I have been fascinated by wildness and domesticity all my writing life. How we create a sense of wildness in relandscaping industrial areas, how we make it palatable, d8sconnected from the sense of danger.
Also, how we can challenge expectations by reversing the way we sense things. It was the one chosen by Alan, who honoured and humbled me by requesting I contribute.
Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?
Imagistic free verse. Intrigued by Matthew and The Black Bough who revived an emphasis on memorable images. Those that after hearing or reading surprise and delight us so much we take them home with us, ignited once more.
Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?
To give the reader pause to give the reader space to breathe air into the words to let the poem breathe to punctuate the spoken word
Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?
I used the first few words at the beginning so the title flows into the poem. I used the colloquial “sup a well earned” to give an air of relaxation, of restfulness, of pause, of end of the working dayness, hopefully dislocated by “a pint of soil”.
Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?
It is imagistic and instructional. It tells the reader what to do, but the instruction is nonsensical from a normative point of view. Soil should be a liquid. It reverses expectation. Hopefully, engages the imagination. If my own words do not continually surprise me, then they won’t the reader. It could be apocalyptic, the earth swallowing us, as we have swallowed it. It could be the death of us.
Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?
Superbly placed between a walk in salt marshes and the dispersal of seeds. Between two broad landscapes of words used to expand our sensory range, our topographical sensual vocabulary.
Q:7. Once they have read your poem what do you hope the reader will leave with?
Hopefully, it will ignite the reader’s own creativity and enable them to sense the world differently, if only for the briefest of moments.
When Alan asked for nature poems, I got the impression he wanted something rugged – but my existing nature poems were mostly lyrical. We’d just had a big storm (I live inland from the sea across grassy dunes, wind rages through the neighbouring pines ) so I started writing something new. Then I remembered a poem I’d written about the strange and wonderful, ever-changing but somehow still unchanging salt marsh, here where we both live, in Southport – it was longer than most publishers accept and I hadn’t really tried submitting it because of that – Alan confirmed that he was open to lyrical and I sent him ‘Larks Attending’ and a rather wistful tree poem by way of contrast, but also offered to write the storm. Happily, he plumped for the larks. I’m really pleased he chose it as it’s one of my favourite walks in nature and the larks are a seasonal joy.
Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?
‘Larks Attending ‘ is a re-creation of an experience in its own rhythm and nature. Its free form captures, I hope, the pace and motion I experienced on the particular salt marsh walk on the particular day that inspired me. I think anything more formal would have been too constrained, especially for the fizzing larks and the leaping loper.
Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?
There was no conscious use of white (or, in the case of draft one, cream with blue lines contained in a notebook!) space with this poem, so perhaps see it as just words being my footsteps on a pre existing path.
Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?
The title came immediately, summoned by the wonderful piece , ‘The Lark Ascending ‘ by Ralph Vaughan Williams, which evokes an individual lark’s ascent so sensuously. The breeding grounds on our salt marsh and the dunes behind the beaches shelter many larks whose combined ascent is more effusive than that of a lone nest’s guardian, but equally captivating.
Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?
A walk, related from start to finish, is inevitably strongly narrative, but imagery makes it the poem you now see. If I had to plump for one, I suppose it would have to be narrative because without the walk, there would be no poem.
Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?
Neither ending nor beginning, that’s a good place to be. Yes, I like being among. And it feels as if my poem marks a shift in style or tone, a contrast with much of what has gone before. It’s always good to be useful! To misquote William Morris: ‘Have nothing in your pamphlet that you do not know to be beautiful or believe to be useful.’
Q:7. Once they have read your poem, what do you hope the reader will leave with?
A smile.
Bios and Links
Mary Earnshaw
lives between England’s northwest coast and Lancashire’s mosslands. Her poetry, short fiction, and non-fiction have been published in a variety of print anthologies and journals. She’s been shortlisted for the Bridport Poetry Prize and the Julian Lennon Poetry Prize and is a featured author in Black Bough Poetry’s ‘Silver Branch’ series
Since 1993 Mary’s accompanied many archaeological expeditions in Zambia, inspiring her crime fiction novel, A Wake of Vultures. published by Cosi & Veyn (imprint of a small academic press, she was then running). A fan of letterpress printing and typesetting, she’s produced two handcrafted pamphlets: a retelling of Hans Andersen’s Little Match Girl (sold out) and Three Winter Tales of Darkness and Light. Mary recently completed a book based around visiting monastic ruins, which she describes as ‘a guilt trip, not a guidebook.’
I was honoured when Alan invited me to join The Whiskey Tree project. He explained that The Broken Spine was working on a poetry anthology that would embody the untamed spirit and wildness of nature. A theme of genuine interest to me and one which I often explore in my work in a broader ecological context. Despite this sizable body of nature-themed work, I felt compelled to create from ground-zero – poems crafted specifically with the brief “untamed nature” in mind. More so given the further directive from Alan that he was seeking a longer, narrative-driven piece to complement the shorter poems in the book.
I then set out to draft two poems with the view that one would be selected for inclusion. I envisioned the ocean as one focus and the desert as the theme for the second piece.
Why these areas? These two themes instinctively speak not only of nature but also the vagaries of the human condition. For me, the ocean is associated with origins and a source of nourishment – be it ecologically or spiritually. As we know, there’s a vast canon of contemporary work inspired by its majesty.
Likewise, the desert evokes an exploration of survival and the barren landscapes of existence. Its vastness, devoid of human life, as well as its biblical intersections, renders the desert a place of deep spiritual reflection. I was at the time, also reimagining T.S Eliot’s The Wasteland, whilst engaging a voice that succumbs in chasing an idealist world as depicted through images of desolation and mirage. As such, the microcosm conferred by the desert also speaks directly to the metaphysical realm. A complex entanglement between the psyche and an “otherness” involving relentless erosion, breaking and sometimes reconciliation.
After a month of drafting and refining, I submitted what I considered to be two expansive pieces that not only paid tribute to nature’s ruggedness but also addressed a wider commitment to our relationship with Earth. Poems which would feel visionary in language and imagery, in the same way the wild scapes they depicted evoke something beyond this temporal realm.
Ultimately, I enjoyed creating with the special brief in mind. I’m honoured that “The Great Desertification” was subsequently selected for publication alongside such fine contributions by the other poets in The Whiskey Tree project. A beautiful anthology which I foresee will present nature in an original, moving and timeless light for years to come.
Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?
As mentioned in Q:1 above, Alan expressed his wish for a longer narrative type poem to complement the shorter poems in the book. So yes, it’s a narrative free-verse poem. The type I actually lean towards in my work – a prose poem of sorts. I find the unconstrained nature allows the voice of the poem to take centrestage.
In a way, I had already imagined this form as the best medium for conveying the visions I had in mind for the brief. Something lengthier and lyrical in the way the words converse – a musicality that speaks to the rhythms of the natural world on a grander scale. The equivalent of a “poetic opus” if you like, as opposed to an étude.
Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?
For this particular brief, the priority was to establish a poetic voice that encompassed the wildness of nature, be it indirectly through a “speaker” or through use of vivid imagery and other literary devices.
Since this is a free-verse narrative poem, there is less emphasis on form (how the words and lines are spaced) and more focus on language. I retained a traditional five stanza structure which felt optimal in allowing the essence of the poem to flow with clarity. I believe the desired result was achieved by adopting this form.
There are instances where the whiteness of the page and unique spacing may enhance a particular poem – say for experimental visual poems where the spaces speak to what lies between the lines. Other times, keeping it simple and free of distractions works best. I felt that this was one of those occasions – i.e simplicity and clarity of flow over experimental form.
Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?
Well, “The Great Desertification” explores desert scapes in parallel with human desolation, neglect, displacement, spirituality, as well as our fragile symbiosis with Earth.
I wanted a title that embodied all these aspects, in particular the sense of abandonment, mental erosion and internal struggle – both physically and metaphorically. In addition to the “self” I hoped to address the notion of a wider “collective grief”. Something vast and ubiquitous to mankind.
The first word that came to mind given the theme was “desertification”. It captured all the existential elements above. And as we know, the word itself most commonly refers to the physical process by which fertile land becomes desert due to drought or deforestation.
I felt that this ecological rupture extended seamlessly to that of individuals on a spiritual and metaphysical level. And that the rupture is a universal and often deeply philosophical experience. Hence “The Great Desertification”. The “desertification” I addressed in the poem, also leaves poetic imprints of who we are as a race.
So the title came quite readily. Even before drafting the first stanza, it was on my mind, eliciting the vision I had for the poem.
Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?
Whilst “The Great Desertification” is more of a narrative poem, I instinctively placed imagery at the centre of my creative process. Imagery is an important ingredient in creating an atmospheric piece regardless of the type of poem.
I write from a place of complex emotion and find imagery paramount in relaying the mood of a poem in an engaging way. I.e. suggest rather than define. Find inventive ways to convey a story by using defamiliarization etc. As a reader, I find it is these unique aesthetics which can intensify the poem’s impact.
This brings me to a longstanding conversation I’ve been having with fellow poets along the way. To me, in an “effective” narrative poem, there is always an overlap. Narrative and imagery are thus not mutually exclusive. Think of a Venn diagram. The intersection is where the ideal balance lies – to abandon one set for the other would simply not work. The poem has to feel evocative and also carry a strong voice.
This is my approach to poetry in general and even in prose. At least in the way of achieving the kind of piece I enjoy reading. Other people may prefer something more direct – but that is personal taste. Those familiar with my prose will know it leans towards poetic prose, examples of which can be found in my published stories.
Likewise, when crafting a narrative poem like “The Great Desertification”, one needs to leverage on both areas and use intuition as a guide. Each poem is different and will tell you what is needed as it unfolds.
Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?
I think it is very thoughtfully placed. I like how the resurrected birch in Morag Anderson’s preceding poem “Your Mother Stands on the North-East Side of the House after Zaffar Kunial” subtly reflects the “gleaming resurrections” in “The Great Desertification”. Likewise, the “utterly unpeopled” fisherman’s path at the start of Mary Earnshaw’s “Larks Attending” feels like a continued journey of introspection out of “The Great Desertification” – with a certain spatial timelapse in between of course.
These are, of course, very subtle connections, which in a way mimic the interstices of nature and our ecosystems. On the other hand, each poem is also distinct. A self reflection of its own.
It is this intrinsic weft made up of individual fragments, which runs through the arc of the collection. No matter where you begin reading, it feels like a step into the wilderness. One which comes almost spontaneously yet feels seamlessly organic in the way the collection’s arc progresses and the way the poems interact. A beautifully curated anthology which personifies the spirit of nature and our ever changing place within it.
Q:7. Once they have read your poem, what do you hope the reader will leave with?
Interesting question. I think with art and poetry, many of us turn to it as catharsis and a form of reflection. I would like to think my poem fulfils these gaps in the reader’s life and also empowers them to connect with the given subject at a deeper level.
Now, with this specific poem in The Whiskey Tree, I’d of course, hope it transports them into the vivid scapes I envisioned. Makes them pause to assimilate the details and word choices – query what they mean in the context of nature and also the humanscape. Leave with a bit of that meditation embedded in their mind – namely the ruminative expanse of the desert and what it reveals of ourselves. Also, I’d hope it is a poem they would return to time and again. One that feels layered and that raises new questions.
I think read in its entirety, the collection feels transformative, and each of our poems is a deeply evocative experience in that transformation. One that brings a heightened awareness of nature’s forces and also our place in the greater scheme of existence.
On this final note, I’m thankful to our editor, Alan Parry, and all the contributors for making the project a special and memorable journey.
Bio and Links
Vikki C.
is a British-born ‘Best of The Net’ nominated author, poet and musician whose work explores the intersections of science, ecology, existentialism and the human condition.
She is the author of THE ART OF GLASS HOUSES (Alien Buddha Press, 2022) – a chapbook reimagining the liminal spaces of memory, heritage, and the metaphysical.
Her first full-length collection WHERE SANDS RUN FINEST (DarkWinter Press) has just been released in late January 2024.
Vikki’s poetry and prose appear or are forthcoming in EcoTheo Review, The Belfast Review, Ice Floe Press, Black Bough Poetry, Nightingale & Sparrow, Acropolis Journal, Boats Against The Current, DarkWinter Literary Magazine, Origami Poems, Jerry Jazz Musician, Mythic Picnic, Fevers Of The Mind Poetry & Art, Ellipsis Zine, Across The Margin, The Write-In (National Flash Fiction Day), Literary Revelations, Loft Books, Lazuli Literary Group, Salò Press, Igneus Press and other venues.
She was a finalist in the Jerry Jazz Musician 63rd Short Fiction Contest (August 2023).
Having spent the past six months researching the Scottish Witchcraft Act of 1563 – 1736 and the thousands of women executed as a result, my poetry focus of late has been on the mistreatment of women. My submission to Untamed Nature was penned specifically for the project.
Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?
I chose sonnet form because I wanted the character in the poem, your young mother, to discover a love for herself and make a stand against the violence of her life. The volta arrives on line nine.
Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?
I wanted to keep my poem contained within 14 lines to enhance the sense of confinement. After the initial violence, the white space of the first stanza break is necessary relief. The gathering of energy in the second stanza insists on a pause for reflection. In this space, I imagine the central character slowing her breath, squaring her shoulders, and standing up. The white spaces are places of safety and strength.
Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?
Oh, that’s a bit more difficult to answer. Given the energy in my poem, shorter titles I tried seemed weak. Birch trees are strong and beautiful, they have a willfulness to grow where other trees struggle. I learned that they prefer the shaded north-east side of buildings. That gave me my title.
Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?
Great question. I may have to fence-sit and say a 50/50 split. The narrative came first but, without imagery, may have passed unheard. When writing the poem, the sky was a slow drag of persistent gunmetal. Clouds of grey mohair gave me nimbostratus bruises plume under woollen cuffs. The imagery and narrative are co-dependent.
Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?
l am bookended by two very muscular poems. Karen Pierce Gonzalez offers a firm hand in her closing stanza, I will help you out of the muck, while Vikki C promises I will be made new outside this skin in her opening line. The positioning of my poem in this collection is perfect.
Q:7. Once they have read your poem, what do you hope the reader will leave with?
Each time I read this poem, I feel courageous. It reminds me to trust in my ability to bend with the wind, not break. Even in bleak straits, it is possible to keep an eye on the wider view. I hope the reader feels something similar.
Bio and Links
Morag Anderson
is a Scottish poet. Her debut chapbook, Sin Is Due to Open in a Room Above Kitty’s is published by Fly on the Wall Press (2021) and her second chapbook, And I Will Make of You a Vowel Sound, will be published in May 2024.
Her poetry has appeared in literary journals and anthologies including Butcher’s Dog, Finished Creatures, Gutter, The Scotsman, The Broken Spine, Popshot Quarterly, Beyond the Swelkie, Cruinneachadh, and Best Scottish Poems 2021. The Scottish Poetry Library has commissioned several pieces of work.
She won the Aryamati Poetry Chapbook Prize 2023, was placed in the Oxford Brookes International Poetry Competition 2021, the Edwin Morgan Trust Competition 2021, and has been twice shortlisted for the Bridport Poetry Prize
In 2023, Morag was the Makar of the Federation of Writers (Scotland) and poet-in-residence for the Birnam Book Festival. She was featured poet at the 2022 Emily Dickinson Museum Phosphorescence Poetry Reading Series.
The Wombwell Rainbow 