#NationalPoetryDay October 1st 2020 poetry and artwork challenge. The theme is “Vision”. Ocular or metaphorical welcome, unpublished/published work welcome. Join Rachael Ikins, Gregory Luce, Kit+CY and myself. DM me on Twitter or send a message via my WordPress site. I will feature all work submitted.

“Invisible Me” A photo series by Rachael Ikins

Gabby

Leonard

Rachael comments “I have always been fascinated with eyes and faces in all media of my artwork.”

Lulled

the giants are here
they mollycoddle me cuddle me feed me a jugful of uncurdled milk
they spoon pureed peaches into my gurgling mouth then sing lullabies to soothe me to sleep
they promise me the world and everything that’s not extinct by the time I’m old enough to know the difference between a rhinoceros and a hippopotamus
then while I dream they go and start a revolution to save the oceans the earth the skies
they leave Argus Panoptes to watch over me
and I am safe
protected
unaware a hundred cataracts haunt his dauntless eyes

-Spangle McQueen

See in the Dark

“When what you write about is what you see,
what do you write about when it’s dark?”
—Charles Wright

Faces of lost loves
and my sons when
they were small,
heat shimmer off
a Texas highway
when I was a boy,
the woman gesturing
to no one on the bus
this morning.
Even with the light off
it’s never completely dark:
I can see the pale green
numbers on a digital clock
and streetlight filtered
by the blinds and
ambient light from
who knows where.

-Gregory Luce

Tantalum Lenses
‘I did nothing wrong’—Dominic Cummings

I crossed the polished marble floor
and found the politician’s optician at home.
His door was always open
for eye tests and fittings.

He looked long and hard into my eyes.
He’d damaged his own eyesight
writing illuminated text
by candle light.

He said there was no need to change my prescription—
exposure to his line of sight
had scratched my tantalum* lenses
with his vision.

*Tantalum is a conflict resource used in mobile phones, DVD players, video game systems and computers.

-Kit + CY

Twenty Twenty Vision
Masked and long division
Nature human fission
The World or us…
Decision?
-Mivvy Tekchandani

. a vision request .

early while driving.                     omen repeating

sometimes the sun comes lower after the crest

one moment

imagine them marching,           slow & white.

will you name them?

in the wake all things come clear.

slow & white.

later below the peaks i tell him. he said it is

the dark crystal.

sbm.

A Vision by sonja

https://sonjabenskinmesher.wordpress.com/2017/11/09/a-vision-request/

. a470 .

sun hit the sea,

i was blinded,

by my own

shortcomings.

sbm.

Shortcomings By sbm

Picasso

Out of blank space
gouge out shapes
of apples and light,
as instrument digs
a blister into palm

He cannot afford mistakes,
steady handed controls
citrus bite of wives
and mistresses.

Strong stink of oxidized linseed oil,
resins, ground cork, wood flour
and pigment all pressed together
and flattened. In later life
after bull sunned atrocities.

If mistakes made
disguise, or begin again.
A head on challenge.
Black eyes carve the shapes,
Print bold red, yellow and green.
A still life, unstilled creation.

-Paul Brookes

June 2 Wildness challenge

The Four Swans

In response to Paul Brookes’ June prompts.

Dear trees, listen.

How could I choose a single tree,
of all the trees I know and love so well?

I cannot read the bark-runes, have no skill
to scratch in bird-steps the words a tree could read.

Poplars ivy-bound about,
willows hollowed and bowed, sentinel oaks,
the wild white-bloomed plum and apple,
walnut, spindle and blackthorns,
I hear you all when the wind blows,
listen to your counterpoint when the birds sing,
walk gently where saplings shoot,
and stand beneath green canopies that hold up the sky.
Do you even know I am here?

Perhaps a flag would do, a banner,
long as the horizontal clouds,
brush-painted in carmine and flame,
carried by geese and cormorants,
river-bound, ocean-bound.

Perhaps the wind would whisper
what you couldn’t read.

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#TheWildness. Day 2. Write a letter to a tree or plant that you encounter on your daily walk. What would you say to it? Please join Jane Dougherty and me in celebrating wildness all this month. I tried to get permission from the Wildlife Trust to use their #3ODaysWild as prompts but it was not forthcoming, so here are my own prompts with a little help from chatgbt. I will feature your draft published/unpublished poetry/short prose/artworks using the following prompts. Please include a short third person bio. Numbers refer to dates in June: Day 1. Describe the sounds you hear when you step outside your home. How does nature contribute to this musical work? 2. Write a letter to a tree or plant that you encounter on your daily walk. What would you say to it? 3. Imagine you could transform into any animal for a day. Which animal would you choose and why? 4. Write a short story about a magical encounter with a wild animal in your backyard. 5. Describe a peaceful moment spent observing a body of water. What emotions does it evoke in you? 6. Write a poem inspired by the vibrant colours and patterns of a butterfly’s wings. 7. Imagine you are a wildlife photographer. Describe the most breathtaking picture you have taken during your challenge. 8. Write about a favourite childhood memory spent in nature. How did it shape your connection with the natural world? 9. Create a dialogue between two different species of birds perched on a branch. What would they talk about? 10. Describe the texture and scent of wildflowers you encounter on your nature walks. How do they make you feel? 11. Write a persuasive essay on the importance of conserving and protecting local wildlife habitats. 12. Imagine you are a nature guide. Describe a walk you would take visitors on to showcase the beauty and diversity of your local environment. 13. Write a poem about the changing seasons and how they affect the behaviour of wildlife. 14. Imagine you are a detective investigating the disappearance of a rare animal. Describe your search for clues in the natural world. 15. Write a poem/flash fiction about a mischievous squirrel that causes chaos in your garden. 16. Describe a special moment when you felt truly connected to nature. What did it teach you about yourself and the world around you? 17. Write a letter to future generations, urging them to protect and cherish the natural world. 18. Create a detailed observation log of a specific species of bird that you have been monitoring throughout the challenge. 19. Write a poem inspired by the soothing sounds of a flowing stream or river. 20. Imagine you are a nature-inspired artist. Describe the masterpiece you would create using materials found in the great outdoors. 21. Write a short story about a group of friends who embark on an unforgettable camping trip in the wilderness. 22. Describe the most fascinating insect you have encountered during your challenge. What makes it unique? 23. Write a diary entry from the perspective of a tree, chronicling its experiences and the changes it witnesses over the course of a year. 24. Imagine you could communicate with one animal species. Which species would you choose and what would you ask them? 25. Describe a magical sunrise or sunset you have witnessed during your journey. How did it make you feel? 26. Write a letter to a future self, reflecting on the impact of the challenge on your relationship with nature. 27. Imagine you are a character in a wildlife-themed adventure novel. Describe the perilous situation you find yourself in and how you escape. 28. Write a poem celebrating the diversity and resilience of nature, even in the face of human challenges. 29. Describe the feeling of walking barefoot on cool, damp grass. How does it connect you to the Earth? 30. Write a short story about a hidden, enchanted forest where magical creatures dwell. What adventures await those who discover it? Feel free to adapt these prompts to suit your writing style or preferences.

Dear trees, listen.

How could I choose a single tree,
of all the trees I know and love so well?

I cannot read the bark-runes, have no skill
to scratch in bird-steps the words a tree could read.

Poplars ivy-bound about,
willows hollowed and bowed, sentinel oaks,
the wild white-bloomed plum and apple,
walnut, spindle and blackthorns,
I hear you all when the wind blows,
listen to your counterpoint when the birds sing,
walk gently where saplings shoot,
and stand beneath green canopies that hold up the sky.
Do you even know I am here?

Perhaps a flag would do, a banner,
long as the horizontal clouds,
brush-painted in carmine and flame,
carried by geese and cormorants,
river-bound, ocean-bound.

Perhaps the wind would whisper
what you couldn’t read.

Jane Dougherty

Bio and Links

Jane Dougherty

lives and works in southwest France. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems and stories have been published in magazines and journals including Ogham Stone, the Ekphrastic Review, Black Bough Poetry, ink sweat and tears, Gleam, Nightingale & Sparrow, Green Ink and Brilliant Flash Fiction. She blogs at https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/ Her poetry chapbooks, thicker than water and birds and other feathers were published in October and November 2020.

Book Reviews from Spriha Kant: “Swill and Daffodils” by K.P. DeLaney

Fevers of the Mind

Review of K.P. DeLaney’s book “Swill and Daffodils” by “Spriha Kant”  

The poet has dedicated this book to his poet family: Darryl Lovie, Sharon Toman, Magnolia, Tres K, and J.D. Greyson, which has proved to be worthwhile as it is a collection of a plethora of deeply heartfelt poetries.

Some poetries of the poet remind a few poetries by the poets Abel Johnson Thundil, Verde Mar, and Ratan Chouhan as well as the poetess Shiksha Dheda, as shown in the next four stanzas below:

Whatever message “Abel Johnson Thundil” conveyed indirectly through the poetry “Torture” in his book “Wilted: Poems of Modern Tragedy,” has been said directly in the last seven lines of the poetry “Monumental” by K.P. DeLaney.

The poet’s poetries “War” and War (Part two) are the burning furnaces as the chilling emotions in these poetries are enough to melt the hearts of the readers, this trait…

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#TheWildness. Day 1. Describe the sounds you hear when you step outside your home. How does nature contribute to this musical work?Please join me in celebrating wildness all this month. I tried to get permission from the Wildlife Trust to use their #3ODaysWild as prompts but it was not forthcoming, so here are my own prompts with a little help from chatgbt. I will feature your draft published/unpublished poetry/short prose/artworks using the following prompts. Please include a short third person bio. Numbers refer to dates in June: Day 1. Describe the sounds you hear when you step outside your home. How does nature contribute to this musical work? 2. Write a letter to a tree or plant that you encounter on your daily walk. What would you say to it? 3. Imagine you could transform into any animal for a day. Which animal would you choose and why? 4. Write a short story about a magical encounter with a wild animal in your backyard. 5. Describe a peaceful moment spent observing a body of water. What emotions does it evoke in you? 6. Write a poem inspired by the vibrant colours and patterns of a butterfly’s wings. 7. Imagine you are a wildlife photographer. Describe the most breathtaking picture you have taken during your challenge. 8. Write about a favourite childhood memory spent in nature. How did it shape your connection with the natural world? 9. Create a dialogue between two different species of birds perched on a branch. What would they talk about? 10. Describe the texture and scent of wildflowers you encounter on your nature walks. How do they make you feel? 11. Write a persuasive essay on the importance of conserving and protecting local wildlife habitats. 12. Imagine you are a nature guide. Describe a walk you would take visitors on to showcase the beauty and diversity of your local environment. 13. Write a poem about the changing seasons and how they affect the behaviour of wildlife. 14. Imagine you are a detective investigating the disappearance of a rare animal. Describe your search for clues in the natural world. 15. Write a poem/flash fiction about a mischievous squirrel that causes chaos in your garden. 16. Describe a special moment when you felt truly connected to nature. What did it teach you about yourself and the world around you? 17. Write a letter to future generations, urging them to protect and cherish the natural world. 18. Create a detailed observation log of a specific species of bird that you have been monitoring throughout the challenge. 19. Write a poem inspired by the soothing sounds of a flowing stream or river. 20. Imagine you are a nature-inspired artist. Describe the masterpiece you would create using materials found in the great outdoors. 21. Write a short story about a group of friends who embark on an unforgettable camping trip in the wilderness. 22. Describe the most fascinating insect you have encountered during your challenge. What makes it unique? 23. Write a diary entry from the perspective of a tree, chronicling its experiences and the changes it witnesses over the course of a year. 24. Imagine you could communicate with one animal species. Which species would you choose and what would you ask them? 25. Describe a magical sunrise or sunset you have witnessed during your journey. How did it make you feel? 26. Write a letter to a future self, reflecting on the impact of the challenge on your relationship with nature. 27. Imagine you are a character in a wildlife-themed adventure novel. Describe the perilous situation you find yourself in and how you escape. 28. Write a poem celebrating the diversity and resilience of nature, even in the face of human challenges. 29. Describe the feeling of walking barefoot on cool, damp grass. How does it connect you to the Earth? 30. Write a short story about a hidden, enchanted forest where magical creatures dwell. What adventures await those who discover it? Feel free to adapt these prompts to suit your writing style or preferences.

The sound of outside

Open night window

emerges into day,

thrush, blackbird, oriole,

redstart, wood pigeon,

and woodpecker

pick up the air of the tiring nightingales, sleeping crickets, swelling into a tirade against the distant rumble of early morning traffic, declaring victory at 9.30am.

 

 

 

Bio and Links

Jane Dougherty

lives and works in southwest France. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems and stories have been published in magazines and journals including Ogham Stone, the Ekphrastic Review, Black Bough Poetry, ink sweat and tears, Gleam, Nightingale & Sparrow, Green Ink and Brilliant Flash Fiction. She blogs at https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/ Her poetry chapbooks, thicker than water and birds and other feathers were published in October and November 2020.

An Essay about Prince from Colleen Wells and “Out of Chaos Comes Art” about Mental Health

Fevers of the Mind

art photo from Nick Lacke on Dribble

Bio: Colleen Wells writes poetry and creative nonfiction. Her work has appeared in several anthologies, magazines and journals. She is the author of Dinner with Doppelgangers – A True Story of Madness and Recovery and Animal Magnetism.

Out of Chaos Comes Art

Once dubbed manic-depression, bipolar disorder is a potent malady, that wreaks havoc, making the ordered brain disorderly, a broken puzzle. Of the psychiatric disorders in the DSM-IV, it is a machine gun. Rapid-firing tongues, Sadness engulfed in inertia psychosis destroying marriages, leaving children addled in fear. A friend of mine who shares the affliction streaked through his yard like a white, hot comet. Lithium, Lorazepam, Loxapine, Wellbutrin, Depakote, Haldol, Mellaril, Seroquel, Abilify. And don’t forget the Prozac. I’ve swallowed them all to regulate my moods. Genetic or environmental factors? The uncertainty belies the certainty that without them, some of the greatest…

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A Poetry Showcase from Lindsay Soberano-Wilson inspired by Leonard Cohen, Prince, Portishead

Fevers of the Mind

Bio: Lindsay Soberano-Wilson’s debut full-length poetry collection, Hoods of Motherhood (Prolific Pulse Press LLC, May 2023) is a homage to women who had to learn to nurture themselves the way they nurture others. As the editor of Put It To Rest, a mental health magazine, she believes in writing poetry and essays to put personal stories to rest. Her hybrid poetry chapbook, Casa de mi Corazón (2021), explores how her sense of community, Jewish Canadian identity, and home was shaped by travel. Her poems have appeared in Fine Lines Literary Journal,Embrace of Dawn, Poetry 365, Fevers of the Mind, PoetryPause, Quills Erotic Canadian Poetry Magazine, Canadian Woman Studies Journal, Running with Scissors, Fresh Voices and Poetica Magazine. She holds a MA (English) and a BEd from the University of Toronto, and a BA (Creative Writing) from Concordia University. Find her on Medium,Instagram, Twitter, or

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2 new poems from Michael Igoe: Funhouse and Timeline

Fevers of the Mind

Funhouse

Where I can easily grasp                                                                                                                           the will behind the deed.                                                                                                                                                  In the trick mirror:                                                                                                                                                     the figure reflects                                                                                                                                                   in pleated baggies.                                                                                                                                                             The nervous player                                                                                                                                   the novelty shooter                                                                                                                                              aims a breach load.                                                                                                                                   At the steel blue ducks                                                                                                                           across a manmade lake.                                                                                                                                     Where I lingered                                                                                                                                 with a same whorl                                                                                                                                                      show on my finger.                                                                                                                                                    They tell me abracadabra                                                                                                                                         they tell me hocus pocus.                                                                                                                                                                                     The rules only fall away                                                                                                                          after the paint’s chipped.                                                                                                                                     Once I had a house                                                                                                                                       once I had to laugh.                                                                                                                            Withdrawal from enmity                                                                                                                                         is rocks and hard places.                                                                                                                                      Copies of that substance                                                                                                                                    smarten up a dead mind.                                                                                                                                                             It was early                                                                                                                                                           next it’s late.                                                                                                                                       Walking Woodlawn Cemetery                                                                                                                           in the midst of another grave.

Timeline It’s the time of rising tide this time of day, tide rises. Have the time of your life during the rise of the tides. While I was much younger time came as a curved line. How a body…

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Wombwell Rainbow Book Interviews: “The Poetry Of Gin And Tea” by Paul Sutton

Paul Sutton was born in London, 1964. He worked in industry then taught English in a secondary school, before recently retiring. His collection Jack the Stripper (The Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2021) was a Poetry Book Society Recommended Reading, as was his 2015 collection Falling Off. He recently had the e-book Presents from My Boyfriends published by The Red Ceilings Press. His new book The Poetry of Gin and Tea has just been published by The Knives, Forks and Spoons Press.

Here’s a link to a 2018 interview I did with Paul about his creative inspiration and process

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Paul Sutton


Here’s where you can purchase “The Poetry Of Gin And Tea”: The Poetry of Gin and Tea https://amzn.eu/d/5GwOX7d

And link to his ebook:
https://www.theredceilingspress.co.uk/product-page/presents-from-my-boyfriends-paul-sutton

The Interview

Q1: How did you decide on the order of the poems in the book?

I structured it so that the book reads as a narrative – almost as a novella – not as a collection of poems. So the poems are ordered around the prose, supporting and enlarging on them. The prose was the most difficult thing: how much to reflect on the poems; how to move the narrative on; how much to say or leave unsaid. But it made me look critically at the poems, evaluating what they’re actually doing for the book.

It’s a fictional account, based on real experiences: my getting very seriously ill (in 2020), then leaving teaching because of what I’m satirising. I wanted to link it all through my obsessional love of Orwell, True Crime, gems and Sherlock Holmes. I set it in a boutique ‘gin hotel’ where I stayed in late January 2022. Gin and tea are crucial English drinks and Orwell wrote about both, notably in his wonderful account of how to make tea. Of course, gin links with1984 and poor old Winston Smith.

Q1:1: Why did you decide on a combination of prose and poetry?

I want the book read as a whole, sequentially, not as a poetry collection. It’s written that way, so that the poems and prose work together. Mostly the poems were written first, but the prose is just as important, especially in moving the narrative forward. I find pure poetry collections better for occasional or sporadic reading. The risk is that sporadic becomes ‘unread’!

In fact – truth be told – I’ve long felt pure poetry collections are becoming redundant. I’ve always constructed mine using a narrative arc; The Poetry of Gin and Tea was my logical next step.

Q2: What obsesses you about True Crime, Orwell, gems and Sherlock Holmes?

It’s difficult to summarise, since the book was done to explore and use these obsessions, especially with Orwell.

The easiest to explain is my collecting of rare gems. I read science at university (Chemistry) and then did a DPhil. Gems combine scientific and artistic beauty. They also represent something durable and unaffected by passing trends, a truth outside subjectivity, but in another sense (one’s own preferences) quite subjective.

Orwell was the prophetic genius who foresaw the madness into which we have descended, by allowing language to be controlled and used as a substitute for reality. This is the central purpose of my book, to explore our current predicament, through my personal experiences and obsessions.

True Crime seems the perfect genre for me (and crime fiction). I read little else but bear in mind, that encompasses most of Dickens, Dostoevsky – and of course Sherlock Holmes. I think my interest in it, to be honest, comes from early experiences of violence and fear at school; I explore this in one of my prose pieces. I’m unashamedly interested in ‘evil things’ – who isn’t? It’s incredible how popular all forms of crime writing and reporting are – and always have been.

Q3: How important is place in The Poetry of Gin and Tea?

I think it’s very important, especially using the two places where I spent my childhood: Welwyn Garden City and Salisbury. We moved to the latter when I was fifteen and it affected me massively. The book starts in Wiltshire, in the wonderful Bradford-on-Avon. But I’d say the whole idea of ‘Garden Cities’ is more important, especially their class element, their Utopian ideals and their beauty .

I want to use England as it is now, with no rewriting of any of the historical strands that I have to use, regardless of how shunned they are. But I’m not really interested in rural areas, my great fascination is with suburbia; my formative years were spent in the greater, greater London area, with both parents commuting into central London:

I cannot think of anywhere less apt
to set – say – a ghost story or fable
of regeneration. But it haunts me
now, the boulevards billowing absurd
cherry blossom, or the constant poplars,
gardens then allotments, and lone horses
in fields nobody owned (though somebody
did). We don’t know if everywhere from
childhood does this; I only have the one.

Imagine if Wordsworth had grown up here.
Some daft sister, avowed book devourer,
who chronicled his conkers and fainted –
her stolen bike; his lost virginity!
It’s useless. The place was an escape zone
from Orwell’s ‘rotting nineteenth-century
houses’ – my grandparents’, in Shepherd’s Hill,
with rickety stairs and views to Archway.

Teachers’ faces, quiet optimism.
I grew up to fight with idealism,
middle class deceit over origins.
None of which matters now, at all, to me.

I also don’t know if the violence
which meandered, natural as the Mimram,
was some thawing relic, or new death pains
from our vanishing culture of content.

(from ‘Welwyn Garden City’)

I also wanted to explore my half-Greek ancestry, the journey my mother’s parents made from Smyrna as refugees, to 1930s London. But I wanted this all done through my own inner monologues and personal – perhaps violent – reactions.

Q4: Why did you pick ‘Raven’ as the name of one of the narrators?

I’ve often used invented characters when writing about myself, especially Dave Turnip. All the Turnip work is collected in the 2017 Knives, Forks and Spoons graphic collection The Diversification of Dave Turnip.

But it was always at arm’s length, whereas this book is far more autobiographical and personal. So I used Raven as my protagonist, my alter-ego, as a nod towards two things. First, my beloved Stranglers – their best album – The Raven. A year to the day after my life-saving surgery I had this tattoo done, which is the album’s cover:

It’s also a nod to another favourite writer – Graham Greene – and the sinister central character in his wonderful novel, A Gun for Sale. A very underrated thriller; even better than Brighton Rock I feel.

I’m a keen bird spotter and ravens are my favourites. Symbolically, they’re vital to Norse mythology – Odin’s eyes and messengers – and key to the Gothic. They represent clear, albeit dark-sighted, vision.

Q:5. How important is form in both the poetry and the prose?

My distinction between the two highlights why it’s good to use both!

The main form I use in poetry is metrical or syllabic. Not for the sake of it, but to control how rhythmical the overall piece is – especially how the dynamics shift throughout, according to meaning and feeling. That’s what poetry is to me – above all – dynamics.

I wouldn’t say this is absent in the prose, but it’s toned down, less concentrated. That’s because the prose is meant to reflect and develop, not to perform. Of course, I don’t want the poems to feel performative. The trick is to do this without it being forced, but with enough emphasis for it to be there.

Q6: What would you say is the function of satire?

Satire’s function is to focus on something the writer thinks and feels is wrong (and often finds absurd) to make readers see it, then question its presence in their own lives and experiences.

It uses humour and exaggeration, although the issues are the most serious imaginable. It needs to ignore ideas of taste, sensitivity and – above all – the fear of ‘causing offence’.

It’s the most powerful way to attack, because it avoids sanctimony, at the expense (or risk) of being dismissed as ‘reactionary’ or ‘offensive’. Taking that risk is vital – the writer avoiding posturing, patronising and claiming moral superiority. Poetry is especially prone to this – it’s an art form which usually assumes some superior seer status for the poet, a greater sensitivity.

Q7: Why did you call the book The Poetry of Gin and Tea?

Those misappropriated English drinks represent something we’ve lost, that I’ve lost. I link this predicament with Orwell’s prophecy, that control and destruction of our language is the greatest threat we face.

One vital area is the disastrous idea that words create reality, with nothing existing outside of them. So, by labelling something – using certain words – you make it real.

Of course, all writers adore language and recognise its power. But no one believes it creates the world. If someone claims to, let them go up the Shard and jump off, proving that gravity is just a word.

I’ve often used Orwell’s brilliant guide to tea making, A Nice Cup of Tea, in teaching. The drink is so evocative of my childhood: my father alone could make it – just as my wife now insists I do. Her words – ‘It only tastes good if you brew it!’ I felt the same about my father – my mother’s tea was appalling! She’d try and make it, one morning a week when he had to go into London very early (he taught at UCH Medical School) – and it was horrible. Being of Greek parentage, she happily admitted that was the reason.

Gin has been subsumed by the daft middle-class fetish of ‘craft’ – their need to seek ‘authenticity’ and in the process destroy it. We’re completely dominated by class in this country; in fact more so now than when I was younger.

It’s actually meant to be a rough urban drink, not some absurd fantasy of lifestyle, etc. But I’ll happily drink some of the new ones! And of course, 1984 ends in a gin-soaked nightmare for Winston.

Q8: What is the role of absurdity in your satire?

It’s very important; both to give a focus on what’s being satirised, but also to parody one’s alter-ego, the protagonist. That’s needed, to avoid any preaching from some exalted position of wisdom. It also unsettles the reader, making them question what they think.

I love pushing the absurdity – especially into dubious areas! This works well with some totally unexpected area suddenly appearing – often from childhood.

Q:9. The vociferous Raven, reminds me of the biting language used in the best Martin Amis books. What satiric models have you used in the book?

Funnily enough, I was discussing Martin Amis (RIP) with my brother-in-law yesterday. I’ve only read four of his novels: I liked The Information best and Money least. He was a genius with prose, but I don’t much like them as novels; they never move me emotionally; there’s no soul. I also think he want downhill by worrying about seeming nasty! His ‘big concerns’ were too obviously those of the chattering classes. I found Lionel Asbo sneery and unconvincing.

My great love in satire is Evelyn Waugh, especially his masterpiece A Handful of Dust. That is without doubt one of the 20-century’s great novels. How he uses literature in it (including the Eliot quote). Until you asked the question, I’d never thought of it, but I’m hugely influenced by him. Also The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold – my favourite of his books.

The other influence is Louis-Ferdinand Celine (I can’t do the e), the outrageous French novelist. The way he uses hyperreality, to merge inner and outer states, and his bizarre use of absurdity (but not surrealism). I don’t like surrealism; it’s dull and lacks focus. I like things grounded, but mad: that’s what Celine perfected.

Q:10: How important is pastiche in your book?

It’s vital for the latest instalment of my Sherlock Holmes pastiches, in the appendix. These are done for pure joy, trying to use Conan Doyle’s wonderful prose style and mannerisms.

But pastiche isn’t present for any of the rest, I hope. Parody yes – of environments and people – but I’m not consciously using anyone’s style. Of course, I’ll have subconsciously used the stylistic features of numerous writers I admire.

Q:11. Once they have read the book what do you wish the reader to leave with?

I hope they enjoyed it and found it interesting. Anything else is a bonus, as regards my interests and motivations in writing it.

I’d hope they then wanted to look into anything else I’ve written.

#TheWombwellRainbow #Poeticformschallenge last week was a #. Enjoy examples by Frank Colley, Jane Dougherty and Robert Frede Kenter and read how they felt when writing one.

 

Frank Colley

The meadow calls

The meadow calls us with its siren song

To lose ourselves in waving depths of green

Where flower-fish among the tall stalks throng

In silent shoals, and shrill goldfinches preen.

The meadow calls, we wade through golden motes

Of feathered seeds, wing-flutter, flute-bird notes,

A sea of springing summer, powered by

Bee-hum, with hawk wings holding up the sky.

How did it go?

The strambotto apparently originated in France, and in Medieval Italy referred to a short poetic piece, of no great value, popular ballad-type of thing. I chose the iambic pentameter option, and the Tuscan strambotto because the rhyme scheme is more varied, ABABCCDD. I find this kind of poetry easy to write, but hard to make it say anything interesting. To my ear, it remains firmly old-fashioned whatever I do with it, and I don’t think it lends itself to a modern reinterpretation. I look at it as a window into slower, more certain times, uncluttered with technology and noise, when people accepted the fact of mystery and didn’t have time for agonising over the futilities that get us wound up today.

Jane Dougherty

May

If I die now I would like to go to May

in England, when the sun glides across the sky

and lights up the fields, the trees a fine array

of leaves and blossom, when days are not yet dry

enough to turn the fecund greens to dull brown. Spring

says to Summer, I am done now take my hand

as I must leave but I truly own the crown

with May my bride, in the beauty of this land.

How Did It Go?

The first line was “borrowed” from a lovely prose piece by the gardener Monty Don. I’ll dig it out (ha ha) and post it on facebook.
 
11 syllables feels wrong unless I write iambic pentameter with soft endings. I’ll try again with this form and see if it
works better. I converted this one to IP and it worked much better.
 

Tim Fellows

Rober Frede Kenter

A Poetry Showcase: Adrian Ernesto Cepeda inspired by Dylan, Miles, Plath, Sexton, Marilyn

Fevers of the Mind

Within the palm of Miles DavisFrom a 1986 photograph by Irving Penn

You can feel the grooves
all the notes created from
exhausted breaths, of his 
lips chapped gold on his 
glowing instrument, gripping 
sounds trying to capture music—
by coloring the air canvas 
with new notes he creates
in the gust of improvisation,
always chasing the rhythm that
eludes him— under the sweat 
of spotlight, overcoming 
calluses, he reaches for
creations exhale, when 
he blows, Davis loves 
the taste of inspiration 
inside his mouth, making 
out with masterpieces
in the middle of his solo—
with so many miles to go 
his trumpet never sleeps.

Midnight at Newnham Gardens Sylvia loved speaking poetry to the sculpted boy and dolphin, splashing in Cambridge winter silence, as she moved her shivered lips speaking to something who could listen without accents. She loved to daydream within the snow globe shadows. Plath would…

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