On a glorious autumn day last month, I set off for a favourite town in the Wolds, because I had a date with their annual festival of literature and craft. I had a good time as usual, but it was obvious how much the festival had changed from its previous incarnation as a district council project, funded and managed as part of the local authority public services. I’m sure the same has happened in your area too, particularly if you’re a smalltowner or living a long bus-ride away from the scene of action. Libraries closed, events pulled, funding stopped, publicity scaled down, and access denied. That’s the end result of course – access being denied to the arts and literature, things which people have relied on throughout the centuries to give them meaning and support. We’re lucky in that public interest companies and arts trusts may take up the programme which a local authority can no longer provide, but this is rarely a longterm solution. If your venue used to be a theatre studio or a library and now it’s a table in a shop, or an anonymous room in a business startup centre – beware. You can literally see how the arts are being trivialised and made less relevant, less attractive, and less of what the reading public deserves.
Well, I did my session in the room with the stained carpet and the rattling hatch in the sports venue nearly a mile out of town, and I was glad to do so. But it’s not the festival I used to set aside a whole weekend for, and it looks like one more casualty in the trend away from culture in the community. In other areas of the country, things appear to be different; festivals being created by enterprising bookshop owners and literary groups, and torrents of Twitter advertising the latest shows. But not everyone can get into a city or drive nearly a hundred miles to a venue straight after work – the rural areas are missing out on what the new-media driven urbanites can take for granted.
Well, what can I say. A week at Arvon is simply fabulous, dahling. I joined a course on musical theatre with the nicest bunch of people imaginable, who provided a week filled with laughter and song. It was exactly as honest and corny as it sounds. While I have no doubt that the tutors were rolling around laughing at what we’d done in the name of contemporary music, their expert guidance meant we could go ahead without feeling selfconscious about it – probably one of the biggest blocks to getting involved in any performance artform. Although I still can’t do one of my performance pieces without laughing, I feel as though I’ve made inroads into stagecraft and entertainment – factors which are going to help now I’m on the platform more often.
If you haven’t been to Arvon, I can’t recommend it highly enough. While it seems expensive on the surface, there’s a decent grants system which operates a sliding scale of contributions according to need, and once you’re there on the premises, you don’t have any outlay unless you fancy taking the local bus into Hebden Bridge, for instance. As it was, my week was so intensive that I didn’t have the time to go for a walk, let alone explore the area – so yes, it was cost-effective in the long run. I had the time to take some photos though, and here is the unique Yorkshire mill landscape in its late-summer glory.
Back to work with a vengeance now, as term restarts and a new batch of students flood in to my regional college near the bottom corner of Lincolnshire. I’m providing a workshop for Wolds Words later in October – looking forward to this, as Louth is one of my favourite towns and it’s always a pleasure to do stuff around this county. But my head’s still reeling from the words I wrote last week, and I’m hoping that soon I’ll have the confidence to integrate soundscapes with some of the poems I’ve written.
Right, so that’s the launch done at Five Leaves Books – we had a packed audience, and I was delighted to find out that the event was part of their Bread and Roses radical book series, including revolution, urban squatting and the popular Union leader Bob Crow! As usual I arrived miles too early for the event, and was caught out by punitive parking charges in the city centre – so instead of sitting nonchalantly in a trendy cafe with a paper and a latte like a denizen of the Left Bank, I was stamping around the precinct filled with rage because all my money was in the ticket machine and I couldn’t go and buy anything.
Next up is Lowdham Book Fest, which is always brilliant and I go there every year for the famous Final Saturday, where there’s free events and loads of bookstalls. This time though, I’m one of the people on the platform, again with a selection from the Artisan. I’m trying to get a colour co-ordinated outfit to go with the book; if I find one in time…. that’s what I’ll be wearing. Before Lowdham it’s the 2nd Kendal Poetry Festival, which has quickly joined my annual ‘must go’ list. I’m not one of their official readers but it’s possible to join the open events and pick up valuable experience.
Shoestring Press has my latest on its website now, but there’s been talk recently of reprinting an earlier short collection, Borderville, which sold out. I think this would be an excellent idea, but then I’m biased. I’ll put news on here if such a thing comes to pass. Otherwise it’s back to the drawing board as I start putting lines and ideas together for The Next Thing. Later this summer I’m taking part in an Arvon week, getting out of my comfort zone by writing performance-poetry songs. I wouldn’t want to inflict this on an audience, but I’m keen to explore new ways of working, and you never know where it might lead.
Well, on the weekend when I’d normally be at the Much Wenlock Poetry Festival, I’m going to the Lincoln Ukulele Festival instead, for a day of general jollity and thrashing at my Cordoba 15SM. For any other ukers out there, I can recommend the Cordobas as reliable; not only a sweet balanced tone but extremely durable, which is necessary when you’re carting it around and it’s likely to end up beneath a suitcase in the boot. Alas, I’m no musician – I can do the chords and make a noise, but I don’t think I’ll be taking a solo slot any time soon….
I’ve always been intrigued by instruments, yet I’m no good at playing them unless they’re the ones everyone else can do, like the recorder or the kazoo. Back at Middle School I was surrounded by friends who could play all sorts, including one who dragged a fullsized acoustic guitar around which was taller than herself when it was stood up on end. I only had a very shrill Schott recorder made from Bakelite, which wasn’t about to set the orchestral world ablaze. And I believe that a fundamental inability to do ‘proper music’ is the reason why I diverted into poetry so early on – it’s the same wish to unite sound and rhythmic ideas along with sense.
Off to Lincoln then, for singarounds and a lot of cake at the interval. Meanwhile I’ve recently acquired a new jangly little companion, a Portuguese cavaquinho. I can recommend these too, for anyone out there who likes a change from the uke – they’re not loud, but full of character, and ideal for players with small hands. It’s taken me all day to get the strings right (a common problem) but now I’ve cracked it, I can’t put the thing down.
The Much Wenlock Poetry Fest will be back next year I hope; it’s on the poetry calendar now, and run by an expert group of people who’ve gone from 0 to 60 in just a few years. One of these, the founder Anna Dreda, also runs a terrific independent bookshop on the main street, a sort of dream-bookshop with crooked stairways and wooden floors, surprising corners and a warm atmosphere. If you’re over there in Shropshire, call in and buy something, even if it’s just a card or a local map. Without the indie bookshops, without the enthusiasts giving their time, there’s no ‘scene’ for us to feel a part of when we dare to call ourselves poets.
It’s out! The Complete Electric Artisan has arrived – or rather, a small number of author copies are here, while Central Books (the distributor for Shoestring Press) gets the rest. As I will usually have a few copies in for sale, anyone who’d like one can contact me using the Shop Stop page on here, and I’ll get one in the post to you for the cover price of £8, which includes postage. If you’d like to know about Inspector Plank and his curious rural crimes, The Original Captain Boomerang, troubled office situations, and the main problem with being a single woman at work…. here’s a chance to find out. I sent an earlier version of this collection in for an East Midlands-based poetry award; and while I didn’t win, the judging chairman Kerry Featherstone sent me a lovely quote which I’ve used as advertising blurb. Here it is:
‘Brilliantly imaginative, with echoes of Victoriana and the uncanny, but also able to deliver hard-hitting reality,’
Thank you Mr Featherstone, it really helps. Anyone who works on their own material at production stage will know about the dreaded blurb and marketing USP, and how embarrassing it feels to be advertising your own wares like a street hawker back in Dickens’ time. With occasional help from the regions’ literary workers, we can all get to the finish line looking polished and ready.
I have a few copies of Candleshoe still available, and anyone who wants this longer collection and a copy of the Artisan can have both for £15, including postage. You’ll save £2. Meanwhile, I’ll be out on the platform at Lowdham Book Festival in June, and doing Five Leaves Bookshop in Nottingham, on May 11th. Think I’m teamed with Roy Marshall for the Lowdham; he’s got a great blog focussing on all aspects of poetry, which you can also find on WordPress.
An unexpected start to the year, with a brand new p/t day job… closely followed by a welcome acceptance for the next poetry collection, The Complete Electric Artisan, which I’d submitted during July last year. This will be published by Shoestring Press, hopefully in the Spring – although you never know with small-press schedules. I’m hoping to announce any readings on Twitter when the time comes; in the past I’ve had fantastic launch venues like Lowdham Book Festival and Leicester’s Shindig, or the States of Independence Press Fair which is normally held at DMU in March. So here I am battling through the early weeks of a new job, plus making the final adjustments to what will be my fourth for Shoestring, and a fifth collection overall.
Not only that…. in late 2016 I applied for an Arvon grant so I can have a go at musical theatre writing. I missed the course in November, and not being able to do it without a grant, I applied again and – hooray – was awarded one! So I’ll be heading for that old mill-owner’s house in Heptonstall instead of going on my summer hols. I know the area anyway because I’m from West Yorkshire; those folded valleys with long chimneys sticking up above the trees are part of my landscape. But I’m hoping the unique Arvon atmosphere helps me to write some song texts then I can devise a touring show in the future.
I suppose this entry illustrates one thing above all – no matter how much rejection you might have experienced in the past, sometimes the door opens and you can go roaring in. You have to prepare the ground in advance and not give up. It’s the only way. And, when you get a sudden upswing of interest for no apparent reason, you won’t go headless-chicken with the sheer enormity of it all, and what it really means to your deepest self.
Well, it’s the usual mix of frantic activity contrasted with empty periods when there’s not only a whole stack of rejection notices, but no poems coming from my end! Thankfully the pendulum swings on, and eventually there’s something to show for it all; a set of poems in an anthology, opportunities to pursue, the chance to participate in a festival.
Something Happens, Sometimes Here came out in late 2015, showcasing several of Lincolnshire’s poets – including the Carcanet authors Rory Waterman and Alison Brackenbury, fellow Shoestringers Robert Etty and Kathryn Daszkiewicz, Sam Gardiner (who got into the TLS, no less!) David Cooke and Mike Blackburn. You can obtain a copy of this fine representation of rural strangeness by contacting Five Leaves Press or the usual distributors, Inpress or Amazon.
As a result of the anthology, I was recently recorded for the special collections archives at Lincoln University. On a boiling day in a glass-walled room like a pressure cooker, yours truly performed into a small audio gizmo, avoiding the sounds of students dropping books and scraping chairs next door. It was a whole lot of fun; thanks to sound engineer Mark Mullen and archivist Claire Arrand. I’ve also signed up with Soundcloud, so if anyone hasn’t heard me read (and given the vast number of good performing poets out there, it’s quite likely you haven’t) a few audioclips can be found under my name with poems including ‘The Plaque, The Chandelier…’ and ‘My Tabloid Relationship Hell Scenario’.