I went along to the Y Theatre in Leicester last night with some friends, to see Stewart Lee, appearing as part of the 15th Leicester Comedy Festival. He was performing the show (The 41st Best Stand-up Ever) that he took to last year's Edinburgh Festival, and he was as good as ever.
Quite why he's been absent from our TV screens (bar the very occasional, very brief, appearance) for so long remains a mystery, because he puts most British stand-ups in the shade. As I've said before, it's not so much the material, however thought-provoking and intelligent it is. It's all in the delivery. I suppose it all comes under the heading of 'comedy timing', but Lee uses silence and repetition to wonderful effect.
Funnily enough, his old comedy partner Richard Herring is at the Y in a month's time, so I'll be going along to that too, to see what he's been up to in the years since Fist Of Fun and TMWRNJ.
Friday, 15 February 2008
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Current reading
The Peregrine - JA Baker
The Hill Of Dreams - Arthur Machen
Singing In The Dark - Alison Brackenbury
Bloodfeud: Murder And Revenge In Anglo-Saxon England - Richard Fletcher
The Hill Of Dreams - Arthur Machen
Singing In The Dark - Alison Brackenbury
Bloodfeud: Murder And Revenge In Anglo-Saxon England - Richard Fletcher
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
A pictorial interlude
A couple of people mentioned they liked that Red Kite pic on the last post, so here's a few more pics from the bloke who took it, colleague Mike Weedon's blog, Weedon's World of Nature.
First, a mist-net of spiders' webs thrown over the fenland landscape...
...next, a splendidly fiery-eyed Black-necked Grebe at Orton Brick Pit, Peterborough...
...and finally, a piratical Kestrel attempting to relieve a Barn Owl of his supper up on Deeping High Bank.
First, a mist-net of spiders' webs thrown over the fenland landscape...
...next, a splendidly fiery-eyed Black-necked Grebe at Orton Brick Pit, Peterborough...
...and finally, a piratical Kestrel attempting to relieve a Barn Owl of his supper up on Deeping High Bank.
Friday, 8 February 2008
Poetry and biography
I finished Byron Rogers’ excellent The Man Who Went Into The West last night, and thoroughly entertaining as it is, I’m not sure I’m any nearer forming a proper opinion on RS Thomas (pictured).
I often have a bit of a problem with literary biographies, especially where poets are concerned. Even if the poet has co-operated, they too often seem to encourage the tendency to see everything the writer produced as directly autobiographical, and there’s also the danger that the details of the writer’s private life become more important than the work they produced. The most extreme example is probably Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath, but there are others.
I thought I’d give Rogers the benefit of the doubt, though, partly because I loved his biography of one of my literary heroes, J L Carr (he must like writers who insist on only using their initials). I’m glad I did, too, because it’s a fine book, being unafraid to criticise Thomas where necessary, and to point out all the contradictions in this deeply complex man. And, importantly, it makes the effort to keep the writer and the man separate.
That’s probably more important than ever with someone like Thomas, because as I say, the phrase “a mass of contradictions” might have been coined with him in mind. His vehement support of the Welsh language was balanced by the fact that he wrote all his poetry in English, and spoke with such a cut-glass English accent that lots of Welsh neighbours and parishioners were unaware that he was actually Welsh born and bred. He even seems to have preferred the company of middle-class English incomers a lot of the time. He was a committed Christian pacifist, yet at times came dangerously close to espousing unconditional support for violent protest against the eradication of Welsh culture. And I couldn’t help feeling a bit uneasy at times about just how far Thomas took this ‘Wales for the Welsh’ mentality – a keen birdwatcher, he played a role in conservation of the Red Kite (it’s difficult now, when I sometimes see half a dozen on my way to work each day, to remember just how close it was to becoming extinct in the UK), but resigned his RSPB membership when it was decided to introduce foreign Red Kites to bolster the Welsh population and encourage its spread. There are genuine ecological reasons to want to keep a separate British population, but I'm not sure he had those in mind.
Then there’s the religion. He spent his life as a vicar for The Church In Wales (in a country which is predominantly nonconformist), and yet seems to have had what can best be described as a very troubled relationship with God. But that’s the most absorbing and moving aspect of the book, I think. Thomas took on the one hand a very pragmatic approach (he felt that he was employed by the Church, and so had no business in challenging any of its beliefs from the pulpit), while at the same time channelling his spiritual search and his struggles with his faith into some wonderful poetry. A lot of the time, in the poetry at least, the search became more important than easy answers.
And there’s the question of humour. The popular image of him, fuelled by newspaper profiles which were usually accompanied by photos of him in a windswept, wild-haired pose, was of a painfully serious, taciturn and often downright rude man. Rogers makes no attempt to gloss over any of this, but he does bring out the nervousness and shyness that contributed to it, as well as showing that Thomas could be very funny, in a dry, offbeat way.
I suppose, more than anything, the biography will encourage me to go out there and buy more of Thomas’s poetry, because it never loses sight of the fact that it was, in itself, always more important to Thomas than the purely personal, religious and political spheres. I’ve got a couple of anthologies, with largely the same well-known pieces, but he wrote such a mass of poems that it’s time I checked them out. Bloodaxe, I think, do several volumes of Collecteds, so I’ll have to have a look for them, probably when I’m in Hay on Wye in a few weeks.
Now I’m about to start reading J A Baker’s classic The Peregrine. I’m ashamed never to have read it before, but it comes very highly recommended from all quarters, and is one of those books that genuinely completely changed the face of an entire genre.
100 Books Of Poetry
Good post here over on Very Like A Whale - the more I think about it, the more I think what Ron Silliman says (and he does say he's not at all certain) is not that unreasonable. Do a university course on any subject, and you might be expected to have a decent overview of the subject and to show a bit of willing. He's not saying you've got to know all 100 off by heart, after all. Or like them, for that matter.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Just released
Today's poem on Lesley Duncan's blog at The Herald is by Alison Brackenbury. Coincidentally, when I got home late last night, my copy of Alison's new book, Singing In The Dark, had arrived from Carcanet. I only had time to flick it open and read a couple of poems, but it looks excellent, so I'll be getting into it over the weekend.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Swap shop time again!
It's that time of year again, when you can sign up to the Poetry Super Highway Great Poetry Exchange, and broaden your poetry horizons a little.
It's dead simple. If you have a chapbook out (it has to be a physical object - no e-books allowed), you agree to send a copy of it to one of the other participants, drawn at random. You, in turn, receive a book from someone else altogether.
I've done it for the past two years, and struck lucky both times, first with Matt Mason's When The Bough Breaks, then last year with LouAnn Muhm's Dear Immovable. Both were very fine books, so I can recommend it. A lot of the poets involved are in the USA, but there are also a fair few Brits and other nationalities, and part of the fun is having no idea where you're going to receive a book from.
There's still plenty of time to sign up, so give it a go.
It's dead simple. If you have a chapbook out (it has to be a physical object - no e-books allowed), you agree to send a copy of it to one of the other participants, drawn at random. You, in turn, receive a book from someone else altogether.
I've done it for the past two years, and struck lucky both times, first with Matt Mason's When The Bough Breaks, then last year with LouAnn Muhm's Dear Immovable. Both were very fine books, so I can recommend it. A lot of the poets involved are in the USA, but there are also a fair few Brits and other nationalities, and part of the fun is having no idea where you're going to receive a book from.
There's still plenty of time to sign up, so give it a go.
Tuesday, 5 February 2008
Voicing concerns
Reading that RS Thomas biography last night, I came across an interesting passage about his style in his middle period, and how it was viewed with suspicion by a number of critics, notably the ‘Movement’ figures Donald Davie and John Wain. They particularly took exception to his extensive use of enjambement, feeling that he overused it, making his rhythms awkward. Thomas, for his part, felt that he was using his line-breaks very carefully to emphasise certain words, and Byron Rogers points out that there’s no awkwardness of rhythm in the poems in question when you listen to Thomas himself reading them.
All of which throws up some interesting questions. Whether or not you actually intend to perform your poetry to an audience, you write with the idea of hearing the poem out loud. Sound is as important as sense. But when you’re writing, should you hear it exclusively in your voice, or in a more neutral tone? What you decide has implications not only for rhythm, but also for things like rhyme. My own accent, for example, would rhyme “again” with “then”, but clearly a lot of other accents wouldn’t. So do you go with your own voice (literally), or with a more universal one?
Having read about that brush with Movement orthodoxy, it was interesting to come across this piece earlier today. I found myself agreeing with quite a lot of what AN Wilson said. I enjoyed doing Larkin at school (The Whitsun Weddings), but I now tend to be pretty selective about his poems. I think it’s probably that the gloom is a bit unrelenting. That can also be true of the likes of Geoffrey Hill, or RS Thomas for that matter, but in the case of the latter especially it’s mitigated by the sense that the spiritual search that is going on becomes the most important thing in itself, even as Thomas is hinting that there’s a lot of emptiness at the end of it.
Wilson’s article also, of course, raises interesting questions about the gap between a poet’s work and their personal life, which I’ll come back to when I write about the Thomas book in detail.
Finally, the biography mentions an interesting anecdote about the seventh century Saint Beuno, who was out walking one morning, heard a man calling to his dogs in an unfamiliar tongue (English) on the far side of the Severn, and promptly packed up and moved to the Lleyn Peninsula, predicting doom for the Welsh. Something of an extreme, not to say defeatist, reaction, you might think, but they were an excitable lot, those dark age saints, no doubt partly down to living in isolated spots while subsisting on meagre rations which must have included a fair amount of hallucinogenic plants and mushrooms. Anyone who’s read Felix’s Life of St Guthlac (he holed up on the island of Crowland, just down the road from here, in the fens) will know that large parts of it are one long bad trip. Still, that’s what makes them so fascinating, too, and that’s why the Early British Kingdoms website is such a great resource.
PS. While we’re on the subject of Wales, a quick mention of Saturday’s Six Nations match (although I prefer Rugby League, if I’m honest). I’m half-Welsh, but being English-born have to cheer England when the two meet, so I should have been depressed by what transpired. All I’ll say, though, is that’s what happens when you send out an England side containing just one Leicester player (and he was gone after about 15 minutes). Asking for trouble.
All of which throws up some interesting questions. Whether or not you actually intend to perform your poetry to an audience, you write with the idea of hearing the poem out loud. Sound is as important as sense. But when you’re writing, should you hear it exclusively in your voice, or in a more neutral tone? What you decide has implications not only for rhythm, but also for things like rhyme. My own accent, for example, would rhyme “again” with “then”, but clearly a lot of other accents wouldn’t. So do you go with your own voice (literally), or with a more universal one?
Having read about that brush with Movement orthodoxy, it was interesting to come across this piece earlier today. I found myself agreeing with quite a lot of what AN Wilson said. I enjoyed doing Larkin at school (The Whitsun Weddings), but I now tend to be pretty selective about his poems. I think it’s probably that the gloom is a bit unrelenting. That can also be true of the likes of Geoffrey Hill, or RS Thomas for that matter, but in the case of the latter especially it’s mitigated by the sense that the spiritual search that is going on becomes the most important thing in itself, even as Thomas is hinting that there’s a lot of emptiness at the end of it.
Wilson’s article also, of course, raises interesting questions about the gap between a poet’s work and their personal life, which I’ll come back to when I write about the Thomas book in detail.
Finally, the biography mentions an interesting anecdote about the seventh century Saint Beuno, who was out walking one morning, heard a man calling to his dogs in an unfamiliar tongue (English) on the far side of the Severn, and promptly packed up and moved to the Lleyn Peninsula, predicting doom for the Welsh. Something of an extreme, not to say defeatist, reaction, you might think, but they were an excitable lot, those dark age saints, no doubt partly down to living in isolated spots while subsisting on meagre rations which must have included a fair amount of hallucinogenic plants and mushrooms. Anyone who’s read Felix’s Life of St Guthlac (he holed up on the island of Crowland, just down the road from here, in the fens) will know that large parts of it are one long bad trip. Still, that’s what makes them so fascinating, too, and that’s why the Early British Kingdoms website is such a great resource.
PS. While we’re on the subject of Wales, a quick mention of Saturday’s Six Nations match (although I prefer Rugby League, if I’m honest). I’m half-Welsh, but being English-born have to cheer England when the two meet, so I should have been depressed by what transpired. All I’ll say, though, is that’s what happens when you send out an England side containing just one Leicester player (and he was gone after about 15 minutes). Asking for trouble.
Monday, 4 February 2008
Ploughing on...
The results of the 2007 Plough Prize have been announced, and you can read the winners and comments by the judge, Poet Laureate Andrew Motion, on the website.
It's a competition that goes from strength to strength, not least because it offers entrants an awful lot for their entry fee, I think. This year, every poem entered got a tickbox critique, and for a small extra fee, you could get a full critique (and take it from me, they're excellent).
I was involved in doing some of the long and shortlisting this year, and in doing tickbox critiques, and thoroughly enjoyed the process, not least because it made me think hard about what makes a poem work, or at least what makes a poem work for me. It also surprised me just how many poems were in the 'nearly, but not quite there' category. That is, they were spoiled only by one seemingly small factor, which nevertheless proved impossible to ignore. Usually, it was a failure of nerve on the poet's part, and a consequent tendency to overstate their case or signpost what they saw as the significant parts of the poem. But on the whole, I think it was encouraging to see just how much good work was submitted.
I spent the weekend on the sofa, deciding that taking it easy was the best bet after all this kidney infection brouhaha. As a result, I did no birding, but I did write an awful lot (about time, after a pretty thin January), and read most of Byron Rogers' splendid biography of RS Thomas, of which much more later in the week.
Finally, a thank-you to PJ Nolan for plugging my chapbook on his blog, PJ Nolan Online, which is my recommended browsing for today.
It's a competition that goes from strength to strength, not least because it offers entrants an awful lot for their entry fee, I think. This year, every poem entered got a tickbox critique, and for a small extra fee, you could get a full critique (and take it from me, they're excellent).
I was involved in doing some of the long and shortlisting this year, and in doing tickbox critiques, and thoroughly enjoyed the process, not least because it made me think hard about what makes a poem work, or at least what makes a poem work for me. It also surprised me just how many poems were in the 'nearly, but not quite there' category. That is, they were spoiled only by one seemingly small factor, which nevertheless proved impossible to ignore. Usually, it was a failure of nerve on the poet's part, and a consequent tendency to overstate their case or signpost what they saw as the significant parts of the poem. But on the whole, I think it was encouraging to see just how much good work was submitted.
I spent the weekend on the sofa, deciding that taking it easy was the best bet after all this kidney infection brouhaha. As a result, I did no birding, but I did write an awful lot (about time, after a pretty thin January), and read most of Byron Rogers' splendid biography of RS Thomas, of which much more later in the week.
Finally, a thank-you to PJ Nolan for plugging my chapbook on his blog, PJ Nolan Online, which is my recommended browsing for today.
Friday, 1 February 2008
IWP 2007
On the subject of photographs, here are some great images from the International Wildbird Photographer Awards 2007, the results of which are in the February issue of Bird Watching. The winner, Danny Green's picture of a single Grey Plover in a sea of Knot at Snettisham, is superb, and as you can see he was up against some great competition. Enjoy...
All change!
Time for a bit of redecorating, I think. Having upgraded my browser, I'm going to post a few more pics and videos on here in future...
Thursday, 31 January 2008
The Man With The Lightbulb Head
Having read Martin Stannard's post the other day about Robyn Hitchcock's gig at the Rescue Rooms in Nottingham (and having missed said gig thanks to the dreaded norovirus, which has now left me with a kidney infection – happy days), I’ve been playing Hitchcock’s back catalogue non-stop in the car. As the post says, he’s been so prolific over the years that I’ve got nothing like every album he’s made, but I still have a fair few.
Chronologically, I suppose the best place to start is with The Soft Boys’ classic 1980 album Underwater Moonlight (Hitchcock was their main songwriter and singer). The main influences are definitely psychedelic, but there’s more than a little post-punk flavour too, especially on the glorious guitar roar of opener I Wanna Destroy You. I’d guess that the longer pieces, such as the title track, got them eyed with suspicion by punk fundamentalists at the time, but it’s an album that stands the test of time very well, I think. The reissue from a few years back, with several bonus tracks from the sessions and a 2nd CD of demos, is worth having.
One of the most bizarre things about The Soft Boys, of course, was that alongside Hitchcock was Kimberley Rew, who evidently decided he’d had enough of being critically praised but unsuccessful and went on to form Katrina and the Waves, who had a huge hit with Walking On Sunshine and then, many years later, won the Eurovision Song Contest.
I’ve written before about Hitchcock’s two superb solo albums, I Often Dream Of Trains (1984) and Eye (1990). I can’t recommend either highly enough – Eye would probably be narrowly my favourite.
The other two I’ve been listening to this week are Fegmania (1985) and Element Of Light (1986), Hitchcock’s first two studio albums backed by the Egyptians. The first is actually fairly upbeat (musically, that is; lyrically it’s as dark and twisted as ever), with lots of neat little guitar-pop songs like Another Bubble and Insect Mother – you can hear why Hitchcock became a big favourite with REM-ish college bands. There’s also The Man With The Lightbulb Head and My Wife And My Dead Wife, which have remained Hitchcock favourites to the present day. I like the understated, moody Glass, too.
Element Of Light is, I think, one of his most underrated albums (it’s quite difficult to get hold of, unfortunately). Bass is a great song, with its stream of fish (get it?) and bird references, and its propulsive bassline, and both Winchester and Raymond Chandler Evening are fine too. But the highlight has to be the absolutely sublime Airscape, all genuinely poetic lyrics, backwards guitar, harmonies and glass harmonica, the latter giving it an almost ethereal feel. It’s probably my favourite Hitchcock song, and that’s against some pretty stiff competition.
There are loads more albums, but I’ll have to get round to them some other time. Suffice it to say that, as Martin Stannard suggested, Hitchcock is a must for anyone with an interest in words (OK, he can be self-consciously weird at times, but it’s worth sticking with him), saying nothing of the music. He’s a real national treasure.
Chronologically, I suppose the best place to start is with The Soft Boys’ classic 1980 album Underwater Moonlight (Hitchcock was their main songwriter and singer). The main influences are definitely psychedelic, but there’s more than a little post-punk flavour too, especially on the glorious guitar roar of opener I Wanna Destroy You. I’d guess that the longer pieces, such as the title track, got them eyed with suspicion by punk fundamentalists at the time, but it’s an album that stands the test of time very well, I think. The reissue from a few years back, with several bonus tracks from the sessions and a 2nd CD of demos, is worth having.
One of the most bizarre things about The Soft Boys, of course, was that alongside Hitchcock was Kimberley Rew, who evidently decided he’d had enough of being critically praised but unsuccessful and went on to form Katrina and the Waves, who had a huge hit with Walking On Sunshine and then, many years later, won the Eurovision Song Contest.
I’ve written before about Hitchcock’s two superb solo albums, I Often Dream Of Trains (1984) and Eye (1990). I can’t recommend either highly enough – Eye would probably be narrowly my favourite.
The other two I’ve been listening to this week are Fegmania (1985) and Element Of Light (1986), Hitchcock’s first two studio albums backed by the Egyptians. The first is actually fairly upbeat (musically, that is; lyrically it’s as dark and twisted as ever), with lots of neat little guitar-pop songs like Another Bubble and Insect Mother – you can hear why Hitchcock became a big favourite with REM-ish college bands. There’s also The Man With The Lightbulb Head and My Wife And My Dead Wife, which have remained Hitchcock favourites to the present day. I like the understated, moody Glass, too.
Element Of Light is, I think, one of his most underrated albums (it’s quite difficult to get hold of, unfortunately). Bass is a great song, with its stream of fish (get it?) and bird references, and its propulsive bassline, and both Winchester and Raymond Chandler Evening are fine too. But the highlight has to be the absolutely sublime Airscape, all genuinely poetic lyrics, backwards guitar, harmonies and glass harmonica, the latter giving it an almost ethereal feel. It’s probably my favourite Hitchcock song, and that’s against some pretty stiff competition.
There are loads more albums, but I’ll have to get round to them some other time. Suffice it to say that, as Martin Stannard suggested, Hitchcock is a must for anyone with an interest in words (OK, he can be self-consciously weird at times, but it’s worth sticking with him), saying nothing of the music. He’s a real national treasure.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Poetry Daily
I was pointed in the direction of the excellent Poetry Daily by Alison Brackenbury – it features a lot of US poets, in particular, and it’s always well worth a look.
A poem from Alison’s forthcoming new book, Singing In The Dark, will be Poem of the Day on the site on February 18, and she’s got another, 6.25, appearing in this Saturday’s Guardian Review. I've just pre-ordered the book from Carcanet - I can't think of anyone better at mixing traditional form with very modern concerns.
A poem from Alison’s forthcoming new book, Singing In The Dark, will be Poem of the Day on the site on February 18, and she’s got another, 6.25, appearing in this Saturday’s Guardian Review. I've just pre-ordered the book from Carcanet - I can't think of anyone better at mixing traditional form with very modern concerns.
Monday, 28 January 2008
Reviews and news
There's an excellent review of Colin Simms' Gyrfalcon Poems by Mike Barlow over at Stride. I think most of what he says is fair enough, really, especially about the field-note feel to much of it, and I'd guess that's always going to appeal to birdwatchers more than the casual reader. The thing about reading it in small doses is a good one too, although I tend to do that anyway, or rather to get a bit worried if I plough straight through a book of poetry too easily. Poetry, for me, is a fine single malt to be enjoyed after the meal (novels, history or whatever). There - how pretentious does that sound?
But he's right. It is, in effect, a Selected Poems, albeit all on one subject, so reading it like a single collection probably isn't the way to go.
I'm also indebted to Eleanor Livingstone for pointing out this, in the weekend's Scotland On Sunday (go down to the poetry review section). Always nice to get a mention.
But he's right. It is, in effect, a Selected Poems, albeit all on one subject, so reading it like a single collection probably isn't the way to go.
I'm also indebted to Eleanor Livingstone for pointing out this, in the weekend's Scotland On Sunday (go down to the poetry review section). Always nice to get a mention.
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Appallingly literal
I always rather liked Ruth Padel's poetry columns in The Independent. I didn't always agree with her interpretations, but at least that's what they were - interpretations, based on a close reading of the poem. At the very least, they sent you away with some ideas about the piece that hadn't occurred to you before, to adopt or reject at your leisure. They didn't waste too much time telling you about what the poem said, or what effect it might be intended to have on you - they just got straight on with telling how she thought the poet went about achieving that effect.
Unfortunately, this regular poetry column in The Times, by Frieda Hughes, misses the mark entirely. It seems to be a very literal retelling of the content, without ever going into the mechanics and magic of the poetry. I struggle to see what the reader gains from it that they couldn't get from just reading the poem carefully a couple of times. If you've seen it on a regular basis, you'll know that this is pretty much par for the course, and not a one-off. Shame, because there's little enough space given over to poetry in newspapers as it is. A missed opportunity.
Unfortunately, this regular poetry column in The Times, by Frieda Hughes, misses the mark entirely. It seems to be a very literal retelling of the content, without ever going into the mechanics and magic of the poetry. I struggle to see what the reader gains from it that they couldn't get from just reading the poem carefully a couple of times. If you've seen it on a regular basis, you'll know that this is pretty much par for the course, and not a one-off. Shame, because there's little enough space given over to poetry in newspapers as it is. A missed opportunity.
Monday, 21 January 2008
People's poet
Terrific article on Rabbie Burns in Saturday's Guardian Review (the first one in ages that I've read almost cover to cover), going a bit deeper into the reasons for his greatness than is usually the case in the pieces that inevitably get published at this time of year.
Otherwise, it's quiet. Almost too quiet...
Otherwise, it's quiet. Almost too quiet...
Friday, 18 January 2008
Further reading...
Couple of interesting poetry-related pieces in the Guardian this week. Firstly, this, which eloquently addresses the question of Arts Council funding. Immediate reaction to the funding review from a lot of sources was wholly negative - as this shows, it's really a very complex picture. There's already a good thread discussing it developing at Poets On Fire.
Secondly, there's Sean O'Brien's refutal of Giles Foden's assertion that it hasn't been a good decade for poetry. I might disagree with him about some of the names he includes (and leaves out), but I think his basic point is spot-on, as is pointing out that the mainstream isn't some monolithic, homogenous grouping (any more than the avant-garde is, for that matter). Foden's remarks, meanwhile, are so throwaway, with nothing to back them up, that they probably don't deserve the attention they're getting.
Secondly, there's Sean O'Brien's refutal of Giles Foden's assertion that it hasn't been a good decade for poetry. I might disagree with him about some of the names he includes (and leaves out), but I think his basic point is spot-on, as is pointing out that the mainstream isn't some monolithic, homogenous grouping (any more than the avant-garde is, for that matter). Foden's remarks, meanwhile, are so throwaway, with nothing to back them up, that they probably don't deserve the attention they're getting.
Wednesday, 16 January 2008
Doing the double
Sean O'Brien has added the TS Eliot Prize to his Forward Prize for The Drowned Book, completing a unique double (he ought to do an open top bus tour, balancing the trophy on his head, to complete the football analogy).
As with all awards, there's been much talk about the shortlists and the eventual winner, and if the point of such prizes is to get people talking about poetry, then it's a job well done. I'm not really a big fan of O'Brien's poetry (I think it's that the language is SO unrelentingly murky and menacing, as the Guardian writer puts it, although by the same token that's a strength in other people's eyes), but it seems to me the judges have a pretty thankless task, given that they're going to upset someone whatever they decide.
And that's what I don't quite understand. If you've read a writer, given them a really fair chance, I mean, and still not been grabbed by their work, why should it matter to you if they then go off and win awards? Life's too short to read and write all the poems you WANT to, without wasting time worrying about writers you've decided aren't to your taste. Try it, decide, and move on.
And if this seems like a wet, woolly, live-and-let-live plea, it is. Poetry, like any artform, ultimately comes down to personal taste, so trying to figure out why some people like poetry that I don't would be like trying to understand why some people support Derby County.
As with all awards, there's been much talk about the shortlists and the eventual winner, and if the point of such prizes is to get people talking about poetry, then it's a job well done. I'm not really a big fan of O'Brien's poetry (I think it's that the language is SO unrelentingly murky and menacing, as the Guardian writer puts it, although by the same token that's a strength in other people's eyes), but it seems to me the judges have a pretty thankless task, given that they're going to upset someone whatever they decide.
And that's what I don't quite understand. If you've read a writer, given them a really fair chance, I mean, and still not been grabbed by their work, why should it matter to you if they then go off and win awards? Life's too short to read and write all the poems you WANT to, without wasting time worrying about writers you've decided aren't to your taste. Try it, decide, and move on.
And if this seems like a wet, woolly, live-and-let-live plea, it is. Poetry, like any artform, ultimately comes down to personal taste, so trying to figure out why some people like poetry that I don't would be like trying to understand why some people support Derby County.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Plover lover
When it comes to birds, a lot of my favourites are in the large family that we Brits call waders (shorebirds, for any readers across the pond, where waders are heron-type species, I think). Trouble is, living as I do as far from the sea as it’s possible to get in our little island, I don’t get to see that many, both in terms of number of species, and actual number of birds.
Looking back at last year’s year list, I saw 14 species on the local patch – Ringed Plover, Little Ringed Plover, Lapwing, Golden Plover, Redshank, Spotted Redshank, Greenshank, Green Sandpiper, Common Sandpiper, Oystercatcher, Ruff, Snipe, Whimbrel and Curlew. Of those, LRP, Lapwing, Golden Plover Redshank, Snipe, Oystercatcher, the two Sandpipers and Curlew are pretty much guaranteed to turn up at some stage each year, while the others are less predictable. Spot Red and Greenshank, in particular, were great birds to see, but I wouldn’t count on them coming back.
The weather has meant a slow start to my birding year. On Saturday, with a few brief hours of clear skies and crisp, dry weather finally in prospect, I went for a long walk round Sence Valley Forest Park to thoroughly check it out.
The streams and pools were in full flood, and the wader scrape had long since disappeared beneath the water, but without even leaving the car, I could see a sizeable flock of Lapwings and Golden Plovers on one of the adjacent farmers’ fields.
All things considered, though, it was quiet. Metaphorically speaking, that is, because the air was full of the whistling of Wigeon and the constant bickering of Black-headed Gulls, all the more so when a Sparrowhawk made a low pass over them. There were a few Gadwall, a dozen or so Shovelers, plenty of Mallards and Tufties, and on dry land (what there was of it) a handsome male Stonechat. The latter are winter regulars at the park now, and are always good to see, with their rusty breasts, confiding nature and air of barely-contained nervous energy.
Nothing too out of the ordinary, maybe. Except, when I turned my bins on the skies, and really looked, there WAS something amazing going on. High up, beyond the occasional gulls and corvids, hundreds and hundreds of Golden Plovers were flickering and shimmering across the clear blue. Great, wispy clouds of them, with stragglers here and there and the occasional breakaway group, some of which formed very precise-looking V formations. And why? Your guess is as good as mine. This went on for about an hour, well before dusk, with no obvious reason why they shouldn’t have been down on the fields, feeding, or gathering around one of the isolated pools on the sheep pastures. But whatever, it’s the nearest we get to the sort of wader spectacular that’s commonplace on many coastlines, so you just have to make the most of it when you can.
Looking back at last year’s year list, I saw 14 species on the local patch – Ringed Plover, Little Ringed Plover, Lapwing, Golden Plover, Redshank, Spotted Redshank, Greenshank, Green Sandpiper, Common Sandpiper, Oystercatcher, Ruff, Snipe, Whimbrel and Curlew. Of those, LRP, Lapwing, Golden Plover Redshank, Snipe, Oystercatcher, the two Sandpipers and Curlew are pretty much guaranteed to turn up at some stage each year, while the others are less predictable. Spot Red and Greenshank, in particular, were great birds to see, but I wouldn’t count on them coming back.
The weather has meant a slow start to my birding year. On Saturday, with a few brief hours of clear skies and crisp, dry weather finally in prospect, I went for a long walk round Sence Valley Forest Park to thoroughly check it out.
The streams and pools were in full flood, and the wader scrape had long since disappeared beneath the water, but without even leaving the car, I could see a sizeable flock of Lapwings and Golden Plovers on one of the adjacent farmers’ fields.
All things considered, though, it was quiet. Metaphorically speaking, that is, because the air was full of the whistling of Wigeon and the constant bickering of Black-headed Gulls, all the more so when a Sparrowhawk made a low pass over them. There were a few Gadwall, a dozen or so Shovelers, plenty of Mallards and Tufties, and on dry land (what there was of it) a handsome male Stonechat. The latter are winter regulars at the park now, and are always good to see, with their rusty breasts, confiding nature and air of barely-contained nervous energy.
Nothing too out of the ordinary, maybe. Except, when I turned my bins on the skies, and really looked, there WAS something amazing going on. High up, beyond the occasional gulls and corvids, hundreds and hundreds of Golden Plovers were flickering and shimmering across the clear blue. Great, wispy clouds of them, with stragglers here and there and the occasional breakaway group, some of which formed very precise-looking V formations. And why? Your guess is as good as mine. This went on for about an hour, well before dusk, with no obvious reason why they shouldn’t have been down on the fields, feeding, or gathering around one of the isolated pools on the sheep pastures. But whatever, it’s the nearest we get to the sort of wader spectacular that’s commonplace on many coastlines, so you just have to make the most of it when you can.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Renew, renew!
January always brings with it a little cluster of membership and subscription renewals. One that didn't take any thinking about was the HappenStance subscriber offer. For a miserly £7.50, you can get:
Advance notice of each new publication, with at least one sample extract;
Warm and appreciative invitations to launches;
15% off the cover price of each publication;
The chance to pre-order a signed copy of new publications;
A chapter of The HappenStance Story each year;
One free copy per year of a HappenStance publication;
Feedback on your own work if submitted (though chances of publication remain exactly the same as everybody else’s).
My free copy was of Cliff Ashby's A Few Late Flowers. I've only read the first couple of poems so far, but it's really excellent. I also ordered Ruth Pitter's Persephone In Hades, and look forward to getting stuck into it (the weather forecast maakes this weekend look a good bet for some uninterrupted reading).
Anyway, you won't spend a better £7.50 this year, and you might even get the bonus of a little HappenStance button badge.
Advance notice of each new publication, with at least one sample extract;
Warm and appreciative invitations to launches;
15% off the cover price of each publication;
The chance to pre-order a signed copy of new publications;
A chapter of The HappenStance Story each year;
One free copy per year of a HappenStance publication;
Feedback on your own work if submitted (though chances of publication remain exactly the same as everybody else’s).
My free copy was of Cliff Ashby's A Few Late Flowers. I've only read the first couple of poems so far, but it's really excellent. I also ordered Ruth Pitter's Persephone In Hades, and look forward to getting stuck into it (the weather forecast maakes this weekend look a good bet for some uninterrupted reading).
Anyway, you won't spend a better £7.50 this year, and you might even get the bonus of a little HappenStance button badge.
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
Current reading and browsing...
Big new batch of posts over at Stride - I like the look of the Ivon Hitchens book, he being an artist I've liked for a long time, and Simon Foxell's Mapping London sounds pretty enticing, too. I love maps of any sort, to be honest, and I tend to love London too, when I'm not there, which is the vast majority of the time.
Where books are concerned, I'm still enjoying Colin Simms' Gyrfalcon Poems a lot, and having mixed thoughts about Mark Cocker's Crow Country. I absolutely loved his Birds Britannica, and I have a very big soft spot for corvids, but at times in this new book he does go over the top, rather. It's when he starts straining for 'poetic' effect, I think - a "rose-tainted sky", or a "junta of greylag geese" (why? in what possible sense a junta?) - that I lose patience a little, and when he tries a bit too hard to justify his obsession. Don't get me wrong, it's a very enjoyable read, and both fascinating and moving, but he could do with reining things in just a little at times.
Where books are concerned, I'm still enjoying Colin Simms' Gyrfalcon Poems a lot, and having mixed thoughts about Mark Cocker's Crow Country. I absolutely loved his Birds Britannica, and I have a very big soft spot for corvids, but at times in this new book he does go over the top, rather. It's when he starts straining for 'poetic' effect, I think - a "rose-tainted sky", or a "junta of greylag geese" (why? in what possible sense a junta?) - that I lose patience a little, and when he tries a bit too hard to justify his obsession. Don't get me wrong, it's a very enjoyable read, and both fascinating and moving, but he could do with reining things in just a little at times.
Friday, 4 January 2008
So Here We Are 9
The latest in Tears in the Fence editor David Caddy's Poetic Letters From England is here. As ever, there's a text version on the blog. Also as ever, there's plenty of food for thought there, which of course is the only kind of food we should be thinking about now the excesses of the festive season are in the past.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Chapbooks of 2007
I read a fair few chapbooks in 2007, partly because I like the format anyway, and partly because I review them for Sphinx. And there were plenty of goodies. Let's recap on a few...
I'll start with HappenStance. The Small Hours, by Irish poet Tom Duddy, and
Twenty-Three Poems, by Rialto editor Michael Mackmin, came out at the end of 2006, but I only bought them in January. Both were both fine collections that have demanded re-reading. OK, I'm biased, but I think they both added greatly to HappenStance's burgeoning reputation. There's a new crop of books from HappenStance just out, too, so I'll be working my way through them ASAP.
Robert Hamberger's Heading North (I think that was the title - I can't find it online just now) was an excellent retelling of John Clare's journey from an Essex asylum back to his childhood home, while Peter Brennan's Torch of Venus was probably my favourite of the year, a taut, songlike sequence that blurred the line between the mainstream and the more left-field.
From across the pond, LouAnn Muhm's Dear Immovable was similarly pared-down yet musical, and packed a real emotional punch (there's a full collection to follow soon, too), and Celia Lisset Alvarez's The Stones was evocative and sensual, if a little overwritten in parts.
Finally, I loved Rob Hindle's Some Histories Of The Sheffield Flood, 1864. OK, it came out in 2006 too, but I was just catching up. It's a superb mixture of real history and poetry, with an accumulation of detail being used to excellent effect.
I think, and hope, that chapbooks are steadily gaining ground in the marketplace, not least because they offer a cheap way of tasting different poets. They offer new poets a chance to get their work out there, and more and more established, 'name' poets seem to be using them to publish stand-alone sequences, etc, that might not fit in a full collection. The more the better, I say.
I'll start with HappenStance. The Small Hours, by Irish poet Tom Duddy, and
Twenty-Three Poems, by Rialto editor Michael Mackmin, came out at the end of 2006, but I only bought them in January. Both were both fine collections that have demanded re-reading. OK, I'm biased, but I think they both added greatly to HappenStance's burgeoning reputation. There's a new crop of books from HappenStance just out, too, so I'll be working my way through them ASAP.
Robert Hamberger's Heading North (I think that was the title - I can't find it online just now) was an excellent retelling of John Clare's journey from an Essex asylum back to his childhood home, while Peter Brennan's Torch of Venus was probably my favourite of the year, a taut, songlike sequence that blurred the line between the mainstream and the more left-field.
From across the pond, LouAnn Muhm's Dear Immovable was similarly pared-down yet musical, and packed a real emotional punch (there's a full collection to follow soon, too), and Celia Lisset Alvarez's The Stones was evocative and sensual, if a little overwritten in parts.
Finally, I loved Rob Hindle's Some Histories Of The Sheffield Flood, 1864. OK, it came out in 2006 too, but I was just catching up. It's a superb mixture of real history and poetry, with an accumulation of detail being used to excellent effect.
I think, and hope, that chapbooks are steadily gaining ground in the marketplace, not least because they offer a cheap way of tasting different poets. They offer new poets a chance to get their work out there, and more and more established, 'name' poets seem to be using them to publish stand-alone sequences, etc, that might not fit in a full collection. The more the better, I say.
New Year's Day birding
Technically, my first birds of the New Year were a Magpie, calling at about 12.10am, and a Robin singing happily in Whitwick marketplace not long after, but first actual sightings were a Carrion Crow and. of course, the Jackdaws on my chimneypots. They haven't dropped any half-eaten kebabs down into the grate lately, but they're a pretty permanent fixture up there. At times I've thought about getting the chimney swept so I can have an occasional coal fire, but the thought of displacing them puts me off.
In the afternoon, I managed about three hours at Cossington Meadows, attempting to get the 2008 patch list off to a flying start, and saw a total of 47 species (including the trip there and back). The Water Pipit was still around, which was a nice bonus, but sadly the Great White Egret was long gone. Still, although most of the others were what might be called bread and butter species, it was a thoroughly enjoyable way to blow off a few cobwebs in preparation for the big return to work today, and there were a few other good ticks which might save a lot of searching later in the year. Jack Snipe, for instance, plus a few Bramblings in a finch flock, and a Green Sandpiper (sometimes easy to find, others not).
In the afternoon, I managed about three hours at Cossington Meadows, attempting to get the 2008 patch list off to a flying start, and saw a total of 47 species (including the trip there and back). The Water Pipit was still around, which was a nice bonus, but sadly the Great White Egret was long gone. Still, although most of the others were what might be called bread and butter species, it was a thoroughly enjoyable way to blow off a few cobwebs in preparation for the big return to work today, and there were a few other good ticks which might save a lot of searching later in the year. Jack Snipe, for instance, plus a few Bramblings in a finch flock, and a Green Sandpiper (sometimes easy to find, others not).
Sunday, 30 December 2007
The Best of 2007
I don't intend to do any sort of comprehensive personal literary review of 2007 - my memory is far too poor for that. Instead, I'll just pick out a few highlights...
Of those actually published in 2007, I've got two contenders. First is Canadian poet Karen Solie's Modern And Normal, which I've read again and again since it came out. It's a hard-to-place book, sitting somewhere between the mainstream and the more experimental, but it's confident and assured in its own little niche. Secondly, I'll go for Colin Simms' Gyrfalcon Poems. I've only had my hands on it for a few days, but it's absolutely superb. Simms is a very fine naturalist and observer of birdlife, and writes about it in a style that owes something to Basil Bunting. It's not always easy going (although it's rarely tough either, and never wilfully obscure), and at times the delight in words is every bit as dizzying as the flight of one of these uber-predators. Honourable mention to Luke Kennard's The Harbour Beyond The Movie - a really dazzling book.
Of poetry collections I read this year (but which were published previously), favourites included Jane Routh's Teach Yourself Mapmaking, Helen Macdonald's Shaler's Fish, and The Great Enigma: Collected Poems of Tomas Transtromer. Macdonald is a real one-off, but well worth the effort, while Routh's book is a lesson in how to patiently develop themes throughout the length of a collection.
I didn't get through many novels, but I thought Jon McGregor's So Many Ways To Begin (actually published last year) was excellent, while where non-fiction was concerned, Ron Powers' Mark Twain: A Life beat all-comers.
And that's it. I'll do a poetry chapbook round-up on Tuesday (I thought it was a good year), but in the meantime, Happy New Year!
Of those actually published in 2007, I've got two contenders. First is Canadian poet Karen Solie's Modern And Normal, which I've read again and again since it came out. It's a hard-to-place book, sitting somewhere between the mainstream and the more experimental, but it's confident and assured in its own little niche. Secondly, I'll go for Colin Simms' Gyrfalcon Poems. I've only had my hands on it for a few days, but it's absolutely superb. Simms is a very fine naturalist and observer of birdlife, and writes about it in a style that owes something to Basil Bunting. It's not always easy going (although it's rarely tough either, and never wilfully obscure), and at times the delight in words is every bit as dizzying as the flight of one of these uber-predators. Honourable mention to Luke Kennard's The Harbour Beyond The Movie - a really dazzling book.
Of poetry collections I read this year (but which were published previously), favourites included Jane Routh's Teach Yourself Mapmaking, Helen Macdonald's Shaler's Fish, and The Great Enigma: Collected Poems of Tomas Transtromer. Macdonald is a real one-off, but well worth the effort, while Routh's book is a lesson in how to patiently develop themes throughout the length of a collection.
I didn't get through many novels, but I thought Jon McGregor's So Many Ways To Begin (actually published last year) was excellent, while where non-fiction was concerned, Ron Powers' Mark Twain: A Life beat all-comers.
And that's it. I'll do a poetry chapbook round-up on Tuesday (I thought it was a good year), but in the meantime, Happy New Year!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)