I gathered in my summer poetry packs from South Kesteven district – people left a surprising number of extracts from existing poems and lines remembered, showing just how far poetry penetrates into everyday life. I’m hoping to use these extracts as starting-points for workshop pieces this winter; as a result of a regional grant, I’ve been proposing workshops to the libraries in my area, and the community-run one which devises its own programme has already booked me to co-incide with World Book Day in March 2020. This time I’ll be the tutor instead of organising someone else through the county-wide scheme I was engaged on back in 2006.
Ted Hughes Festival South Yorkshire is looking good as a new-ish weekend event within easy reach for East Midlanders. The venue is great, a restored/converted grammar school (now a Business Centre) with an on-site cafe, free parking, and a central hall with decent acoustics. Events include poetry walks, community interventions, traditional workshops, and readings from poets engaged in themes/influences taken from Hughes and natural history. I was sorry to miss the Paper Round walk on the Sunday, but I hope to join in next time. I did, however, shout one of my poems on Mexborough High Street and inscribe the pavement with that well-known Hughes line, ‘the pig lay on a barrow, dead’. The friendliness of Yorks people is another good reason for going there, and you can’t fail to be impressed by Conisbrough Castle on the main road in from the A1. Ted’s statue is in the grammar school, and although his expression looks gormless, the seated figure attracts a lot of camera-wielding visitors. You can follow the team on @TedHughesSY.
A furore over the Booker Prize in that it was divided between two writers against the judges’ own regulations, and one of our fabulous small presses (GalleyBeggars) missed out on the limelight with their entry, Ducks, Newburyport (Lucy Ellman). But surely they are all winners, these people who are nominated for the Booker. The sales for any shortlister immediately rocket, and social media spreads the goodwill across the world. Whatever the GalleyBeggars team spent on promotional fees will no doubt be returned in triplicate when the receipts for Ducks come in. It was by far the biggest ‘sleeper’ on the list, with people drawn into the marathon sentence only to emerge several days later filled with awe and gratitude at having met such a life-enhancing novel. The problem is not the authors or the books, it’s the judges who make up the rules and then decide to break them when the model doesn’t fit any more. We already have our winners, and the public is looking at the broader list to see what they are actually going to read instead of what the judges feel is ‘the best’. Apart from Anna Burns’ Milkman, I’m fairly resistant to Big Prize Novels; I can’t help thinking of the targets and the agendas and the right buttons being pressed.
Lincoln University Library ran a reading back in October, and the people involved were the dreadful gallery of misfits depicted here. We all went for the same colour code (mostly – see the Rupert Bear scheme on the right) with the two in the middle even going for a reverse-print effect. I had a splendid day in the city, came back clutching a guitarlele from the local branch of Musicroom, and consumed several pints of arabica blend while looking out across old walls and indie shop-fronts. Thanks to archivist Claire Arrand (woop! woop!) for organising the event; and it’s so heartening to see this university rise up from a bleak building site c. 2005 to a thriving academic and artistic community. Poets in the photo L to R backrow: Paul Sutherland, Peter Green, meee, Rory Waterman, Geoff Matthews; L to R frontrow: Lynda Slater, Maureen Sutton, [unknown], Kathryn Daszkiewicz. I knew some of the poets from previous readings, and I apologise for not remembering the other lady on the front row! I had a poster listing us all, which has since vanished. Such is the fleeting hand of fame.