 21st 2015, at 52 WAYS TO WRITE A NOVEL.</span></i></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-16905475802326748722015-03-21T23:45:00.002+00:002015-03-21T23:45:34.592+00:00Thimblerig Books websiteSince a large number of my independent titles are published under Thimblerig Books, I've set up a new website where you can find all of them under one roof, as it were.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORfz0n5pNEl5wQCjzlEococbQ_annlRwvfvPPk8F-sgD6sNWytcCzCWwQ2GXWE5v6zCzfWUzW3ohrqdMWM-XyybYUvWvmQke7m8F4JXHsKzcOhGB4-AXgzyrgN6RZ4YUMH1RU/s1600/NEW+elizabeth+moss+don't+hurt+me+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhORfz0n5pNEl5wQCjzlEococbQ_annlRwvfvPPk8F-sgD6sNWytcCzCWwQ2GXWE5v6zCzfWUzW3ohrqdMWM-XyybYUvWvmQke7m8F4JXHsKzcOhGB4-AXgzyrgN6RZ4YUMH1RU/s1600/NEW+elizabeth+moss+don't%2Bhurt%2Bme%2Bcover.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
The new site provides details for digital-only indie titles by Jane Holland, Elizabeth Moss, Beth Good and Victoria Lamb. It's still in the process of being put together, but there's enough online now to give you a sense of where I'm going with it. <br />
<br />
Kind of a one-stop-shop for my independent books, with covers and blurbs and author details for browsers, and quick-click links through to Amazon for those who decide to buy!<br />
<br />
At some point in the future I may decide to publish other writers under the Thimblerig Books imprint. Who knows? Meanwhile, here it is:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://thimblerigbooks.com/">THIMBLERIG BOOKS</a>:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>digital books with attitude </i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-44813292863753140882015-03-02T18:41:00.001+00:002015-03-02T18:49:08.762+00:0021 Ways To Write A Commercial Novel<span style="font-size: large;">I'm delighted to announce that my first non-fiction title is now available digitally. Kindle only, I'm afraid, for those who don't own Kindles, though you can access it via free Kindle apps on other devices like laptops, iPads or computers. Just go to the book page on Amazon and try to buy it - Amazon will then guide you through the process of installing one of these Kindle-reading apps on whichever device you are on.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This new book is based on my Creative Writing blog, and is called 21 WAYS TO WRITE A COMMERCIAL NOVEL. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGw-3m-YK_29msUzF12V12rqUiTr76AXO5OkbVe2Dkh0N07x293jKZKguxOWHCXXNawfiE27GnURKu7xL01cWNV2IBG5PMyhwzXT6qyjmfGlsR5ewl3U4SL3P88Z17URX09b1xgA/s1600/BETTER+LARGER+21+ways+to+write+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGw-3m-YK_29msUzF12V12rqUiTr76AXO5OkbVe2Dkh0N07x293jKZKguxOWHCXXNawfiE27GnURKu7xL01cWNV2IBG5PMyhwzXT6qyjmfGlsR5ewl3U4SL3P88Z17URX09b1xgA/s400/BETTER+LARGER+21+ways+to+write+cover.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/21-Ways-Write-Commercial-Novel-ebook/dp/B00TRPN8I0">21 WAYS TO WRITE A COMMERCIAL NOVEL</a>: UK link</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/21-Ways-Write-Commercial-Novel-ebook/dp/B00TRPN8I0">[Find this book on Amazon. com]</a></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">A 'How To Write' guide based on the first twenty-one weeks of award-winning author Victoria Lamb's 52 WAYS TO WRITE A NOVEL blog.</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Bursting with up-to-date information and entertaining anecdotes from the world of writing and publishing, this guide also features helpful comments on writing from both new and established writers, including Rowan Coleman, Katie Fforde, Judy Astley, Lesley Cookman, Nuala Ni Chonchuir, Alison Morton, Elizabeth Moss and many, many others. </span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A goldmine of advice for writers from an author of over twenty commercial novels, covering these general topics: </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Beginnings</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Fake It Till You Make It</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Commercial Ideas</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Research</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Planning</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hooks And Teasers </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How To Open Chapters</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">How To Close Chapters</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Writing A Commercial Scene</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Location, Location, Location</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Writing Complex Characters</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Staying Commercial</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Novel Avoidance Syndrome</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Writing The Commercial Synopsis</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dealing With Rejection</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Other Writers</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Four-Point Commercial Checklist</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Changing Identities</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ten-Point Guide To The Commercial Novella</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Writing Your Novel</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Rowan Coleman’s Advice To New Writers </span></div>
JANE HOLLANDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06106938110286631948noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-85369312424630223122014-10-23T09:00:00.000+01:002014-10-23T09:00:02.106+01:00FLASH BANG: New & Selected PoemsI'm thrilled to announce the publication today of <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Flash-Bang-New-Selected-Poems-ebook/dp/B00O14ZSUS">FLASH BANG: my New and Selected Poems 1996-2014</a>. Almost twenty years in the making!<br />
<br />
I've been hanging on for the past few years, wondering what to do about a Selected, which publisher to approach. But my experience with self-publishing - and my disposition in general! - has made this the best choice for me at the moment, as I explain in <a href="http://rawlightblog.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/self-publishing-last-great-adventure-in.html">my previous post.</a><br />
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I hope those who have enjoyed my writing in the past will take this opportunity to pick up, at a very reasonable price, a selection of my best work to date, along with some brand-new poems. It's been a big step for me, publishing this selection of old and new poems, and I would be extremely pleased if some of you at least wish to come along on the journey.<br />
<br />
All profits to the author! <br />
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<h4>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>FLASH BANG: New & Selected contains extracts from the following books: 'The Brief History of a Disreputable Woman'
(Bloodaxe, 1997), 'Boudicca & Co.' (Salt Publishing, 2006), 'Camper
Van Blues' (Salt Publishing, 2008), and 'On Warwick: Poems of the
Warwick Poet Laureateship' (Nine Arches Press, 2008).</i></span> </h4>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h4>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Previously
unpublished work includes extracts from: 'Gawain', a new version from the
Middle English poem; 'Hango Hill: Poems of Illiam Dhone (Manx Martyr)';
'The Dream of the Cross', translated from the Anglo-Saxon; plus a clutch of new poems. </i>
</span></h4>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
‘Extremely powerful and varied … Holland has both the clarity for the
reader and the mastery of language to say what she means in a way that
makes the brain tingle with both shock and pleasure … This collection is
outstanding.’</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
ANGELA TOPPING, Stride Magazine
<br />
<br />'I reached the Boudicca sequence, and everything went electric …
There’s a touch of Vicki Feaver about the violence and the cool delight
in blood and innards, but the work is quite distinctive. I was
dashing from poem to poem, completely compelled.'</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
HELENA NELSON, Ambit
<br />
<br />'a true craftswoman, a supple and graceful thinker with an
effortless grasp of line, at the heart of the English lyric tradition.'</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
FIONA SAMPSON, former Editor of Poetry Review
</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Available as an ebook (can be read with free Kindle software on Kindles, iPads, iPhones and most other devices and computers) at:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Flash-Bang-New-Selected-Poems-ebook/dp/B00O14ZSUS">Amazon UK</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Flash-Bang-New-Selected-Poems-ebook/dp/B00O14ZSUS"> Amazon US </a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdS_LRA9ErLw110iVFGltYni6kvGsUQVpZndv8B1ETsNeBJHV-1Ku4XEl0by3ay7uWjiodXin0Gw1nmXf1OSqi9Ao-x7BF9_j0q1PXDXughtk9tYkhoN-9aDnFdNVcQF68pfl/s1600/518Ll1zw+3L._AA278_PIkin4,BottomRight,-51,22_AA300_SH20_OU02_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdS_LRA9ErLw110iVFGltYni6kvGsUQVpZndv8B1ETsNeBJHV-1Ku4XEl0by3ay7uWjiodXin0Gw1nmXf1OSqi9Ao-x7BF9_j0q1PXDXughtk9tYkhoN-9aDnFdNVcQF68pfl/s1600/518Ll1zw+3L._AA278_PIkin4,BottomRight,-51,22_AA300_SH20_OU02_.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-66048610072209327622014-10-12T10:30:00.000+01:002014-10-12T10:30:00.390+01:00Self-Publishing: The Last Great Adventure in Poetry?<div style="text-align: center;">
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What do Walt Whitman, TS Eliot, Shelley, ee cummings, Thomas Kinsella, Rose Kelleher, Alexander Pope and RS Thomas have in common?</div>
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Apart from being well-respected poets, they all self-published their poetry at one stage or another.</div>
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The practice of self-publishing has never been easier nor more widespread. Yet the stigma of self-publishing, perhaps especially where poetry is concerned, still exists. Why is this?</div>
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Many readers of contemporary poetry - almost invariably poets or writers themselves these days - assume that poetry which is self-published was not good enough to stand the rigour of editorial choice. They imagine such books must issue from self-indulgent or desperate souls whose last resort is to self-publish their dubious poems, unable to find a readership elsewhere.</div>
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But of course this is no longer the case. And probably never was.</div>
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Yet the idea persists that self-published poetry is not worth the same money you might happily fork out for a traditionally published book. After all, how are you supposed to know if it is any good? You may be completely taken in by a nice cover or interesting blurb, or another poet's recommendation, and spend your hard-earned cash on rubbish.</div>
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Whereas everyone knows that traditionally published poetry, the sort that is shortlisted for prizes and published by sober and respectable places like Faber or Picador, for example, can only ever be excellent. Perhaps even brilliant. And certainly worth paying for. Otherwise why would those clever editors, with their flair and good taste in poetry, have selected them for publication above all others?</div>
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Besides, why would any poet whose work was good enough to be traditionally published actually <i><b>choose</b></i> to self-publish?</div>
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Well, there are many reasons. One is that it is pointless to send poetry to traditional publishers in the sure knowledge that you do not write work which will fit into their very list. I am bored by the seemingly endless struggle to fit into boxes designed to showcase one type of work and exclude all others, work which is increasingly bloodless, uninteresting and limited. This is not about a lack of talent - though for some, that is indeed the unfortunate reason they have not found favour with mainstream publishers - but a total failure of interest in what is currently considered 'good' poetry. I used to enjoy that struggle to fit in, and engaged with much highly praised contemporary work, hoping to find something there to excite me. But no longer.</div>
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Contemporary British poetry feels horribly sterile at the moment, at least in the higher echelons. It's an exercise in stifling personality and freedom, and keeping everything tight and restrained. The adventure of self-publishing, of striking out on your own and making public precisely what you wish to make public, without reference to an editor whose taste almost certainly will not match your own, and whose suggestions you will feel obliged to follow - this is perhaps one of the last great adventures left to us in poetry.</div>
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Of course, along with self-publishing comes the necessary abandonment of any hope that you will be noticed by critics or recognised for your work. That is a tricky one, because every poet has an ego. But it's an acknowledgement that some goals are simply unattainable. A wide readership is out of my reach now. But I can still rebel and enjoy kicking over the traces!</div>
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So maybe only a small handful of people will buy my self-published book. But they will at least be readers who have gone out of their way to find it and actively wish to read my work. They will not have bought it because of who the publisher is, or because the poet is well-known or just appeared at a big festival, so 'must be good'. These are intelligent, discerning poetry readers who wish to engage with work that isn't any of those worthy things, but which might still prove interesting for any number of reasons.</div>
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I am not well-heeled enough to pay for a paperback copy of my self-published poetry. So my self-published work is only on Kindle or PDF files. But since I am a firm believer in ebooks, and in the artistic purity and freedom of self-publishing on the whole, this is not something that bothers me. It also means I can offer most of my publications at lower prices than you would expect from large publishers.</div>
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My New & Selected Poems is out this month in a collection available only on Kindle. It's called <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00O14ZSUS">FLASH BANG</a>.</div>
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It contains generous extracts from four of my five traditional poetry publications to date (excluding <i>The Lament of the Wanderer</i>), plus extracts from unpublished long poems and sequences, and a selection of new individual poems. </div>
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If nothing else, I hope it will be interesting for readers to contrast self-published work like this with poetry you may also be reading from traditional poetry publishers. Take a chance!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNoRIVupMlpJzbsQZ7B_QV-SK386jaZ-nVykjzjWm9-7vmmR5YRUo_o15wH9K1CebFspSoaHZ-QFotJY-b79qMtfBthTn3FKNKHtO1K_LcXdrodhBKpY1S19qh_7ZzrEabJi-/s1600/518Ll1zw+3L._AA278_PIkin4,BottomRight,-51,22_AA300_SH20_OU02_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNoRIVupMlpJzbsQZ7B_QV-SK386jaZ-nVykjzjWm9-7vmmR5YRUo_o15wH9K1CebFspSoaHZ-QFotJY-b79qMtfBthTn3FKNKHtO1K_LcXdrodhBKpY1S19qh_7ZzrEabJi-/s1600/518Ll1zw+3L._AA278_PIkin4,BottomRight,-51,22_AA300_SH20_OU02_.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00O14ZSUS">FLASH BANG (New & Selected Poems)</a> is available for ebook pre-order now.</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-16472141343475515432014-08-04T09:00:00.000+01:002014-08-04T09:00:01.226+01:00Horizon Review Archive Project<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3fKgHnKbLuhMq30E4gNqqg0P_2wD4JPlsYijs7WcgWr6P5otZyyDIGNaU83f1ddbHnAUS4_wahKjdYzmR0qPOXasoPRcIbDm9plMEitouUfgTUqNzNlHNrrRUXiUveGX2jjF/s1600/100_4239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3fKgHnKbLuhMq30E4gNqqg0P_2wD4JPlsYijs7WcgWr6P5otZyyDIGNaU83f1ddbHnAUS4_wahKjdYzmR0qPOXasoPRcIbDm9plMEitouUfgTUqNzNlHNrrRUXiUveGX2jjF/s1600/100_4239.JPG" height="320" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random poetic image. Enjoy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I edited Horizon Review from 2008-10, a lively online arts magazine owned
by Salt Publishing. We published reviews, articles, comment, publishing news, poetry and short fiction in an eclectic tangle, big names and new writers in together.<br />
<br />
I left the post when my own writing commitments grew too much, and the magazine was later edited by Katy Evans-Bush.<br />
<br />
The
magazine folded a few years later, and sadly has since disappeared from the
internet. In the interests of 'rescuing' some of the fine contributions
to that magazine, I have been given permission to republish a selection
here at Raw Light.<br />
<br />
If you had work in Horizon Review - either under my editorship or Katy Evans-Bush's - and would like to see it archived here, please get in touch. I do not have access to work featured in later editions of the magazine, so you may need to send the files as well.<br />
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The work will appear in no particular order. It is unlikely dates of original publication will be included, as there is little access to records - apart from the odd cached post.<br />
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This
is an on ongoing project, heavily reliant on tracking down individual
contributors in order to seek permission to republish their work, so it
may take place over several years. Do let people know about this project if you think they may have been involved in the magazine.<br />
<br />
I am hoping to include poetry and fiction as well as articles and reviews, but obviously it will depend on what people are willing for me to republish. Please note, no one's work will be republished without permission. There are no fees for republishing, the archive project is a non-profit-making attempt to establish at least a partial record of what was in the magazine. But those who do choose to be republished may wish to update their bios and photos at the same time, i.e. promoting newer work.<br />
<br />
This project's success will depend on people sharing this information and helping me out with locating writers and seeking permissions. So thanks in advance!<br />
<br />
<i>Jane</i><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-13812203917481229782014-08-03T15:09:00.002+01:002014-08-03T17:34:36.839+01:00Horizon Archives: Jane Holland reviews Plumly on Keats<div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">
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<i><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A Touch of
Irony:</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Jane Holland on Stanley Plumly’s creative biography of Keats.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Part of the Horizon Review Archive Project </span></i></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Stanley Plumly, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Posthumous-Keats-Biography-Stanley-Plumly-ebook/dp/B001XJ1PRY"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Posthumous Keats</i> </a>(Norton, 2008) £16.99 </span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br />Almost compulsively, it seems, each age must reinvent the great poets for themselves, with fresh biographies and critical studies to trump their antecedents. Stanley Plumly’s latest work, ‘Posthumous Keats’, is among the newest examples of this compulsion and one which amply demonstrates the possibilities and limitations inherent in a work of critical biography. His book - or ‘meditation’ as one critic has it - on the quintessential English Romantic poet, John Keats, takes its inspiration from Plumly’s own response to the tragic young poet’s life and work. From that personal foundation, ‘Posthumous Keats’ radiates out into a creative and often highly imaginative reconstruction of Keats’ last years of life, including the so-called ‘Living Year’ of 1818-19 in which he wrote some of his best-loved poems. <br /><br />Plumly is not only a lecturer at the University of Maryland but also an experienced poet and writer himself, and his expertise at creative non-fiction is one of the hallmarks of this biography. The early life, that fateful last trip to Rome, the deathbed scenes, and especially the aftermath of Keats’ early death at the age of 25 - all these are imagined with such keen novelistic instinct that Plumly puts himself almost in the position of secret observer rather than scholarly biographer. So in the following, densely-written passage, Plumly conjures up for us the pungent atmosphere of Keats’ daily environs as a young medical student in London:</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">It is a busy, dark, Dickensian part of town, exposed as much to sewage and garbage as to the prison life of the Clink and the new Marshalsea network of jails, and within hailing distance of the infamous Mint. There is an etching of the borough from 1820 that, in artistic perspective, makes it look like nineteenth-century southern Manhattan along the East River, rather like Whitman’s ideal picture of it in “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />Nor does Plumly dwell solely on Keats. His account of the later drowning of Shelley and his two unfortunate companions in the Gulf of Spezia is beautifully and sparingly achieved through a combination of official documents and letters, and some artful supposition. Much is made of Keats’ final volume of poems, given to Shelley by Leigh Hunt and found in the drowned poet’s inner pocket after his body is washed up on the beach. The grimly prophetic line ‘I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ‘ of Shelley’s from the close of his Adonais is recalled. We are reminded, with a touch of irony, that Keats had turned down an invitation to stay with the Shelleys in their Italian coastal villa, perhaps not wishing to die in the other poet’s arms but to remain out of sight for his last few weeks. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br />The artist Severn’s death and burial - the close friend who famously sketched Keats on his deathbed - is described in no less careful detail. Fanny Brawne’s dying admission of love for Keats is also discussed, and her covert stash of memorabilia - hidden from her husband and children for forty-odd years - is opened and explored for the secrets it may reveal about their relationship. An air of fateful and sinister oppression hangs over these scenes, as it does over the book as a whole, which is at times redolent of an Agatha Christie murder mystery - where all the suspects must gather after the body has been discovered, to be interviewed in turn. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br />But when there is no mystery, no whodunit to be solved, just a set of unfortunate circumstances that led to somebody’s death, what is to be gained from these meticulous reconstructions of poets’ lives, often many centuries after they have shuffled off this mortal coil? </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /><br />This is a difficult question to answer without addressing the issue of prurience. But one thing it demonstrates, at least, is that the cult of celebrity was no twentieth-century invention, as this diary entry from a Mrs. Gisborne, encountering the young poet at Leigh Hunt’s home shortly before his best - and final - collection of poems was to be published, confirms: </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Mr. Keats was introduced to us the same evening; he had lately been ill also, and spoke but little; the Endymion was not mentioned, this person might not be its author; but on observing his countenance and his eyes I persuaded myself that he was the very person.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br />Celebrity aside, there is also the important consideration that the significant moments of a great poet’s life - however painfully short - ought to be documented, to be borne witness to, both by those who were there at the time and those who would continue to build on the legend that is The Famous Poet. For somewhere in amongst those lovingly reconstructed details we may find vital clues to our own creative development - clues to how a poet grows into his or her identity and inheritance. As Lawrence Lipking writes in </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Life-Poet-Beginning-Careers/dp/0226484513">The Life of the Poet: Beginning and Ending Poetic Careers (Chicago, 1981)</a>: </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Keats seems to hold the key to everything we would like to know about how one becomes a poet. At twenty he was no more promising than any number of other would-be authors; suddenly, just short of his twenty-first birthday, he left all the rest behind. What happened? </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Plumly himself addresses the problematic issues of prurience and celebrity in various oblique asides during the course of this biography. ‘What is the accumulative, acquiring power, forty years on, of a ring, a lock of hair, a miniature of vague likeness?’ he demands, contemplating the way Keats’ inner circle, many of them nonentities in themselves, have stepped into literary history alongside him. So Keats himself, Plumly ironically claims, ‘becomes their biographer’. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">But a famous poet’s life - personal in the present, at the point of first contact - has a way of becoming impersonal with time, of passing into new hands, none of whom will have known the person under scrutiny and for whom that life must become - like The Waste Land, which Plumly references here - a heap of broken images rather than an organic whole: </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bric-a-brac, relics, memorabilia, items around which has congregated an aura of light of the most personal depth and value. But what if that value becomes, on its own, not just personal, but universal? Who owns that memory then? These fragments I have shored against my ruins. The pieces and parts of Keats that each of his friends felt proprietary toward fragmented any chance of a coherent sense of his character and career in the living moment after his death. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span></i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">Keats himself, resigned to his approaching death, may have sensed how such fragments would be all that remained of his life. Breaking away from his friends and from the woman he wanted to marry - but now never would - he retreated to Rome to die a lonely death, burningly aware of the poems he had failed to write. Thus his last letter, addressed to his friend Brown: </span>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence. God knows how it would have been - but it appears to me - however, I will not speak of that subject. </span></i></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">As a practitioner himself, Plumly is also acutely aware of the despair Keats felt at his own premature death. There can be few things more poignant, after all, for a poet of Keats’ ability, than to die with the knowledge of great poems unwritten. Plumly’s response - a deeply personal one, as he acknowledges elsewhere - is to comfort and reassure the dead poet even in the impersonal, forensic act of reconstructing his ‘posthumous existence’. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;">So here Plumly pauses to reprise Keats’ last letter, examining it with such thoughtfulness and intensity that it becomes almost a last poem in his hands: </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: large;"><i>“It runs in my head we shall die young” - George, yes, but perhaps you too, Brown, and maybe Keats’s sister, maybe Fanny Brawne herself, and all of you back there in life. Can we correct our mistakes? Yet if we die before they can be corrected, they will be forgiven. Death is forgiving. “I can scarcely bid you good bye.” Keats’s exit line, “I always made an awkward bow,” is not unlike his desired epitaph: “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” Both make a gesture, a memorable gesture; both, thus, are poetry; both close without closure; both elevate the moment; and both speak in the past tense, the posthumous tense.</i> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> </span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">You can buy this book from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Posthumous-Keats-Biography-Stanley-Plumly-ebook/dp/B001XJ1PRY">Amazon UK</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Posthumous-Keats-A-Personal-Biography-ebook/dp/B001XJ1PRY">Amazon US</a>, or the publisher's website, <a href="http://www.wwnorton.co.uk/book.html?id=1792">Norton</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <i>This article first appeared in HORIZON REVIEW</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i>and has been archived at Raw Light</i></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i>as part of the Horizon Review Archive Project. </i></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-77349160250882768912014-07-08T19:26:00.003+01:002014-07-08T19:31:46.914+01:00A Poem: Women's Prayer Group, Coventry<style>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI__6b_3WrZFkpwThQ-gAHPqxaLh9Y1dwZR6PpsE4Wv8CNe-DF9x5Bdc_OrhUXEYPjkwVYJP6ihez0moD7P4srqjWB7krSxDxOGPDr4C_TWSJiXa1RUq9_q_CLSfn8ht_Xpskc/s1600/spoon&babyjpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI__6b_3WrZFkpwThQ-gAHPqxaLh9Y1dwZR6PpsE4Wv8CNe-DF9x5Bdc_OrhUXEYPjkwVYJP6ihez0moD7P4srqjWB7krSxDxOGPDr4C_TWSJiXa1RUq9_q_CLSfn8ht_Xpskc/s1600/spoon&babyjpg.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
<i><span style="color: black; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I'm posting this poem from my second poetry collection, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Boudicca-Co-Salt-Modern-Poets-ebook/dp/B005NK3216">Boudicca & Co</a>. (Salt Publishing), in response to a conversation on Twitter today with a friend who has just visited Coventry Cathedral. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: black; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The photo (left) was not taken at Coventry, but at Flecknoe Church, Warwickshire. I don't have any shots of my own of the glorious interior of Coventry Cathedral, so chose this to accompany my poem instead.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>This is one of those 'true' poems in that I did once belong to a prayer group that met in an upper room at the Deanery next to Coventry Cathedral. I no longer do such foolish things, but I still like the poem.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><i>I wonder if anyone ever fixed that clock ... </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Women’s Prayer Group, Coventry</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The clock on the deanery mantelpiece</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">has stopped. Outside, a spire</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">is all that’s left </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">of our medieval cathedral, burnt out</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">by fire bombs in the war. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Our group (there are usually eight</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">or nine of us) meets </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">each Wednesday for prayer and supper</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">in an upper room. Here, we set<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">such ordinary things as childcare, husbands – </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">our daily bread –<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">against St. Paul’s teachings. How much </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">should we give to the church?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">How much to the poor? </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We struggle for words or bore each other</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">with pettiness. Yet each week</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">we pray and each week </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">the clock tells us the same thing: look up!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Bombs are still falling here,</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">their silent detonations </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">poised a finger’s-breadth above each head, </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">held off by prayer.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-71090216827434991052014-06-28T22:06:00.000+01:002014-06-28T22:06:21.242+01:00No Poet Is A Sentimentalist<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDVJ7VVbRDGyuZ3S-DS8wANqy4ZYOrqN5nMGmlSj0mslO_hMm203ZwSTsCoZcRP7C57axCNM6xgO4sy1UgdXqLiVNa1gUfIRCUbk8yW35b1N6pGdOKB8X1Rv8XFIcBqnhcdBP/s1600/640px-Yeats_Boughton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDVJ7VVbRDGyuZ3S-DS8wANqy4ZYOrqN5nMGmlSj0mslO_hMm203ZwSTsCoZcRP7C57axCNM6xgO4sy1UgdXqLiVNa1gUfIRCUbk8yW35b1N6pGdOKB8X1Rv8XFIcBqnhcdBP/s1600/640px-Yeats_Boughton.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">The poet W.B. Yeats, photographed by Alice Boughton, 1903.</span></i></td></tr>
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Last night, reading Cleanth Brooks' book of critical essays, <i>A Shaping Joy</i> (1971), I became intrigued by this quotation from W.B. Yeats' 'Anima Hominis' (in <i>Per Amica Silentia Lunae</i>): 'no fine poet, no matter how disordered his life, has ever, even in his mere life, had pleasure for his end. Johnson and Dowson ... were dissipated men ... and yet they had the gravity of men who had found life out and were awakening from the dream ... Nor has any poet I have read of or heard of or met with been a sentimentalist. The other self, the anti-self ... comes but to those who are no longer deceived, whose passion is reality.'<br />
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Every time I attempt to articulate why I enjoy this description and find it important, I fumble it. So I'll just put it out there, for others to read if they wish, and perhaps some clearer thoughts will arrive in time. <br />
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Though I have a suspicion Yeats might have found it relatively easy to meet poets today who are 'sentimentalists'. Unfortunately.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-21839107347045726472014-06-26T13:26:00.000+01:002014-06-26T13:26:12.663+01:00UNCUT POETS: reading at the Phoenix, Exeter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnq7_-D3_gM38gL6VWhPCsE3nG98ZY_jN0I-u0zk7X5jswDYBijnnx1AdoLl2XQ6uOF2XLr1TcxePVzeXb8PrYrTp3WO1bBlQET3vMGuXLr0wWok4NNfqDBuekNM61iGv_bIU/s1600/51qE3qLQi4L._SL500_AA278_PIkin4%252CBottomRight%252C-48%252C22_AA300_SH20_OU02_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnq7_-D3_gM38gL6VWhPCsE3nG98ZY_jN0I-u0zk7X5jswDYBijnnx1AdoLl2XQ6uOF2XLr1TcxePVzeXb8PrYrTp3WO1bBlQET3vMGuXLr0wWok4NNfqDBuekNM61iGv_bIU/s1600/51qE3qLQi4L._SL500_AA278_PIkin4%252CBottomRight%252C-48%252C22_AA300_SH20_OU02_.jpg" /></a></div>
I'll be reading some of my poetry tonight at the Phoenix, Exeter, for those in the area. The reading series is called UNCUT POETS. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.exeterphoenix.org.uk/events/uncut-poets-3/">Here are the details.</a><br />
<br />
Starts at about 7.15- 7.30pm if you're thinking of coming along, and it's £5 on the door. <br />
<br />
I'll be reading from several of my published books, along with new work. <br />
<br />
Hope to see you there!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-52936221093181756562014-05-22T10:12:00.000+01:002014-05-22T10:14:23.764+01:00Publication Day for ROSE BRIDE, written as Elizabeth Moss<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWIO0vWS7eHzEtjnUQ9zchXvKZNy-dO1n0zolM9hILHzcA18NPYQ8-TcnBcGAhj16zWKOkKzAg4POa0zs0w2Rr0lf4TFRn2xvAiL5WJVnbgD1Cuw-Z-y2Uk7Lv0GfBonLtInG/s1600/small+-+medium+Rose+Bride+cover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWIO0vWS7eHzEtjnUQ9zchXvKZNy-dO1n0zolM9hILHzcA18NPYQ8-TcnBcGAhj16zWKOkKzAg4POa0zs0w2Rr0lf4TFRn2xvAiL5WJVnbgD1Cuw-Z-y2Uk7Lv0GfBonLtInG/s1600/small+-+medium+Rose+Bride+cover.jpg" height="640" width="416" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can Margerie ever escape her wrongful reputation as a courtesan?<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rose-Bride-Lust-Tudor-court-ebook/dp/B00H9HZH5K"> ROSE BRIDE: out now</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="ff1 fsl mbot1 mtop1 intro-cat3" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">The final title in the Lust in the Tudor Court series: scorching Tudor erotica for fans of Sylvia Day, <i>The Tudors</i> and Philippa Gregory's <i>White Queen.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>She is a fallen woman, an object of men's lust... </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Margerie
Croft yielded up her virginity before her wedding, and then fled from
her eager suitor - knowing that she could not marry a man she did not
love. Now she is viewed as soiled goods, fit for only for the role of
courtier's plaything.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>He sees something in her that others don't...</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Virgil
Elton is King Henry VIII's physician, working on a tonic to restore his
sovereign's flagging libido. But first it must be tested. Who better,
then, than the wanton Margerie Croft? But as he gets to know her Virgil
discovers someone as intelligent and passionate as she is beautiful -
someone who has been gravely misunderstood. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For her part,
Margerie finds Virgil irresistible - with or without the help of his
special medicine. But she knows she could never make Virgil a
respectable wife. And yet, despite herself, Margerie can't help but
wonder... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Will they find the formula for a lasting love? </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>ROSE BRIDE: available TODAY as an ebook, paperback in July </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rose-Bride-Lust-Tudor-court-ebook/dp/B00H9HZH5K"><b>Read free sample at Amazon UK</b></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rose-Bride-Lust-Tudor-court-ebook/dp/B00H9HZH5K">Read free sample at Amazon US</a></b></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-2499074478535663782014-05-15T10:40:00.002+01:002014-05-15T10:41:10.605+01:00The Song of the Hare<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She sang the song of the hare</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and the trees responded</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtPnLtayq3qV-ggsRJIflPUGevJRrtMK_zIlFdK3UalY7dns5jqQfd-jhoEzHBb13Aw6d60cV5WmiJHmYNGYECyKC2DqmFdt16K_gUySARpBg0k4Kfjgaixk9j8dR_59fCiZX/s1600/cornwall+bluebell+flower+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWtPnLtayq3qV-ggsRJIflPUGevJRrtMK_zIlFdK3UalY7dns5jqQfd-jhoEzHBb13Aw6d60cV5WmiJHmYNGYECyKC2DqmFdt16K_gUySARpBg0k4Kfjgaixk9j8dR_59fCiZX/s1600/cornwall+bluebell+flower+photo.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She sang the song of the hare</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and the wind trembled</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvOx6v3D5hWvS35BnId6zCde6w9X5jTRdZD8u5gEvYOQX7Xa8T8d2GT7n3J9d60-gXTQMizMYlItnxk2uu51jDk8kvPlYdzgz1CLNvtmhwGnYBURxNg-GAY8oyNPyXmP-ktQh/s1600/cornwall+walk+landscape+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvOx6v3D5hWvS35BnId6zCde6w9X5jTRdZD8u5gEvYOQX7Xa8T8d2GT7n3J9d60-gXTQMizMYlItnxk2uu51jDk8kvPlYdzgz1CLNvtmhwGnYBURxNg-GAY8oyNPyXmP-ktQh/s1600/cornwall+walk+landscape+photo.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She sang the song of the hare</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and the stars oscillated</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She sang the song of the hare</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and the earth drummed</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-X7pRagIi06DAbpiyAPZIlM3q1TihkTdL0mgxnpaab1yWUf8j17v-3KsN1oU8SpwwYM-K7TjKC9c-Iw34WTw0yzFY5iwaNT1o_36SWK896ix8p5PMdVgwzV0qRUt9jYWibA_V/s1600/cornwall+flower+bank+photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-X7pRagIi06DAbpiyAPZIlM3q1TihkTdL0mgxnpaab1yWUf8j17v-3KsN1oU8SpwwYM-K7TjKC9c-Iw34WTw0yzFY5iwaNT1o_36SWK896ix8p5PMdVgwzV0qRUt9jYWibA_V/s1600/cornwall+flower+bank+photo.JPG" height="238" width="320" /></a></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>She sang the song of the hare</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and the hanged man hung</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>as the god in the tree</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>put forth branches of sorrow</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKjvvPrhObNV56IYN5pumu1cEj8og-8o8E1uGP5T8PnSIviIkzA_rNFFjcajTQCpIbQM8BhD1YACmFPyw2sd_UYfp45RdvwkvLOge4QuZohf8ZlF0vcGdrAK-HF6yZV7TpU0q/s1600/cornwall+road+sunshine+photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKjvvPrhObNV56IYN5pumu1cEj8og-8o8E1uGP5T8PnSIviIkzA_rNFFjcajTQCpIbQM8BhD1YACmFPyw2sd_UYfp45RdvwkvLOge4QuZohf8ZlF0vcGdrAK-HF6yZV7TpU0q/s1600/cornwall+road+sunshine+photo.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>and the lark climbed high</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>in an ecstasy of cloud </i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>The Song of the Hare</i> by Jane Holland was published in <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Boudicca-Co-Salt-Modern-Poets-ebook/dp/B005NK3216">Boudicca & Co</a> (Salt Publishing) 2006. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">A poem to celebrate the coming-in of summer! </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Photos: Jane Holland, May 2014. Cornwall, near Bodmin Moor.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Couldn't spot a hare, sorry.)</span><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-86419854795146963642014-05-12T11:00:00.000+01:002014-05-12T11:00:00.280+01:00Notes Towards Authenticity<div style="text-align: right;">
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</style><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><span style="color: red;">RAW LIGHT: the magazine</span></i></span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">NOTES TOWARDS AUTHENTICITY:</span></u><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>poetic aphorisms from Jane Holland</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdu5QcBDNtOPRlMItJqJld58dj223GRmra-hFRCP2jZJvRJXi6VMNy3I0JRN6dQBeIUTzK4sZ7uTrXXWonPvYbVzY6JyQbYHaUtG_4iaFYzYn7s18AD1nIEbOYrg04QlD0xR9/s1600/jane%2527s+photo+of+hot+air+balloon+caernarfon-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdu5QcBDNtOPRlMItJqJld58dj223GRmra-hFRCP2jZJvRJXi6VMNy3I0JRN6dQBeIUTzK4sZ7uTrXXWonPvYbVzY6JyQbYHaUtG_4iaFYzYn7s18AD1nIEbOYrg04QlD0xR9/s1600/jane%2527s+photo+of+hot+air+balloon+caernarfon-1.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Aphorisms, filled with the hot air of poetry ...</i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Authenticity, the poet’s most plausible con trick.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The spirit, rather than the letter, of authenticity is what marks out
good poetry. Those who achieve both, or appear to achieve both, are gods. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Don’t waste time on compromise. Even a botched job is better than a
failure of nerve.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The act of writing poetry is, by its very nature, ironic. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘Here lies one whose name was writ in water.’ (John Keats) What could
be more authentic? Or more calculated? </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Belief in authenticity is the gateway to Blake’s road of excess (and
we all know where that leads). </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Fool</span></i><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> opens the Major
Arcana: innocence and an openness to failure breed creativity. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Good poetry can be written by an idiot. All things considered, it’s
probably better to be an idiot. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Federico García Lorca</span><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">: ‘The duende, then, is a power, not a work. It
is a struggle, not a thought.’ </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">* </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lorca and the duende.
Arsenic lobsters. The raw and the cooked. What flies in one language may fall
flat in another. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Trust yourself. You don’t have to believe in angels to hear a bell
ring. And vice versa.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Poetry is hard: it
demands energy. There must be an energy to the poem that propels each line toward
and beyond the waterfall of the line-break: ‘The force that through the green
fuse drives the flower’ (Dylan Thomas).</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Home is where the stress falls.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The more authentic the idea, the more natural the line. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A line that calls attention to its own idiosyncrasy can be
as authentic as a line that speaks of elegance and tradition: intention is
everything.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rhythm that springs direct from the personality – however contrary and
antipoetic - is authentic. Everything else is based on the way we think we ought to be writing.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ergo Mina Loy: ‘<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Poetic</span>
rhythm, of which we have all spoken so much, is the chart of a <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">temperament</span>.'</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">An adopted persona is still true to the self if chosen by the self. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The truly authentic is never the other, only the self: even<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when disguised, lying, psychotic.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You cannot steal or borrow or learn authenticity. It’s either there in
the work or it isn’t. Sometimes the only way to find it is to stop looking.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The poem made up of undigested influences is to poetry what a
plastic flower is to fresh blossom.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The poet must
believe authenticity to be possible, even when faking it like crazy. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The poet’s first voice is an amalgam of second-hand fictions.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If poetry is a fiction, can it ever be true?</span></i></div>
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<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">Jane Holland</span></i></b><br />
<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">First published at VERSE PALACE, poet Francis Leviston's essay blog, December 2009, which no longer appears to exist. <a href="http://www.francesleviston.co.uk/notebook/">Francis </a>does have a website though which is still online. </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-34198314519408399782014-05-05T11:22:00.001+01:002014-05-05T11:55:58.920+01:00Alison Lock gives us Three Hares<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifY7Np0_nDQBSdZBUgCTN_2bJlKtnrQxDUaE8cXdF7bTzNM2OpCYkmXm7j6AP72Vc_EKwDXFWc465Gf-05P9qVjqx6hxHs8-2daaFeIEq6u5s-alnGNWtFDcPTP9_D9HA0TdU6/s1600/DSC_4638+copy-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifY7Np0_nDQBSdZBUgCTN_2bJlKtnrQxDUaE8cXdF7bTzNM2OpCYkmXm7j6AP72Vc_EKwDXFWc465Gf-05P9qVjqx6hxHs8-2daaFeIEq6u5s-alnGNWtFDcPTP9_D9HA0TdU6/s1600/DSC_4638+copy-1.jpeg" height="267" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">Alison Lock performs from THREE HARES</span></i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="color: red; text-align: right;">
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<i style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Raw Light</span></span></span></b><i style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">: the magazine</span></span></i></div>
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In this article I will describe a little about the process of
writing the poem 'Three Hares'. The poem is part of a music/poetry
collaboration and the result is something that attempts to cross the boundaries
of word and song and musical note and rhythm.</div>
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The idea was to produce a piece
that would last for 15 to 20 minutes and take the audience on a journey
through our forests and woods, using a variety of techniques used in both arts:
changes in rhythm, metre, tempo, rhyme, repetition, syllabic consistency, prose
and poetry styles. The sonic patterns of the woods: birdsong, wind, falling
trees, running water etc., informed the writing.<br />
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<b>Three Hares </b><br />
Green Man, White Goddess.<br />
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<i>Three Hares is a symbol of rotational symmetry <br />where the ears of the hares are shared and</i></div>
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<i>like a treskelion they appear to be in constant motion.</i></div>
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<i>It has symbolic and mystical associations. As with</i></div>
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<i>the Green Man, it is a meme, a carrier of ideas,</i></div>
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<i>an optical illusion, representing the cycle of growth,</i></div>
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<i>invoking the fertility of the White Goddess.</i></div>
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Why Three Hares? This is a question I asked myself. I wanted
to write about trees<i> -</i></div>
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<i>how they sustain us, </i></div>
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<i>how they nourish our culture, </i></div>
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<i>our folklore, our myths, </i></div>
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<i>our deepest dreams.</i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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- but the symbol of the Three Hares and its universal
connections with fertility, the cycle of life, death and rebirth seemed a
perfect illustration for the life of a forest.<i> </i>I had been reading a lot
about the ecological importance of trees; the role of trees in the eco-system,
how they are essential to the survival of many creatures, plants and
micro-organisms, how they are interconnected with all of life on this planet. </div>
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But when I thought about trees, woods and forests, I thought
about fairy tales, battles, hiding places and I realised that I wanted to
take</div>
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<br /></div>
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.<i>.. a look at a liminal world, a place where
transformation occurs.</i></div>
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Many of the stories we read, or are read to as children,
describe forests as dark places patrolled by witches, trolls, goblins and
wolves. Folktales from all over the world tell of trees that are personified;
protective of the innocent, or dangerous to those who wish them harm. But I was
not only interested in fairy tale trees, I wanted to explore the trees that
surround us today. </div>
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The poem begins with the ancient; the pagan worship of trees
and the enigma of the Green Man, another symbol of fertility, carved in stone
and wood and found in many places in Europe and Britain. This symbol takes the
human-like attributes of the tree: trunk, branches, the gnarled features for a
face, the sap as blood. Some say that the Green Woman is the Earth, Mother
Earth:</div>
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<i>..whose carved face, </i></div>
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<i>frond hair, ivy brow, </i></div>
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<i>skin peeled or smooth </i></div>
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<i>as beech bark, trace-veined, </i></div>
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<i>age wefted, tatted webs, </i></div>
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<i>tattooed, blood-crossed </i></div>
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<i>with the oak, </i></div>
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<i>the birch, the rowan.</i></div>
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By walking through the woods of the South Pennines I
explored the footpaths, the margins, the scars, to find out about their recent
history.</div>
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The areas of woodland are usually marked by a perimeter;
sometimes a physical signpost or a fence:</div>
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<i>A gilded post is a sign </i></div>
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<i>for the wayfarer, a snicket </i></div>
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<i>leads to a stile, a stepping stone, </i></div>
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<i>a cross-bar, a kissing gate </i></div>
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<i>and the path becomes a bridleway </i></div>
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<i>where a rustic fence marks </i></div>
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<i>the perimeter of a world </i></div>
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<i>where turned earth meets cloud.</i></div>
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Other times the trees are edged by a canal where:</div>
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<i>the Himalayan Balsam ushers </i></div>
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<i>like a nodding crew, </i></div>
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<i>leggy, white in the half light</i></div>
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<i>winking at a passing boat.</i></div>
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Not only are they places of contemplation, of dreamy walks
where the only sounds are the birds in the trees, but they are places of
leisure and activity:</div>
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<i>A mountain biker skids, sped-</i></div>
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<i>tacking his prints on the yarrow bend </i></div>
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<i>spraying the nettles Pollock-style.</i></div>
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The woodlands of the Pennines have a particular connection
to the mills in the valleys built during the Victorian era – these woods are
etched with the footpaths used by the millworkers: </div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>as beech nuts crack under foot,</i></div>
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<i>a loom's shuttle is thrown </i></div>
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<i>back and forth, back and forth,</i></div>
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Finally, as I watch the hares leap across the open moors, new
trees are being planted in the open fields. Those with a consideration for the
future, our future, are intent on replenishing the woodlands:</div>
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<i>Fields of ragwort are released</i></div>
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<i>to the gilder rose, the oak, </i></div>
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<i>the beech, the sycamore too.</i></div>
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<i>First planting is the birch, </i></div>
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<i>the bringer </i></div>
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<i>of light into darkness, </i></div>
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<i>the pioneer preparing the soil </i></div>
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<i>like a good besom</i></div>
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<i>for the return of the White Goddess.</i></div>
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Here, I have talked about the poem itself, but this is only
a part of the whole process. I wanted to create something that was an
experience, an atmosphere, rather than piece to read only. We have produced
a booklet of the poem to accompany the performances. It was produced by the
graphic artist, David Kaye; his response to the poem was both sensitive and
creative and the result is a work of beauty. </div>
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'Three Hares' was written with a musical interpretation in
mind and I collaborated with a musician I had worked with before. Robin Bowles
had accompanied me at a reading of 'Eye of the Heron', a piece written as a
result of my work as Poet in Residence at Holmfirth Arts Festival. He played
both mandolin and bouzouki (notably instruments made of wood). He perfectly
captured the rhythms, the sounds, the essence of that piece and I wanted to
continue this work in 'Three Hares', only this time creating a closer
collaborative process from the beginning. But that's another post.</div>
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We hope to record 'Three Hares' soon but perhaps for now
you might like to listen to <a href="https://soundcloud.com/bobbiodazzle/eye-of-the-heron">'Eye of the Heron'</a> on Soundcloud.</div>
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Alison Lock</div>
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<a href="http://www.alisonlock.com/">www.alisonlock.com</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_u-gxNhjmLM5Xm8392bG_xGg095LRfd0a57bynbCnZDSIH7Sut11uNClvMfVTb_cLfMH7Rblrg5oth4HDkoh7nW63A13iqqm8Ns7Kpx5lV9ujmic_z1Xz8KK5XhzTTd9eb54B/s1600/hare+book+photo+raw+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_u-gxNhjmLM5Xm8392bG_xGg095LRfd0a57bynbCnZDSIH7Sut11uNClvMfVTb_cLfMH7Rblrg5oth4HDkoh7nW63A13iqqm8Ns7Kpx5lV9ujmic_z1Xz8KK5XhzTTd9eb54B/s1600/hare+book+photo+raw+light.jpg" height="400" width="332" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-51173622920664060612014-04-28T09:22:00.000+01:002014-04-28T09:24:49.737+01:00Angela Topping: A Poetic Manifesto<style>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;"><b>RAW LIGHT:</b> <i>the magazine</i></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;"><i></i></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><u>A Poetic Manifesto</u></span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCda-ornu3ag9URY0fCjHzGJe2SeYiuiUZBTJvzl_qf51A0X0MbpcyeHib9-8Qxoj7EEtuPv4TeLRSjGFMfa-fNx2HKgYiEOIHFhaZB-FuahA6iOskbU71dCn8V5p7hRFQsAnh/s1600/croppedin+green+angela+topping+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCda-ornu3ag9URY0fCjHzGJe2SeYiuiUZBTJvzl_qf51A0X0MbpcyeHib9-8Qxoj7EEtuPv4TeLRSjGFMfa-fNx2HKgYiEOIHFhaZB-FuahA6iOskbU71dCn8V5p7hRFQsAnh/s1600/croppedin+green+angela+topping+photo.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://angelatopping.wordpress.com/">Angela Topping </a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Jane Holland
invited me to contribute to her excellent poetry blog, I thought it might be
useful to do something on how I came to write this poem, which was included in
Salt’s anthology <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Troubles-Swapped-Something-Fresh-Anthologies/dp/1844714713">Troubles Swapped forSomething Fresh</a>, </i>which is now a set text on a number of Creative Writing
degree courses<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i></span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How
to Capture a Poem</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<br />
Look for one at midnight<br />
on the dark side of a backlit angel<br />
or in the space between a sigh<br />
and a word. Winter trees, those<br />
elegant ladies dressed in diamonds<br />
and white fur, may hide another. <br />
<br />
Look for the rhythm in the feet<br />
of a waltzing couple one, two, three-ing<br />
in an empty hall, or in the sound<br />
of any heartbeat, the breath of a sleeper, <br />
the bossy rattle of keyboards in offices,<br />
the skittering of paper blown along. <br />
<br />
You could find a whole line<br />
incised into stone or scrawled on sky. <br />
Words float on air in buses, are bandied<br />
on street corners, overheard in pubs, <br />
caught in the pages of books, sealed<br />
behind tight lips, marshalled as weapons. <br />
<br />
Supposing you can catch a poem, <br />
it won’t tell you all it knows. Its voice<br />
is a whisper through a wall, a streak of silk<br />
going by, the scratch of a ghost, the creaks<br />
of a house at night, the sound of the earth<br />
vibrating in spring, with all its secret life.<br />
<br />
You have to listen: the poem chooses itself, <br />
takes shape and begins to declare what it is. <br />
Honour the given, else it will become petulant.<br />
<br />
When you have done your best,<br />
you have to let it go. Season it with salt<br />
from your body, grease it with oil from your skin.<br />
<br />
Release it. It has nothing more to do<br />
with you. You’re no more its owner<br />
than you hold the wind. Never expect gratitude. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HZf42AgfWt-LIFTZTxFzhHTtkfVIT9R8KN1kqj3V1oJaJZPFIPBWt2cgeHDOy7j0t5zGwpCZMpVlXPR3TQTIJMHL2pFDgZPSG3hFH7KUFQOKR4mlQkMOdQz6Hzdc-Xxox1ga/s1600/troubles+swapped+for+something+fresh+cover+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HZf42AgfWt-LIFTZTxFzhHTtkfVIT9R8KN1kqj3V1oJaJZPFIPBWt2cgeHDOy7j0t5zGwpCZMpVlXPR3TQTIJMHL2pFDgZPSG3hFH7KUFQOKR4mlQkMOdQz6Hzdc-Xxox1ga/s1600/troubles+swapped+for+something+fresh+cover+photo.jpg" height="400" width="306" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><i>Angela writes: </i></u></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rupert Loydell, who had published my first two collections
under the Stride imprint, was editing the anthology <i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Troubles-Swapped-Something-Fresh-Anthologies/dp/1844714713">Troubles Swapped For Something Fresh</a></i>, and asked me to submit something. I’d
never been much of a one for writing about my own practice but I thought it was
about time I had a bash. I struggled to complete the commission, then Rupert
sent me a reminder. I tried again. Nothing. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I gave up and went for a bath. The first phrases came
through suds and bubbles, shampoo. Once I was wrapped in my bathrobe, I started
to write them down.</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The title 'How To Capture A Poem' is because poems are wild animals and it’s hard to
tame them. Midnight is the witching hour and poems are a kind of alchemy to me.
The dark side of anything, the one not illuminated, is where poems hide. Angels
are special to me because of my name. The winter tree image came into my mind
when I was driving home from school in the snow. I was trying to think of a new
image for snow-covered trees and I took the opportunity to place it in this
piece. </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stanza 2 is about rhythm, which is important to me. It’s the
tick tock of the poem’s clock, it’s how you know it’s alive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stanza 3 brings in
some of my subject matter, the quotidian, the words all around us, giving us
the sound-track of our thoughts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stanza 4 is about my practice, how a poem will
gradually reveal itself to me, sometimes just giving me one phrase for free,
sometimes much more. And more of my themes come into this stanza as well.</span><br />
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<i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"It’s
eccentric of me I know, but I do believe in listening to the poem.</span></i><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It’s
eccentric of me I know, but I do believe in listening to the poem. I was trying
to get a poem about my mother’s death right, years ago. What I couldn’t at
first see was that it wanted to be a sonnet. As soon as I noticed that two of
the lines my right brain had given me were iambic pentameter, the rest of the
poem sorted itself out as quick as you like! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Poems have to be let out into the world, they have to fly
free. So the title comes full circle. Once you have captured it, it has to go
forth on its own. I edit as best I can, and give up when I have made the poem
strong enough to survive. Of course it will bear my fingerprints, something of
me will reside in it, but it also belongs to the reader. Poems are nothing
without readers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The ending is a nod and a blown kiss towards W.S Graham’s
poem ‘</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">Johann Joachim Quantz's
Five Lessons’, a poem in five sections about teaching someone the flute, as a
metaphor for writing. Graham ends his </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB; mso-font-kerning: 18.0pt;">poem ‘</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Do not
expect applause.’ My ending is ambiguous. Never expect the poem to be grateful
to you – in fact I am always grateful to the poem for choosing me to write it.
Also, never expect gratitude from anyone else. Or praise, or blame, or even a
reaction. </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I write poetry because I have no choice in the matter. I do have a
choice to go out and do readings, which I love doing, and people have told me
they enjoy hearing me read my poems. I have a choice, in a way, to publish. I
mostly do that so that those poems leave me alone, I can think of them as
completed and move on to the next collection. </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">This poem is my manifesto. </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Angela Topping</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1398627110388_3098" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1398627110388_3102" style="font-size: small;">Angela Topping's latest books are<a href="http://www.themothersmilkbookshop.com/letting-go.html"> Letting Go (Mother's Milk Books) </a>and Paper Patterns
(Lapwing). </span></i></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1398627110388_3104" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;">
<i><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1398627110388_3103" style="font-size: small;">You can find Angela Topping on wordpress <a href="http://angelatopping.wordpress.com/">http://angelatopping.wordpress.com/</a></span></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-18381838740542172662014-04-26T19:13:00.000+01:002015-10-17T10:35:39.325+01:00Simon Armitage: Poetry Beyond the Printed Page<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i> 'Poetry goes back to the campfire, the temple, the theatre.'</i></span> </blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqOQ6w__mRFFZhXER0WUaQmiarOUdpKKvm2rOKAGCGn3Te2FNEMxu0itvCA93nOq_GnvmAMJ5suMjQxsxSacbfsEMy_N62DI0wPb9TxuSe8wHTj2nbhY3URFWUQDsLN9BwaN2/s1600/armitage+event+sign+photo+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqOQ6w__mRFFZhXER0WUaQmiarOUdpKKvm2rOKAGCGn3Te2FNEMxu0itvCA93nOq_GnvmAMJ5suMjQxsxSacbfsEMy_N62DI0wPb9TxuSe8wHTj2nbhY3URFWUQDsLN9BwaN2/s1600/armitage+event+sign+photo+2014.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
On Thursday 24th April I took myself off to Falmouth University in the evening, to hear Simon Armitage talk about "Poetry Beyond the Printed Page" in one of a series of lectures he's giving there as part of his tenure as Visiting Professor for the School of Journalism and Writing. Falmouth University is a classy campus with a range of unusual and interesting buildings. This was my first visit and I was very favourably impressed.<br />
<br />
I was also impressed that Simon remembered me, even though it's almost twenty years now since we met: he co-tutored an Arvon poetry course I attended in the mid-nineties. Sadly, I suspect he recalled me for my pool-playing and my hardcore driving rather than my nascent poetry skills; we all went out to a local pub one night, and he was one of rather-too-many passengers who squeezed into my car on the way back. Those are narrow country lanes round Totleigh Barton, and I imagine the return journey at speed in the dark was memorable.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1LGC7zh24MldRbItQUIeA-vCRLApMaHXgJ9Q0e9Nu-FDL9OOmS5XfUw0nQ07n5fei8uC8W8M-ohKK2UNHBW2EiAvopuH_C5ofQnkJPDKYPMNjZB4Fc5A9ng1aphfPWbvEnb5/s1600/simon+armitage+photo+podium+falmouth+uni+2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1LGC7zh24MldRbItQUIeA-vCRLApMaHXgJ9Q0e9Nu-FDL9OOmS5XfUw0nQ07n5fei8uC8W8M-ohKK2UNHBW2EiAvopuH_C5ofQnkJPDKYPMNjZB4Fc5A9ng1aphfPWbvEnb5/s1600/simon+armitage+photo+podium+falmouth+uni+2014.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">'Radio and poetry are natural bedfellows.'</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
'Poetry,' Armitage told us, 'goes back to the campfire, the temple, the theatre.' In its ancient past, poetry was an oral art, so is perfect for the medium of radio. Welsh poet Dylan Thomas's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Under_Milk_Wood">Under Milk Wood</a> (1954) was written specifically for voices, for a radio audience - here is the opening, read by Richard Burton.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/uuPO2Kvqlms" width="459"></iframe> <br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/zmciuKsBOi0" width="459"></iframe><br />
<br />
The iconic poem 'The Night Mail' by WH Auden is often cited as the first film-poem. Armitage praised its 'great charm,' suggesting the rhythm of the poem matches both the train's movement and the swift-moving medium of film.<br />
<br />
In the same way, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tony_Harrison">Tony Harrison</a> made documentaries using poetry instead a standard prose narrative, keeping to simple classical forms for clarity. Here's Tony Harrison's 'V' (1987), part documentary, part poem (scroll forward to about 4 minutes in for the poem): <br />
<br />
<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WPutBM7zfv8?list=PLCBFAEBAAE933CD63" width="459"></iframe>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">'Leeds. Where the M1 does its emergency stop'</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: small;"> <i>Xanadu, Simon Armitage</i></span></span></div>
<br />
Armitage also discussed <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Xanadu-Simon-Armitage/dp/1852241586"><i>Xanadu</i></a> (1992), a poem film he made about a council estate in Rochdale with twenty-six blocks of flats originally named A-Z. Later the council tried to improve these names by adding a place name for each letter of the alphabet. When they reached X, they could only think of Exford. Simon says he was horrified by their lack of imagination, and so called his film-poem about the estate, <i>Xanadu</i>.<br />
<br />
In <i>Documentary in the Digital Age</i> (Focal Press, Oxford, 2006) by Maxine Baker, Simon Armitage is quoted as having been reluctant at first to make the documentary <i>Saturday Night</i>, shot in Leeds, commenting of film poems in general: ‘Sometimes the poetry is used like subtitles for the film. Sometimes the film just illustrates the poems. I like it best when there is a friction between the two.’ But Armitage showed no such aversion during his talk at Falmouth, describing with great enthusiasm how he had been sent the footage shot in Leeds, then written his poetry to accompany it, using a stopwatch to time it perfectly.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M7UlPe97sqooFUeHssPzGdwHUvVOJ0a7p8lgCyg1USIz2xooYPNrfEhUZaJFPwT24lTPwIPbrJHgSHkEOW4Ra2iqXCFql9Lf7HqkUBB4h6HLGzrFNJq95Del0eh4dGZcD9LL/s1600/armitage+signing+book+photo+april+2014+falmouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M7UlPe97sqooFUeHssPzGdwHUvVOJ0a7p8lgCyg1USIz2xooYPNrfEhUZaJFPwT24lTPwIPbrJHgSHkEOW4Ra2iqXCFql9Lf7HqkUBB4h6HLGzrFNJq95Del0eh4dGZcD9LL/s1600/armitage+signing+book+photo+april+2014+falmouth.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simon's books were on sale after the event.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Simon Armitage explained that he never meets the subjects of documentaries but writes poems for them - about their own lives - to be spoken on film or even sung. He prefers to keep a creative distance, reading about the people in each documentary, then writing a poem or song for the subject to perform to camera. <br />
<br />
If you'd like to explore some of those documentary films, here is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HOEXzRQ24lI">'Drinking For England' </a>(alcoholism) and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMGt4BfA_NA">'Songbirds'</a> (Downview, a women's prison in Surrey). You can also read more about that last project here, in Simon's own words, at the Telegraph (2005): <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/3648729/Songbirds-behind-prison-walls.html">'Songbirds behind prison walls'. </a><br />
<br />
After his talk, Simon signed books while the audience enjoyed a glass of wine and a chat in one of the university rooms. I was delighted to meet Rupert Loydell at last, a poet and editor with whom I have exchanged emails in the past, and in whose magazine <a href="http://www.stridemagazine.co.uk/">Stride</a> I have had work published.<br />
<br />
It was a very informative and engaging talk. This is the new Armitage book I bought - not out officially until next week - <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Last-Days-Troy-Simon-Armitage/dp/0571315097">The Last Days of Troy</a>.<br />
<br />
<span id="goog_1902624812"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1902624811"><span id="goog_1902624800"></span></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/goog_1902624803"><span id="goog_1902624801"></span></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU0oeB9g3yZnsc5jF34_KJFHYB0PrX8psY7Vtd6SRP59gc6BggJMikFBNSasGN8Z4bWWQost3NP8aPRrDceGy9Vovq9IFskd-j6RVZGXf7JTUYthfcUtacrtBSE-XfT4j4-_rR/s1600/last+days+of+troy+armitage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU0oeB9g3yZnsc5jF34_KJFHYB0PrX8psY7Vtd6SRP59gc6BggJMikFBNSasGN8Z4bWWQost3NP8aPRrDceGy9Vovq9IFskd-j6RVZGXf7JTUYthfcUtacrtBSE-XfT4j4-_rR/s1600/last+days+of+troy+armitage.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span id="goog_1902624804"></span><span id="goog_1902624813"></span><span id="goog_1902624809"></span><br /></span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Find <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Last-Days-Troy-Simon-Armitage/dp/0571315097">THE LAST DAYS OF TROY</a> at Amazon.</span></div>
<br />
<span id="goog_1902624825"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1902624826"><span id="goog_1902624831"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1902624832"></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-33096527735386497812014-04-14T21:11:00.001+01:002014-04-14T21:16:25.591+01:00Epicentre Magazine has moved to Raw LightA few weeks back, I got all excited on social media, and decided to reanimate Raw Light as a poetry and writing-related blog.<br />
<br />
My first thought, as a vastly busy person, was to solicit a few poems from other people, which would keep the blog going but not take up too much time writing endless new material for it myself. Canny, huh?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUYvcMWWP0zfyWhSut89Cxdu6RA6eQNVpPWdx7bkqP6YVaW11H3pZQewpgdOe7dEA8GnIGDU1rHy0_J6Dz_HOpOvOhqb5G9yuyXDkF62idXP1XgEfyUGC1shx-Xs1gz4bU1S_/s1600/jane+hat+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUYvcMWWP0zfyWhSut89Cxdu6RA6eQNVpPWdx7bkqP6YVaW11H3pZQewpgdOe7dEA8GnIGDU1rHy0_J6Dz_HOpOvOhqb5G9yuyXDkF62idXP1XgEfyUGC1shx-Xs1gz4bU1S_/s1600/jane+hat+photo.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random picture of me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But then I remembered<a href="http://epicentremagazine.wordpress.com/2014/04/14/epicentre-has-moved/"> Epicentre Magazine.</a><br />
<br />
I launched Epicentre Magazine two years ago almost exactly. I wanted an online magazine which would not be too taxing for me to run, and for a while it worked fine. But then I lost track of submissions, and frankly submissions were not brilliant anyway, so I just stopped posting work there.<br />
<br />
But now, in a flash of inspiration, I have decided to move that idea of an occasional online magazine - updated at my whim, really - to Raw Light. This blog is a veteran of online poetry, after all, having been started back in the misty depths of 2005 and still ticking over today in 2014. It gets many thousands of hits every month, regardless of whether or not I post updates, and it seems like a great platform from which to 'relaunch' my idea of an online poetry magazine.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately for those now rubbing their hands with glee and sorting out their best poems, I do not intend to load myself down with extra work by accepting unsolicited submissions for Raw Light. Instead I shall be inviting people on the (mainly British) poetry scene to submit poems, reviews or articles, and hope they are generous enough to say yes.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAseS5yFZrNHjC_pa-E4wdiqOedeEef0xfFTs2FpJX6SePxjf4vvaXjmY_j4uIdRjEg4zuXjG0-LyjUGqcHyKs0vwjmtPjY2x892HOwhAtJOqvTz4tfEWrEGNFau-y-2EOU8pz/s1600/100_4243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAseS5yFZrNHjC_pa-E4wdiqOedeEef0xfFTs2FpJX6SePxjf4vvaXjmY_j4uIdRjEg4zuXjG0-LyjUGqcHyKs0vwjmtPjY2x892HOwhAtJOqvTz4tfEWrEGNFau-y-2EOU8pz/s1600/100_4243.JPG" height="237" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relaunching Raw Light as a quasi-magazine ...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I shall also continue to post my own updates on Raw Light. So things will not change particularly, except that you may receive more frequent emails from me if you have subscribed to the blog. You can change this by clicking Unsubscribe at the bottom of any emails that arrive from Raw Light.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I am not very good at asking people for things, having the memory of a flea, and there's every chance that if you're reading this blog AND writing the kind of things I enjoy reading, I may be happy to see your work here too.<br />
<br />
So see <a href="http://rawlightblog.blogspot.co.uk/p/submissions.html">Submissions</a> for details anyway. Just be aware that I have a madly busy life these days and don't expect an instant response.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-17596807607791777622014-04-09T19:23:00.002+01:002014-04-09T19:24:36.143+01:00Penelope Shuttle and Caroline Carver reading Zeeba Ansari's poetry at Waterstones Truro<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-f5lQ2VCc4pZCwtzECFs7-ZJvF7Z-y-xMKg2RZ2e7uwBpwP9heglB89kI2NHed4tIJU12Fz6w5M6xKuHq1h1PO1fYNwtpwkVAOtzFf4d9Yx5sd5h2EUOY79eYsJ4ZYJghkI75/s1600/penelope+shuttle+caroline+carver+poetry+reading+waterstones+truro+2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-f5lQ2VCc4pZCwtzECFs7-ZJvF7Z-y-xMKg2RZ2e7uwBpwP9heglB89kI2NHed4tIJU12Fz6w5M6xKuHq1h1PO1fYNwtpwkVAOtzFf4d9Yx5sd5h2EUOY79eYsJ4ZYJghkI75/s1600/penelope+shuttle+caroline+carver+poetry+reading+waterstones+truro+2014.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Caroline Carver and Penelope Shuttle about to read from Zeeba Ansari's work</i></span></td></tr>
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<br />
Last night I had the pleasure of attending a poetry reading at Waterstones Truro, Cornwall, where well-known Cornwall-based poets Penelope Shuttle (on the right, above) and Caroline Carver (on left) were reading from Zeeba Ansari's debut poetry collection, <a href="http://www.pindroppress.com/?page_id=927">Love's Labours, </a>published by Pindrop Press.<br />
<br />
The event was part of the Truro Festival. <br />
<br />
Sadly Zeeba herself could not be present. But here is her book ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2mO1hVTdeYhYSvc7GpwZIGxjgXhMhXVD1L6A-sVuu3zKEvNK82ZpmljN7J9SnkXzQq0pxIdrwMtOSCbk_cz6OB0vww7QLE5gWhrNwRsrlESylErKDGr7Anoi7kSKLopor_oH/s1600/coverimageforzeeba-187x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2mO1hVTdeYhYSvc7GpwZIGxjgXhMhXVD1L6A-sVuu3zKEvNK82ZpmljN7J9SnkXzQq0pxIdrwMtOSCbk_cz6OB0vww7QLE5gWhrNwRsrlESylErKDGr7Anoi7kSKLopor_oH/s1600/coverimageforzeeba-187x300.jpg" height="400" width="249" /></a></div>
<br />
And here are some other photos I took of the event ...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIyexcSgIldCyOB_VwDitcct5dnBp27k2P8jSpX2NV1bEmnRHoEM04uf1vghTZuzIjVjNwIQfmjsrLShEiVyEUNICUvO0cHnxi_69Mojm0sp3Cg_d_qHCu1-NnpC-fRDtHLEO/s1600/penelope+shuttle+poetry+reading+audience+2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOIyexcSgIldCyOB_VwDitcct5dnBp27k2P8jSpX2NV1bEmnRHoEM04uf1vghTZuzIjVjNwIQfmjsrLShEiVyEUNICUvO0cHnxi_69Mojm0sp3Cg_d_qHCu1-NnpC-fRDtHLEO/s1600/penelope+shuttle+poetry+reading+audience+2014.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a packed audience, despite being an evening event.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinI9DzLSxvN7crYhyphenhyphenmdSjeFGG0rxP-uUr8sVUURIRrnk4Ydzjh8JdwJa5Unh1sQ2SFTKZJJxJ5BuLArNyIc9e9Zl-tRK9VkJDwIAwD_wiNy8tLmwzhRiIEsY1bNoKTFnh4U-cs/s1600/poetry+reading+shuttle+2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinI9DzLSxvN7crYhyphenhyphenmdSjeFGG0rxP-uUr8sVUURIRrnk4Ydzjh8JdwJa5Unh1sQ2SFTKZJJxJ5BuLArNyIc9e9Zl-tRK9VkJDwIAwD_wiNy8tLmwzhRiIEsY1bNoKTFnh4U-cs/s1600/poetry+reading+shuttle+2014.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Penny and Caroline choosing what to read.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQA7HbCYmgAAWrZq4pbTWRy3ygFAB6yTt7OnMgd0FuK9S_Kh6F0hdWmKXie5bl2fYTMMUwt-KGqKkVVlPtaI_p8nqCmcvhnfXbhS-QZl5pUJo1v3wpdhdWfVCU4RqiY-8R5gf/s1600/Graham+Burchell+waterstones+truro+april+2014+poet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfQA7HbCYmgAAWrZq4pbTWRy3ygFAB6yTt7OnMgd0FuK9S_Kh6F0hdWmKXie5bl2fYTMMUwt-KGqKkVVlPtaI_p8nqCmcvhnfXbhS-QZl5pUJo1v3wpdhdWfVCU4RqiY-8R5gf/s1600/Graham+Burchell+waterstones+truro+april+2014+poet.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poet Graham Burchell</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbmbPzlbiK5ceR2e5Vx6QpgtWYpfwOVVQt1YF4fY-Rrh4LmkbXYcZPljyTjP3orO41rWcOLxeNOgEQSqK_U3wVq58OQHMPdTR_7INbhHLjvMwHvmn8msXNd7MEUamFt8De3RN/s1600/Morris+and+kids+at+waterstones+truro+poetry+reading+april+2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnbmbPzlbiK5ceR2e5Vx6QpgtWYpfwOVVQt1YF4fY-Rrh4LmkbXYcZPljyTjP3orO41rWcOLxeNOgEQSqK_U3wVq58OQHMPdTR_7INbhHLjvMwHvmn8msXNd7MEUamFt8De3RN/s1600/Morris+and+kids+at+waterstones+truro+poetry+reading+april+2014.JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of my kids - probably wondering how much longer they would be required to look well-behaved! </td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-35249199293355595452014-04-07T11:30:00.000+01:002014-04-07T11:30:01.019+01:00Vote for the Saboteur Awards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3mHSNl8l97EhxZtUuHXb4TGMZi6n0HDDgEe0YSluEBgr6N3cQzTN452sjCG4_6WbYopeqzxkckgPo_CMxayV5wtMNoRaIKj4mpPWxyfgFbyo_hi4XqPVg_2DfE_0UNeiJmfb/s1600/Saboteur-2014-flyer-printer-page-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3mHSNl8l97EhxZtUuHXb4TGMZi6n0HDDgEe0YSluEBgr6N3cQzTN452sjCG4_6WbYopeqzxkckgPo_CMxayV5wtMNoRaIKj4mpPWxyfgFbyo_hi4XqPVg_2DfE_0UNeiJmfb/s1600/Saboteur-2014-flyer-printer-page-001.jpg" height="400" width="293" /></a></div>
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<br />
The <u><b>SABOTEUR AWARDS</b></u> are here again: <a href="http://sabotagereviews.com/2014/04/01/saboteur-awards-2014-announcement/">VOTE NOW</a> for your favourite poets, publishers, reviewers, spoken word events etc. <br />
<br />
<b>Key Dates:</b><br />
Nominations are open 1st-30th April 2014<br />
Shortlist announced 1st May 2014<br />
Voting open 1st-25th May 2014<br />
Winners announced and Awards presented on May 31st 2014, Oxford.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16608180.post-36984143359472315192014-04-05T16:57:00.004+01:002014-04-05T16:57:57.384+01:00Poetry Wars I & II<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChLd5fGwkrQ7PCx0uF-oN01uj4Z08V8DdcYRYkXASgRSd1ouT-RhzjlewTj_vYaPlsID3F7VXWrWQGZ-A0N0T1saQDpDSpd8DwnfJFBLBcOC-gzEycW8zGe1IGdAqZ2C2gIOp/s1600-h/41Ch+9EsWBL._SS500_.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChLd5fGwkrQ7PCx0uF-oN01uj4Z08V8DdcYRYkXASgRSd1ouT-RhzjlewTj_vYaPlsID3F7VXWrWQGZ-A0N0T1saQDpDSpd8DwnfJFBLBcOC-gzEycW8zGe1IGdAqZ2C2gIOp/s400/41Ch+9EsWBL._SS500_.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176817566332580370" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><i>Archive Post from March 2008: Poetry Wars I and II: reblogging for fun in April 2014.</i></u></div>
<br />
I'm reading Peter Barry's <a href="http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/sscp/1844712478.htm">Poetry Wars: 'British Poetry of the 1970s and the Battle of Earls Court'</a>
this week, published by Salt. It's an absolutely excellent read and I
highly recommend it for anyone even remotely interested in the politics
of poetry, each page containing fresh hilarities and salacious gossip
from the world of 1970s British poetry. <br />
<br />
I'm still only
partway through it so will probably blog about this again, once
finished, but I couldn't resist a few juicy comments now. <br />
<br />
<i>Poetry Wars</i>
is not a linear read but a satisfying dip in and out read, as
recommended by the author, who has constructed the book in several
parts. First, you have the linear narrative of how, in the 1970s, the
'radicals' (i.e. those avant-gardists who consider themselves to have
descended in a direct line from the gods of early modernism like Eliot
and Pound) beat off the 'conservatives' (i.e. the poetic backlash
against modernism, advocating a return to normalcy, traditional forms
and cucumber sandwiches) to take over the Poetry Society London HQ, then
situated in fading gentility in Earls Court. Then you have chapters
devoted to various 'themes' connected to that - almost decade-long -
battle, with further chapters at the back consisting of dated lists,
relevant documents, explanations of terms etc.<br />
<br />
Reading
this book has clarified for me, in a matter of hours, the terrible
enmity that still exists between these two main strands within British
poetry. Taking the bulk of its material from Poetry Society and Arts
Council archives, memoirs, personal statements, plus a full account of
the Witt Panel investigation of the Poetry Society's operations in 1976 -
think full-blown McCarthyism in Piccadilly! - this book details, often
meticulously, who said what to whom and when. There's rather less
discussion of 'why' than I would like, but I suppose these memories must
still be raw enough in some people's minds for that question to be
approached with delicate circumspection. <br />
<br />
And it's not
all one-sided. Although Peter Barry is firmly on the 'side' of the
radicals, by his own admission, he has tried to present evidence and
anecdote in as unbiased a manner as is possible with such difficult
material, not trying to hide mistakes by his own party even as he
highlights occasionally underhand actions by the more conservative
element as they attempted to get back into power. <br />
<br />
So
here's a quick taster of life at the Poetry Society in the mid-70s, in a
marvellous anecdote apparently related by Peter Finch:<br />
<br />
<i>'We're
sitting in the White House, the hotel bar next to the Poetry Society in
Earls Court Square. Criton Tomazos is standing on the mantel piece
ripping bits out of a book and chanting. Bob [Cobbing] has drunk almost
half a bottle of whiskey and is still standing, or leaning. Jennifer
[Jennifer Pike, Cobbing's wife] arrives in her small car to take us
home. The vehicle is full of boxes, papers and bits of equipment. We
push Bob into the front seat but there's no room for me in the back. I
climb onto the roof rack. We drive. Somehow we get back.'</i><br />
<br />
More of this later. <br />
<br />
You can buy 'Poetry Wars' online at <a href="http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/sscp/1844712478.htm">Salt Publishing.</a><br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Poetry Wars PART II <br />
<br />
Tucked out of sight of the snipers, safe for now under my duvet, I continue my reading of Peter Barry's highly dangerous <a href="http://www.saltpublishing.com/books/sscp/1844712478.htm">Poetry Wars: British Poetry of the 1970s and the Battle of Earls Court</a>. See previous post for full briefing.<br />
<br />
March 13th 2008. Late evening. Skim-reading through Chapter Nine: <i>Taking a Long View.</i>
Bombing less heavy tonight. Discussing possible reasons for the
marginalisation of experimental poetry both then and now, Peter Barry
writes from the quieter trenches of retrospection (pp.183-4): <br />
<br />
'Part
of the explanation, then, must lie in the specific social formation of
avant-garde poets, and to some extent (to return to a point raised
earlier) it concerns their attitude to publication, which is often very
complex and contradictory, as frequently with avant-garde groups. Some
variety of self-publication, in fact, has long been the norm for
innovatory writing - it isn't an accident that T.S. Eliot first
published <i>The Waste Land</i> in a magazine he was editing himself, or
that Virginia and Leonard Woolf ran the Hogarth Press. By definition,
almost, the quality of something new will not easily be recognised by
major publishers, who must cater for an existing set of public tastes.
But these existing public tastes are precisely what an avant-garde
despises or distrusts ... <br />
<br />
... In <i>Liquid City</i> (Reaktion, 1999), Iain Sinclair, en route to visit Eric Mottram [experimental poet and 1970s editor of <i>Poetry Review</i>
during the running battles between what Peter Barry terms 'radicals'
and 'conservatives' - JH] with photographer Marc Atkins, explains to
Atkins who Mottram is and what he represents:<br />
<br />
<i>The
names don't mean anything to Atkins. This is deleted history - Allen
Fisher, Bill Griffiths, Barry MacSweeney, the heroes of the 'British
Poetry Revival' - have been expunged from the record. Poetry is back
where it belongs: in exile. In the provinces, the bunkers of academe. In
madhouses, clinics and fragile sinecures.'</i><br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
For more on avant poetry versus the mainstream, here's <a href="http://www.altx.com/EBR/ebr10/10mat/matbody1.htm">a discussion</a> of some antithetically opposed contemporary anthologies.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u><i>ARCHIVE POST: These two posts were first published on Raw Light in March 2008.</i></u></div>
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