The Festival's Last Day

Ledbury Poetry Festival's last day.
A rural morning for me exploring parts of the old Hereford and Gloucester canal around Ashperton
Yarkhill, Canon Frome and Munsley villages. Wherever there is a road there has to be a bridge to carry it over the canal. Some great images to be reflected upon later.
My only poetry appointment of today was for Joey Connolly. He is one of the young poets in residence for this year. He has had poems appear regularly in magazines including PN Review, Magma and The Rialto. He edits a poetry magazine, Kaffeeklatsch, and he is currently working on his first collection.
He had been allowed just twenty minutes in The Shell House Gallery and all the seats were taken with about ten others sitting outside the open door in the garden. He was intently listened to and there was ample applause. After all the people I had heard speak he was the youngest and I wanted to listen to his voice and what he had to say. Merely to see what difference there was if any. I would like to see a hard copy of his work but that will have to be for a later time.
What a great festival this has been with everything very well stewarded, compered and hosted. However I do have one major criticism in that only a small part of the town seemed to be involved. It was obvious there was a festival going on in Church Lane with the bunting and cosy chairs on view, but in The Homend and High Street there was very little to see of that nature. In my opinion you should have everyone in 'the know' and to try and make them feel part of it. After all this is a major event in the literary world although not on the same scale as Cheltenham or Hay. Anyway I like it small and Ledbury is beautiful and friendly. I did enjoy every day.

Ledbury's Thirteenth Poetry Slam

Ledbury's Thirteenth Poetry Slam.
What a stormer this evening was! I had not intended to go to it but I went even knowing that it was a sell out, but who knows. As I walked up to the Market Theatre I saw a man in a top hat with something yellow in his hand. He was said that he was too nervous to eat a meal but needed to eat something. It's amazing how bright and yellow bananas actually are. The man in the tatty hat was Marcus Moore the co-conspirator with Sara-jane Arbury who run these slams together and it was fortunate that I spoke to him. He said I have a plan. I will get you in and so it was that I was chosen to have a very special seat with another lucky chap to sit on the stage just behind the performers to give a mark which reflected the audience's appreciation. In plain language how much clapping, hooting, hollering and whistling issued forth from the packed auditorium or even more simply how much bloody noise they made.
I take my hat (and Marcus's titfer too) to all the performers. They were all good, some were better and some were outstanding. As an event and as pure entertainment with audience participation I think that it was the best I have seen for a long time. Excellent it all was and I didn't have to pay. So you can say it does not pay to plan too far ahead.
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Pushing the Edges

PUSHING THE EDGES with Brenda Hillman.
This workshop appealed to me as soon as I saw it even though it was only two hours in duration. Conformity can be great but there are many times when it is good to do something that different, 'outside the norm', or even 'way out'. Brenda brought enough with her for many hours of study and which gave opportunity for serious thinking. (I think for all of us).
Her idea was that we all bring a poem that we have been working on recently in a form that we don't usually write in. I read 'Smithy Wood' which our writing group have scrutinised but is still a work in progress. I chose this one as it concerns both the environment and protest, and rhyme that is not something that I am ever that comfortable with. After this morning it may have to take on a different shape and form but I need to reflect more on all of it.

I made notes on the purpose of the morning and with things to reflect upon:-
Ecological and spiritual
Exploring form and diction
Step outside usual expectations
Leave that safe place
Spiritual life not reflected in poetry
Wild as you can be in your writing
Listen to the sounds - reflect the world
Go to the edge of sense and still make sense
Put sounds in there - John Clare and his Nightingale
Syntax in your writing is your own syntax
You do not have to be normal because you are not
Don't tidy it up - put fragments in
Chatter-box voices
What sounds good - let it be.

She gave us poems, to read and discuss, of John Clare, Barbara Guest, Robin Clarke, Robert Duncan, Gennadi Aygi and if that wasn't enough the crazy shaped 'I lash out against form' by Elizabeth Guthrie. This one was followed by 'Michaelmas' by Veronica Forrest-Thompson which did intrigue me with its mixture of old, middle and modern English which was read by a fellow work-shopper who could read the old stuff. All so interesting and fascinating.

In summary I found these two hours well spent, in good company, and with an excellent facilitator. Lots to ponder on.

Hereford & Gloucester Canal

THURSDAY 10th JULY.
This morning was how summer should be. An almost cloudless sky with only a hint of a breeze. On the patio I actually 'caught up with myself', as the saying goes. I was able to reflect on what had gone before and plan my next days. I only had intended to go to an open mic in Ledbury as the itinerary was having a quiet day! For the open mic I called into Seven Stars and left without even thinking of reading anything. It was lifeless. No bloody humour at all and then this really was a tale of two microphones that bemused the holders. They should have given up. I suppose the benefit was that some of it I could not hear! It was that bad even before we had three poems on suicides. Hmm. Murder was on my mind and so I left. The best part of that evening was the cup of tea and a 'ginger nut' when I got back. Enough said - bless them. After all it was a first as I have never walked out of an open mic.
The afternoon was taken up with exploring some remaining parts of the Herefordshire and Gloucester Canal, now owned by a trust of the same name with the ultimate object of re opening all 34 miles of it. They have 30 miles still to renovate. I was able to walk a part of the towpath from near Newent towards the Oxenhall Tunnel that goes under the M50. There was water in all of it on this stretch although the banks were covered with vegetation and in some places it had been over grown completely. This is such a good place for butterflies as the wild brambles, purple loosestrife and many others were in bloom. Jackdaws were congregating on a barb wire fence and being raucous. A slim Grey Heron flew away on my approach and fish swam in the shallows. A great stroll amongst the peaceful farmland.
My next stroll was planned for where the canal had been but was in the main filled in although the route through the orchards was obvious. I negotiated a very overgrown part before coming to the orchard. Apart from a walk there was very little to see so I turned about and enjoyed a pint and a meal in The Oak at Staplow. Another good day for me. I have already made notes as I intend to get as much writing material out of this week and the canal is very much in my mind. I already have a poem sketched out from two days ago.

Ode with Robert Hass

Rounding up today - Wednesday 9th July - with Robert Hass in workshop for the Ode. I had never come across this name before but he is well known and he comes with a pedigree in writing. To say that this was actually 'a workshop' is stretching a point as it was only two hours from 2pm to 4pm, but we did cover a lot.
Pablo Neruda wrote odes to watermelons, typography and cats. It would seem that a poem of praise is something between a celebration and a prayer, an ancient impulse to get in the right relation to forms of creativity and benign forms of power. This notion was to be explored through conversation and in writing exercises with our Poet in Residence. Anyway, that is what the Festival said they hoped to achieve.
We had a good discussion on as much as we could cover and I would have preferred to spend much more timed with him. We ranged from Gerald Manley Hopkins, Alice Oswald, Pablo Neruda and Frank O'Hara. Neruda's Ode to an Onion was a strange one to at least one person although I thought that it could be considered quite odd, I liked and thought it had merit.
With all of his input, questions and discussion there was hardly any time for writing, but he asked to write a list of four or five items and then with time running out to enlarge on one of them.
I wrote these few lines:-
An old garden gate, swollen with recent rain is wedged tight
requiring that extra shove to allow me into that other place.
I feel where hands have smoothed the touching point
made smoother by more hands but where the grain is both proud and
indented these mini-corrugations note the passing of all of us.
I have other notes to work on later, but it was so short a time. Yes, I did get from it many ideas and thoughts to pursue.
The crux for me was simply not enough time, but was this a sampler for 2015 where more time will be allowed? Maybe four hours and maybe three mornings of four hours each or even a whole day. I think that the committee need to think about this. However, was it worthwhile for me? Yes and I took away certain things to consider.
Robert Hass is a 'gent' and a very knowledgeable one too. I enjoyed it immensely and it was so good being again with like minded people.

Tuesday

A different day today. A long over due walk around the Iron Age Hill Fort at Credenhill just outside Hereford and managed by the Woodland Trust. Birdsong but scarce views of anything except four species of butterfly including a Red Admiral, a recently emerged Small Tortoiseshell, Ringlets and (probably) a Wood White.
I am researching and walking some of the old Hereford and Gloucester Canal and when photographing a bridge near Ashperton the farmer stopped and said with the humour of a countryman 'are you looking for a boat?' I think that this might be the first line of something later.

I went in search of Yellow Hammers and found a cock bird perched and singing in Watery Lane at Yarkhill. A fantastic view - clear as a bell! This was one of my two target birds for this trip, the other one being a Bullfinch which I achieved when a hen bird flew across Common Road at Tarrington last Saturday morning. An extra bonus was when a Raven flew overhead when at the Village Fete.
Now in the Horseshoe Inn having a few spare minutes with a pint of Wye Valley HPA before an hour of poetry translation. That should stretch the mind. A full report will follow.

Protest Poetry

A morning of 'Protest Poetry' in the Burgage Hall in Church Lane and again I am surrounded my history. If you have never been to Ledbury then you should visit.
The morning was delivered by Joy Roderick on the poetry of Wilfred Owen, W.H. Auden and with the Caribbean immigrant influence of Grace Nichols and John Agard which did mean that we ranged from the second decade of the 1900's, through the 1930's and into the '70's and '80's with the two latter poets.
The hall was full with four people grouped around each of the eight tables in a position to discuss, comment upon and offer opinions on the poem before them. We started with Joy reading Owen's 'Dulce et Decorum Est'. I had read this one before without realizing its true worth. There were poetical aware people who were able to contribute in the analysis of this piece of work and I was surprised how much had gone into the construction of it. We asked how much of it was written when he was on the 'Western Front' and how much had been influenced by Siegfried Sassoon when both were in Craiglockhert Hospital?

We were asked to question the effect it had, what the meaning was, to examine the schemes involved and in what the context was. There was very valid points made with the comment that this was 'a back-to-back' sonnet. Interesting to anyone with a leaning towards poetics.

Moving on we read 'Stop the Clocks' by W.H. Auden. The history is interesting in that he kept the first two verses and re-wrote the second two to turn it into a 'love poem'. I have heard it read at funerals, it figured in the film 'Four Weddings and a Funeral', it has been re-titled 'Funeral Blues' and was original written for another film. The view around the table was ' no, not really' - we didn't like it. However don't let me put you off reading this man as there to him that meets the eye - nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

We covered much ground in two hours and then we came to a different sort of protest with Grace Nichols and 'The Fat Black Woman Goes Shopping'. How can anyone not read it with that title at the top of the page? Her second one 'Wherever I Hang' is equally intriguing when she ends up by telling us where she hangs her knickers!

Her husband, John Agard, followed with 'Listen Mr Oxford Don' which you can listen to on-line.
We examined it and for me it was not a protest about how to speak - properly or otherwise - but about racism and classism. I agree with the man, speak how you like and protest about any reasonable injustice.

I had a great morning looking in some depth into some serious writing in a fairly formal setting but with tutorial control. It, and myself achieved our objectives. Then I sat and wrote this with pint of Pardoes, ham, egg and chips followed by strawberry and apple crumble with ice cream. It was such a good way to spend part of a wet afternoon.

And, I am on radio wildfire tonight just tune into the net.


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Elizabeth Bishop

Juliet Stevenson reads and Mark Fisher narrates at the Ledbury Poetry Festival the life and poems of Elizabeth Bishop in the Community Hall.
For a full hour the whole room heard the major details of her life and the poems that corresponded
in the time sequence as narrated. We heard tremendous poetry delivered by the voice of Juliet Stevenson that held my attention on every word. It was spoken with great inflection and where needed with the appropriate accent. There appeared to be more than a touch of sadness when they concluded with her death. I shall have to read more of this revered poet and delve more fully into her complete works that is at home. My two favorites will still be 'Insomnia' and 'The Moose'

Hellens Night

Hellens Night

I am at peace, at home,under
the canopy of trees, encapsulated
by the darkness of this night.

There are no boundaries only the
soft velvet touch of the black,
unreachable.

The comfort of the silence soothes

HELLENS

HELLENS

I am catching up with myself after spending all yesterday evening, and all night until about six o'clock this morning.

I had a great day yesterday culminating with the-poetry-all-nighter with Dave Reeves, the poet in residence for The Black Country Living Museum, Radio Wildfire and whatever else. Twelve people stayed the course, read some of their own work or the chosen work of others.
I read two short poems inspired by 'Poetry Orchard' and the Pippin apples named after Stoke Edith. I also read 'he bares his shaven head' which probably occurred to me to read because a few days ago Rachel had visited Auswitz. Interestingly - for me - some who attended claimed to have not written any poetry, but still participated fully, read and to a man and woman wrote something. This was to their credit and to the ability of the facilitator.
The result, was a damn good 'night' and several pieces of work in progress. I have now so much more to think about.

The evening started at 7pm with a fantastic one man performance of a long poem - it lasted for over an hour - where J.O.Morgan recited 'At Maldon' and only dropped three words. He took from an old document/poem/ode where the beginning and ending had not survived and created the details of the character and the battle between those savage Danes who sailed up a river in Essex, at Maldon and gave the resident Anglo-Saxons a very good hiding. I don't know whether it was just for fun but a quantity of silver had to be given over afterwards. Everything has its cost, but for me it was good value for money.
This recital took place in the 'music room' with its panelled walls, grand piano (of course), and where the entire room oozed history - what a setting!

We then moved into a manorial hall which had been used by The Black Prince in centuries past for a combination recital of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett and musician Robin Ireland on his viola. He had set his music to accompany the reading. It uses the metaphor of detecting bats to explore communication within a family affected by autism. I cannot hope to do any justice here to the content of the writing and the music that dealt with complex feelings and included reference to the autism of her son. A performance fascinatingly called 'The Bat Detector' delivered in another room that spoke of history.

And then the poetry workshop until dawn which included a stroll through the trees with four Tawny Owls screeching in the trees. All of it to give us our own images.

Tarrington Village Fete

Tarrington Village Fete held at The Vine, a substantial mellow brick building of significance with gardens that were controlled with elements of precision that take the eye from one detail to another. Formal fountained ponds, neatly encased with straight lines and paved corners, lawns and fine edges, sculptures that fit the formality, but were not born here to the brick walls, oval capped of the pigs' cots. It seemed to all fit to together although the picky would probably say 'incongruous' but I loved it all. It was a pleasure just to be in some one's garden and to wander as I felt like it.

This was England at its best. The sun shone, the clouds held the sky up with the occasional darkish cloud threatening, but producing not a drop of moisture. It was T shirt and shorts weather.

The stalls, the colour of the canopies, the friendliness of the people whether known to me or complete strangers. I was extravagant and indulgent in buying a cream tea at 1 o'clock and a jar of home made marmalade and chutney at £1 per pot. I shall relish the taste of the former with my early morning tea and toast - that is if I survive the night at Hellen's Manor.

All of this with music, games, and of course the ubiquitous bouncy castle, second hand stalls with books, handbags, jewelry etc. All this for the church fund and to retain the fabric of this society.

Daily Write Up

I intend to do this on a daily basis and to try and write up as I go, but it does depend upon internet access.
However, please feel free to comment as the views of the readers can be 'such fun' at times!

Ledbury Poetry Festival

I AM ON MY WAY - Thursday 3rd July
Airports are sometime a very tedious place to be, but they do allow such freedom of movement that we are lucky to be able to achieve and now I am on my way to Ledbury via London Gatwick and Gloucester. It was hot when I left home and then I found that England was having a good summer's day too - the hottest day this year.

NOW I AM THERE - on Friday
This was the first day of the Ledbury Poetry Festival and I had two events booked both being totally different in venue and genre.
The first one was with David Reynolds, Cambridge Professor of International History who introduced his thought that both World War One and Two should be assessed in a broader and more sophisticated approach. We have our own concept of these wars through what we have read, and in my case the poems of Wilfred Owen, some other poets and the way that history has been slanted. This is seen as a narrow approach and having listened to this historian I have to agree with him.
He is promoting his book The Long Shadow: The Great War & The Twentieth Century.
If you cannot afford to buy me his book then I will have to watch BBC2 in September and so can you.
This was sponsored by Ronald Duncan Literary Foundation that supports artistic projects.

Edward and Helen Thomas
My second event still had a war theme and in an amazing setting. I had gone from a Baptist Church in Ledbury (for Reynolds) to an historic church on the Gloucester/Hereford border at St Margaret's Church, Kempley.
It has the oldest known roof timbers in Western Europe and the walls are adorned with murals. They have survived Protector Cromwell by being lime-coated and they must have been incredibly colorful when first done. I do need to go back and re-examine this church and enjoy what has been saved albeit with some fading and loss of detail.
Anyway, that was the venue but why was I there? Well, Juliet Stevenson was premiering Deryn Rees-Jones ambitious poem sequence in connection with Edward Thomas and entitled 'And You, Helen'. She being the wife and widow Edward Thomas after he had gone to war of his own choosing and was killed at Arras in 1917.
A reason for this to be read here was because it is the area where Edward Thomas lived for a while, walked, thought out and talked poetry with Robert Frost. These two writers were (with others including Rupert Brooke) known collectively as the 'Dymock Poets'
It took over fifteen minutes to read and there is not a chance that I can do the content and delivery on this one reading any justice, but now that you know about it you can read it for yourself.

Both events were totally different, both professionally delivered and absorbing. I would not have wanted to have missed either of them. They were superb.
On a general note it is wonderful to be in green and pleasant land with friendly people who are helpful, smiley and chat freely with, it seems, anyone. Well done Ledbury.

Saturday is Tarrington Village Fete - possibly in the rain - followed by two events at Hellen's Manor at Much Marcle, some poetry readings and an-all-nighter writing poetry in the grounds from midnight until breakfast. I had always wanted to spend a period of time doing just that, listening to the sounds of the night away from the distractions that living in this modern world seems to force upon us - iPads! It is going to be a busy 24 hours.