Funders

 

This project has been part funded by the Dedham Vale AONB and the Suffolk Coast & Heaths AONB Sustainable Development Fund

Navigation
Friday
Dec022016

Standby Poems: Experiment by Wisława Szymborska

I always connect fantasy novelist Terry Pratchett with the poem ‘Experiment’ by Wisława Szymborska (1923-2012). It's a bit of digression, but I remember him saying in a TV interview that after learning he had a rare form of dementia, the very next morning he took a walk in his garden and it was a gorgeous bright sunny day and there, amongst the trees and flowers, he suddenly found himself whistling. Even on a day when he’d had the darkest news, up popped the human spirit again, unthinking, whistling to itself. And that’s what takes me back to this poem.

If I tried to sum it up, and hope it doesn’t put you off, ‘Experiment’ is about headless dog wagging it’s tail. It’s a poem I’m glad to have read by a poet I was pleased to be introduced to by Christopher Reid, my Jerwood Arvon mentor back in the early years of the century when I was still a ‘young’ poet. I've been hooked by her poems ever since.

For me, ‘Experiment’ is a real Standby Poem, one that I often reach for. I've taken it with me on some of my adventures – to a high school in Swaffham (deepest Norfolk) where there happened to be a young Polish girl in one of the classes who knew the work of Szymborska. She said everyone knew and loved her poems in Poland and, after making her laugh with my pronouncation, she even taught me how to say her name correctly. I also remember the girl read the poem to the class, joyfully, in Polish which was lovely to hear.

It came with me to a writing group in Blundeston Prison – set up by my sister Nicky who worked there in the library – and for each session I’d take a poem for discussion. This one had quite an effect! It really surprised me that the group of inmates were shocked and thought it was sick – what warped mind would write about a headless dog! What’s it got to do with happiness? I tried to explain…

One definition of happiness for me, after reading 'Experiment', will always be a headless dog wagging it’s tail. I swing back and forth as to whether it’s scary, as Szymborska says in the poem, or whether it’s reassuring that if all else fails, even on the darkest days, happiness can be found in a sniff of a bacon sandwich.

 

 

Friday
Nov112016

During air raids, by torchlight

Working in a residential home this afternoon, the theme childhood and the games we played. Reminded of that now departing generation who were children in the Second World War, who were bombed in their houses, in their rural villages and small towns, some were evacuated, how they endured.

At 14 Cecil drove a tractor
careful not to go near the river

At 8 Les was rollerskating
knees grazed around country lanes

At 6 or 7 Tony had Dinky Toys
digging out garages and roads
in the spare land near the library

When they were old enough
Norman and Pat used to pop next door
to the undertakers to see
the locals in the Chapel of Rest

Rosemary, younger brother in arms,
found an unexploded bomb in his bed
before another landed in the staircase

And remembers playing draughts in the cellar,
during air raids, by torchlight

Thursday
Oct272016

Standby Poems: Time Enough by Dennis O'Driscoll

I've reached a certain age. When you can say things like, I went to Primary School forty years ago (and in the last century too). The early 1990s are a quarter of a century ago. The current England football team manager is the same age as me. This feeling has been exacerbated by my return to the books I published over twenty years ago, listening to the interviews I did with people born before the First World War, telling me how time flies and how they can't believe they are nearly ninety.

I have searched for this Dennis O'Driscoll's 'Time Enough' on more than one occasion, because it puts the record straight. I first read it in the American Poetry Review, as part of a double-spread of his work and I loved all the poems which would later appear in his 'Dear Life' collection (I emailed Dennis to tell him so and I'm glad that I did). And in this poem I love his calm and bookkeeper-like tone - that quiet voice. And it's given me a small antidote to those anxious thoughts about time flying and that it's all somehow been wasted. Actually, we do have the receipts. It's a poem that beautifully addresses those thoughts and one that I want close at hand, to remind me.

 

Wednesday
Oct262016

Standby Poems: Dumb Insolence by Adrian Mitchell

 

Welcome to my Standby Poems selection. I've been meaning to start this for ages - so many times either I wish I had a poem with me or I have to go in search of it (and usually can't find the book, because I've left it out somewhere safe the last time I was looking for that poem). Why not just have them all handily online? So, here they are safely posted on my blog where I hope they might even provide someone else some pleasure (especially if you're coming across the poem for the first time).

Let me start at the beginning... I wasn't very good at school. I don't mean I misbehaved, I mean I just wasn't very motivated. I quite liked English and Games and a bit of history but mostly, it was anything for a quiet life. I can remember particularly liking my English teachers, who were mainly aging hippies from the 1960s, complete with wild knitwear and bushy beards. Bless those men for staving off the boredom - Mr Lawes, Mr Walsh, Mr Radburn, Mr Hackett, all of them who seemed to love shocking us with some poems usually written by Roger McGough, Brian Patten or Adrian Mitchell. Enough so that I always pricked up my ears when those poets were mentioned (I knew their names!) or sat up when poems were read out (and was disappointed when it turned out NOT to be them).

And I particularly remember this Adrian Mitchell poem being read by Mr Radburn at the Sir John Leman High School (when I was 14). By then I realised that most poems that we were being read were DULL but this one got me listening again. I remember being surprised, again, reminded that poems could be about any subject - this time the sullen misbehaviour of a school boy. Not that I was like that but I do remember thinking 'I do know kids like that' and it felt exactly right. Wrapped up in a delicious poem.

It's one of my great pleasures that I got to meet those three poets - McGough, Patten and Mitchell - and interview them as part of my work for the Aldeburgh Poetry Festival and to thank them personally. With Adrian Henri, they really did blaze the trail. And 'Dumb Insolence' still shoots straight from the lip, is written in ordinary everyday English, no fancy stuff, and writes about us, the thoughts in our head and what we do. I can still feel it and it's one of the earliest poems that did that to me. So it has to be my first Standby Poem. Thank you again Adrian - he's a poet of impeccable spirit and still worth reading or going back to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday
Aug302016

Flying The Purple Carpet

Suffolk Artlink's Jumpstart project, for adults with learning difficulties, started its ‘autumn’ term today with a full day in Bury St Edmunds with groups in Ipswich and Lowestoft to follow tomorrow and Thursday. The theme is journeys and over the next twelve weeks these three groups will certainly be taking us on a few, guided by Maurice Horhut (on the piano) and me (getting the words) and artists Caitlin Howells, Kasia Posen and Gareth Bayliss. We’ll be creating a film to go with our words/poems/songs/artwork at the end of it all. The fun thing for me is to come up with brand new approaches for each session to gather words and lines from each member of the group, like the ‘Purple Carpet’. They were written during a ‘Consequences’ style exercise and then our favourites were collected and ordered and then sung by the group. The best moment was when there was a stand-off about whether the line should be, ‘his big socks’ or ‘his socks’ – the argument being that as this was a hairy giant it is obvious that he would have big socks. It was put to a vote and the ‘big socks’ won in the end (it was decided that 'big socks' was simply funnier). After you read the words, bet you can't wait to hear the song?

THE PURPLE CARPET

We’ll fly a purple carpet
We’ll find a happy man
We’ll find 60s Elvis
We’ll hear the mermaid’s song

We’ll arrive in a tardis
There’s Miss Polly the talking snake
We’ll see a fallen planet
We’ll find a lucky penny

We’ll hide in trees and houses
We’ll see a hairy giant
His big socks flying from a castle
And elephants dancing in the fields