This is a first for me. New pamphlet, co-written and produced with local poet friend Anwesha Arya, now on sale in our local Waterstones. Nuff said!
 Creating a poetry collection is such an interesting activity. Like a poem, a collection needs to resonate back and forth within itself, so you experiment with groups of poems, chains of images, words that chime with other words. You try to listen to the tones of your own poems: their music, their temperature, where their hearts lie. You put certain poems together, thinking they'll get on well, but they spring apart, turn their backs on each other, make new friends. Some of them change direction or grow new lines. Many shrink, some to the point of disappearing. You walk away in search of a glass of water, or painkillers, or just to attend to another task. Yes, the washing up still needs to be done. You return to the collection, only to discover that it's no longer the same as it was when you left it. It implores you to think again. It announces it's changed its name. It's unwilling to go in the direction you have in mind; it has directions of its own. Above all, it insists on saying more than you thought you wanted it to say. At least, that's how it's been for me when I try to herd my poems into a collection. So this is by way of celebrating that I do have a new collection ready, about to go into the editorial process with Pindrop Press. I love it, in all its unruliness, and I hope readers will love it too. (Stands up from desk and does a creaky but happy little dance). Our four woman Rye Arts Festival reading was a great experience, despite the awful weather which meant we performed in St Mary's church instead of the castle. The readers were amazing, the church a wonderfully evocative setting. Martin and Kt Bruce of Rye News and Harbour Videography made a small video recording that gives a good flavour, and Matt Wells took these photos. The poems got the airing they had been wanting, having been launched in lockdown!
 Looking forward to 26th September, when I'll be performing 'Again Behold the Stars' in the herb garden inside the walls of the Ypres Castle here in Rye, as part of the fabulous Rye Arts Festival 2024. Glimpses of Italy brought to my new home iin south-east England! I feel very lucky to have three other Siege Girls getting ready to share the readings with me - Janet Stott, Judith Shaw and Isabel Ryan. The beautiful castle setting should add a whole other dimension, as Rye meets Montalcino meets the frustrations and solaces of lockdown.   After two years in limbo, reasons to be cheerful... we're living in our renovated house...I have a desk with a view... books coming out of their boxes. New notebook. New pencils. Oh, especially the new pencils.
 A new home in Rye has sent me on long walks along the shore and long waits in wooden hides, starting to learn the names and ways of the many different birds who live here or pass through. Like me, many of them move from one home to another, flap-flap-glide through my thoughts, find perches in my poems.
Waterbird I’ll remember you as a tufted duck shaking out your feathers fresh from a dive. You turn to show your snowy flank, punkish crest and gold eye, give me a a sideways look. Another time I find you in a flotilla of shovelers, scooping the dark shallows of a flooded quarry. I won’t forget your hunchy neck, your green face, how you charm me with flatworms. Some days you’re plover neat, rounded and ringed, and wedded to the shore. Sometimes you’re egret elegant until, with a chuckle, you flash your sunshine feet. Published in the Sussex Wildlife Trust anthology, 'Water' sussexwildlifetrust.org.uk/discover/go-wild-at-home/creative-nature-writing/water-anthology-2023 This will be good fun: a day in beautiful Hay-on-Wye, making poems with local poets while (I hope) the sun shines!  My best latest news is that my poem sequence Again Behold the Stars has won a Cinnamon Pamphlet Award, and will be published in spring 2023.
Thank you, mille grazie, Cinnamon Press! These are poems very dear to my heart and I can't wait to see them in print. They are set in Montalcino, the town where I live when in Italy. The central narrative thread happens in the 1500s, a time of siege. But the poems are also about events in the world right now, and drawn from my own experience of lockdown over the past few years. A small taster from near the opening, honouring the role of women in medieval sieges: Redoubt Three women’s battalions, uniformed in red and violet taffeta, fought on the city walls. La Fortezza bares a stony countenance. She gathers the beseiged under her skirts. Against her stubborn wall the cannonballs shatter like fishermen’s glass floats, leave no more than scratches. Moss heals her. Sparrows roost inside her scars. She glowers from her high redoubt beyond the mangled plain, all the way to the sea where boats cast off as easily as taffeta slips from the loom. In other news, I've broken my hand, luckily not the writing one. The hospital at Nottola, where they straighened the bones and encased my arm in plaster, was exactly as it was when I wrote this (about partner David's broken ankle) in 2015! You can find this and others from that time in my first collection, White Roads, Paekakariki Press 2018. La Sala Gessi Lined up, not crying in the corridor: girl, both hands twisted under a scarf; grape-pickers, bare feet tenderly tilted like knackered horses shifting the weight; ashen-faced woman on a stretcher; you, your swollen leg, me with a crumbling panino. Tutte rotte! pronounces the nurse with pride, waving a sheaf of X-ray notes. All broken. Inside the sala they keep their mystery, their buckets of white slop, swaddle your pain in gesso. Woozy, we join the procession, happy to stumble through swing doors lurching on stampelle, in wheeled carriages or wreathed in slings; part-human, part-cocoon. David Underdown's wonderful Calder Valley Poetry pamphlet, 'Snig', landed on my doormat on a grey November day and I've been enjoying the poems ever since. Here's one I love - appropriate for me at the moment as I'm in the process of moving house.    I'm back in Italy, and this week our small town smells like heaven; ivy blossoms are opening all along our garden fence, and on walls and trees and hedges all around town. Magical! The bees are delighted too. They've reminded me of this poem, from my collection 'White Roads' (Paekakariki Press 2018)
Before Closing Time What would it taste like, ivy honey? Would you dare? On my mind’s tongue I sample green notes dulled by dust, * how it would tease my throat; cling with a passion, hint at poison. There are only so many harvest days. * Today, the bees are frantic; hundreds reel between the flowers. They can’t stop, it’s so plentiful - * there’s more music in the garden than that day the pears were picked in a hurry; the day before Winter. * Yes, they’re all still open: waxy petals in the ivy tree, bees’ restless wings. |
AuthorI like what Franz Kafka said: Archives
November 2025
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