Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

I wrote ‘Allochory’ especially in response to Alan’s call for poems. Or rather, when that invitation came I found that a poem, which had been circling around in my thoughts, had found its purpose.
I live in the Highlands of Scotland above the Cromarty firth, at the foot of a mountain, and so the closeness; the beauty and the fierceness of climate and environment are part of everyday living for me. If the first rule of finding a subject in poetry is to look out your window, I’m off to a flying start. But more than that, this place also calls out a kind of gathering behaviour in me. I’m alert to the opportunities that might kiss themselves to me as poems, be it watching the way a blackbird fanflicks its tail when landing on the fence in front of my house; or spotting the still wet warm hollow left by a deer’s hoof in the woodlands beside us. All of this happens alongside my awareness of the news of the rest of the world; and knowing that it can be challenging for people, and all life, in the other places that share this planet.
Having become fascinated recently by the activity of trees in their persistence in sustainment, including innovating ways to spread their seeds, I felt that a poem, which spoke to that idea of nature both as a wilful force and a collaborative prophecy of possibility, refuting all that would deaden life (all that ruin and decay that we name as natural, so often aided by our own alien actions, but which is only part of nature’s cycle, which also includes resurgence and regeneration) would be good for this moment. I felt the poem brought a necessary story, that these wonder birds, the jays, making their need for seed food a gift, becoming a cooperation with oak trees; taking up and storing their acorns, then forgetting just enough of them, leaving them buried to grow into new woodlands. All the light in it.

Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?

For me, even before I start drafting a poem, the form it might take starts suggesting itself. This may change, and often does as I write. I write fast for the initial draft, and in the case of this poem the free verse format became evident as I spilled its words onto the page. The whole notion of allochory; a force of hopeful regeneration propelled by flight and then ‘grounding’, echoed in a narrative voice that transgresses linear time, required freedom. This was intensified as I edited that first scatter of the poem, which I did as I usually do, by reading the poem out to myself; listening for that all important quality in every poem – breath.

Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?

The poem parries between a formal arrangement of three-line stanzas and darting lines where I hoped to intimate the to and fro movements of the jays who are the agents of allochory – seed scatter – flitting between the feet of the oaks (where the acorns they seek are found), and their hoarding sites. In inviting readers to follow these movements as they read I’d also imagined introducing some sensation of the poem’s voice, it’s ease with transgressing linear time, connoting a bridge of memories that we might recognise, but which also cannot be ours, because they are deeper in time than us. All of this suggested information – not written directly in the poem, at all – requires space and breath in order for it to emerge. Leaving that space on the page is all a poet can do, really, printing an impression of thoughts distilled into the words of each line

Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?

I decided to call the poem ‘Allochory’ because it is a striking word. Being the scientific term for dispersal of seeds by animals or birds, it is derived from Greek and so also, I felt, offered that sense of an ‘outganger’ word, uncanny and perhaps mythological. In this respect, the action of assisting seed dispersal becomes something more; enters into the arena of metaphor. I felt this ‘outwith’ present paradigms quality enhanced the tone of the poem as a narrative of care, and as a prophecy of hope and possibility.

Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?

I think the composition of this poem is led by the alignment between these two elements. The part of the Highlands of Scotland where I live sits at the confluence of several important watery navigation routes, and this has supported the coming together of a rich linguistic legacy. This local languaging is rich in compound words and words that act as imagistic routeways across linguistic boundaries. This marries with a time-deep oral tradition of sharing news and information in stories. Still, today, you will hear people in coffee shops and on buses sharing the pleasure of furnishing time spent together with stories. It’s a kind of social grooming; sustaining the bonds of fortitude for life lived through northern winters. I think my poem is borne out of this Ross-shire voicing; referencing the innovation in both describing the material and the abstract, and in sharing a narrative that brings traditional framing to present-day concerns – how our ecologies are being threatened by our own seduction into economies of extractivism and exploitation; how this takes us from sustainment (leaving us with parched imaginations), and an idea of how we might refute this, choosing more collaborative, hopeful possibilities.

Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?

It’s uncanny isn’t it how these individual poems, drafted in all the airts and pairts of this wide world have become such evident companions. That’s the gift of having an excellent editor! I really appreciate the rhythm of the collection travelling the intimated routeways from the sea to the inland fraying of watercourses, or their absence, over terrains that we imagine as loamful or desert. There is a journey here, and a kind of terrible hardness of beauty too – always in balance with the truth of what we are living today, queasy with the knowledge of our impact on all the life that we are given to share this above all natural world with. The pacing of the shorter incantations and observations alongside longer poems is so beautifully executed. I am particularly pleased that ‘Allochory’ is bookended by the brilliantly upending of the sustained yet succinctly executed metaphor of Paul Brookes’ ‘Sup a Well Earned’ – inviting us to drench ourselves in the groundtruth of our relationship with nature, and the warning in it – and Matthew M C Smith’s deeply relational narrative ache; an entreaty, pleading the healing of the ‘humming trails of the flower field’, ‘the unstoppering of water’. Each poem feel like an empathetic friend alongside my own poem’s intimations.

Q:7. Once they have read your poem what do you hope the reader will leave with?

While Allochory might evoke some stark thoughts concerning our surrender to recognising our own smallness, ultimately, in front of the innovative persistence of life apart from, indeed, in spite of the consequences of our human failings to recognise that we cannot tame nature, I hope that it also assembles its words into imagining ourselves collaborators for more possible futures; planting oaks like jays.

Bios and Links

Cait O’Neil McCullagh

A Highland-Irish archaeologist and anthropologist, and child of migrants (with a pen thirsty for words about place and people, and becoming into belonging), Cáit has been writing poetry, at home in Ross-shire, since December 2020. Since that time more than 70 of her poems have been published widely in print and online. She also writes essays and articles, and her work has been stowed into anthologies alongside pieces by A L Kennedy, Irvine Welsh, Kathleen Jamie, and others whose works have populated her own reading for more than a few years. Cáit enjoys being invited to perform her ework at festivals and other literary gatherings, both in-person and virtually. A Co-winner of Dreich Press’ ‘Classic Chapbook 2022’, In 2023, she received a Saboteur Award, and was longlisted for the Bridport Prize. Her first full-length poetry collection, invited by Drunk Muse Press, will be published in June 2024. She continues to outrun cancer, first diagnosed in the spring of 2022.

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

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.

Bios and Links

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

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

https://www.blackboughpoetry.com/mary-earnshaw  With three other Merseyside poets, she co-authored Belisama, published by Dreich, which won a competition for a ‘new alliance’ of poets.

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.’

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

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).

Follow her on Twitter at @VWC_Writes

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

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.

X: @morag_caimbeul

Publisher: Fly on the Wall Press

Scottish Poetry Library

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

What a great question!
When the invitation came, I felt the ears of a few poems perk up. Still shrouded in fog, lingering on sandstone outcrops of expression, they leaned over the jagged cliff of my awareness and jumped onto the page. What else could I do, but follow their trail?

Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?

Initially, this narrative was a running one to just keep up with the flow of information/sensations.
But because many people may not know about Olmec deities, I realized I needed to slow the content down so people could take it in whether or not they were familiar with this magnificent creature.
Choosing to do it in parts allowed both me as the narrator and the readers/listeners who would follow the lines on the page and opportunity to pause and reflect/take in more deeply what was being ‘said’.

Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?

The whiteness is background music upon which the words (lyrics) are written (by a non-musician) in sync with the beats of my breath. (After all, it really is a song). There are times, such as in this piece, where too much focus or interplay with the background dilutes/distracts the immediacy of the words.

Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?

This may have been my most intentionally strategic moment. I wanted to capture in as few words as possible this poem’s mythical time and space; anchor it in pre-Mesoamerica (Olmec) cosmology, gambling that the curious would take time to look up the word Olmec. More important to me, however, was how to handle the potential obscurity of Cipactli. I decided to make this being as accessible as possible by first introducing it as Crocodile, which most people are familiar with.

Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?

Honestly, my first task was to capture the basic heartbeat (pulse) and then, with focus, to flush out that tone with as much specific imagery (physicality) as felt necessary.

Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?

God, Paul, I hope you don’t think I’m ‘way out there’ but my responses are true to my thinking & understanding of the way of the world. So:
In the #6 spot, this poem is near the collection’s midpoint, which is between the book’s heaven and earth. A fitting place for a supranatural (not supernatural) meeting of human and deity. I think Alan did a masterful job of weaving the 14 poem strands together.

Q:7. Once they have read your poem, what do you hope the reader will leave with?

My hope is that readers experience a sense of the relationship (interconnectedness) of all things seen and unseen. That such interplay, which keeps us evolving, can be both harsh and wondrous.

Bios and Links

Karen Pierce Gonzalez

is an award-winning writer whose work has appeared in numerous print and online publications, radio shows, and podcasts. Her chapbooks include Coyote in the Basket of My Ribs (Kelsay Books), True North and Sightings from a Star Wheel (Origami Poems Project), and forthcoming Down River with Li Po (Black Cat Poetry Press). Writing credits also include several short plays staged through Fringe Festival of Marin (USA).

With degrees in creative writing, anthropological linguistics, and folklore, she is also a former journalist and folklore columnist who now hosts a quarterly ‘Get Ekphrastic with Folk Art’ blogzine on FolkHeart Press. Other current projects include a series of videos based upon 1) original folktales/legends and 2) imagined prequels/sequels to fables and fairy tales.

Her visual artistry focuses primarily upon assemblage art based upon elements found in nature (tree bark, bird nests, etc.). To date, 50+ of her art pieces, including six cover images, have been or are scheduled to be published in a range of literary journals/magazines.

And she gets to do all that in the verdant rural landscape of San Francisco’s North Bay.


Links: linktr.ee/KPGFolkHeart

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

I took a chance on a poem that came from a dream. I had always liked it because it framed a moment and a feeling for me, and I wanted to see if it would resonate with anyone else. I love that it did!

Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?

No particular choice was made, but I could see it needed to be two stanzas as it evolved because I wanted to break the poem into two different parts with a definite pause to it.

I changed the line breaks when I spotted that some of the images I had originally seen as one thing spoiled the look on the page. They also slowed the poem down when split, which made it a win-win!

Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?

I was happy with the way the two stanza format sat on the page. I hadn’t planned for the lines to make it look jagged, but I rather liked this when I noticed and felt it reflected the antlers!

Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?

I took the main image from the poem and used this like a label for the title. I asked myself if I would read a poem with this title to check it worked.

Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?

For me there always has to be a narrative and a story based meaning in my poetry, but I like to be as sharp as I can on the images with the hope the reader gets a glimpse of what it looks like to me. Narrative comes naturally to me, but I have to check my imagery.

Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?

I just love the fact it is there.

Q:7. Once they have read your poem, what do you hope the reader will leave with?

A desire to read it again. A sense of the layers to the poem.

Bios and Links

Sue Finch’s

first poetry collection, ‘Magnifying Glass’, was published in 2020, and her second full collection is due to be published in Spring 2024. Her poems have also appeared in a number of online magazines. She loves the coast, peculiar things and the scent of ice-cream freezers. ‘Vortex Over Wave’ was published in 2023 and features a selection of her #ElasticBandPhotos and poems for the full moon. You can often find her on Twitter @soopoftheday.

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

A number of concerns have dominated my poems in recent years: the family; the body and ageing; nature under threat; Dublin’s topography. Given the overall theme of the chapbook, I looked at those poems that address the climate crisis which were written since the publication of my most recent collection, Liffey Sequence, in 2021. I submitted three of these for consideration.

Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?

My first impulse is always toward free verse. I play freely on the page with thoughts, images, sounds, verbal clusters. It’s only once a certain ‘critical mass’ has been accumulated that I begin to play with form, so I guess I’m a believer in getting the clay onto the potter’s wheel before shaping the artefact. While I rarely go for preconceived forms or full-on rhyme, qualities such as rhythm, assonance and other acoustics are key to a poem’s evolution.

Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?

In some of my poems, I’m very aware of how the poem will appear on the page, and play with the interaction between type and silence. In others, this interaction isn’t a consideration. ‘Cutting the Turf’ is among the latter, though I’d hope the regularity of line-length to some extent mirrors the laying out of parallel rails of wet turf.

Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?

There’s a fine tradition of harnessing the ambivalence of the gerund in English poetry – think of Seamus Heaney’s ‘Seeing Things’, which hovers between both being objective and hallucinating, or Philip Larkin’s ‘Church Going’, which covers both the poet’s activity and the state of disuse of the chapel visited. In much the same way, ‘Cutting the Turf’ may be read as purely descriptive of the time-honoured process described – the Irish tradition of cutting and saving turf as a fuel from the local bog. This tradition is under fire as hazardous both to the local ecology and to the climate, so that the activity is in conflict with EU directives that we should be ‘cutting the (usage of) turf’. A ban is in place on the commercial harvesting of our bogs.

Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?

Interesting question. Having recently gained first-hand experience of the contemporary process in rural Kerry, I wanted to capture the various stages involved – bogs are no longer initially dug by hand, but the laborious technique of stacking the turf in ‘stooks’ to dry out the sods persists. At every stage I looked for imagery that might suggest something pernicious to nature, culminating in the stooks viewed as “box-braids/ on the scalp of the drying bog”. There is an ecological drive to re-wild and rewet Irish bogs which has run into considerable localised resistance.

Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?

The order in which a poet, or editor, places the poems of a collection or anthology is always of interest. Different resonances are set off depending on which poems are placed contiguously to a given poem. This is not just a matter of themes – considerations such as voice or point-of-view, form and length also come into play. I was interested, and pleased, to find ‘Cutting the Turf’, which hints at the ecologically damaging practice of draining native bogland, was placed between two poems which have an arid setting – the ‘red soil, the too yellow-green scrub’ of Colorado in Jay Rafferty’s ‘Doghouse’ and the ‘orangey-yellow expanse’ of sand in Sue Finch’s ‘Desert Antlers’. The theme is later taken up in Vikki C’s ‘The Great Desertification’ and Paul Brookes’ ‘Sup A Well Earned’ Indeed, the final word of the chapbook is ‘wilderness’.

Q:7. Once they have read your poem what do you hope the reader will leave with?

Poetry, as Auden famously stated, makes nothing happen. To imagine that by articulating unease about climate change, say, a poet might in some way effect change in a reader’s politics is fanciful. That said, perhaps the point of poetry is precisely to ‘make happen’ an ambient ‘nothing’ – a space that allows the chosen subject to stand out for contemplation. If the reader comes away with an awareness of my thoughts on experiencing contemporary turf cutting practices, I’d consider the poem a success.

Bio and Links

David Butler

(born 1 January 1964) is an Irish novelist, short story writer, playwright, poet and actor. He has won several literary prizes, such as the Ted McNulty Award from Poetry Ireland and the Féile Filíochta International Award and the Fish Short Story Award.

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

When Alan told me about the theme I went back into my poems, thought I might have something that fit. I ended up picking ‘The Doghouse’ for submission as it’s kinda a meditation on the landscape, a rundown shack you see out your window when you’re zooming past on the road. I remember seeing that building or what was left of it just outside of Denver, no other buildings around for a few miles. At the time, I just wrote a few notes, the colour of the soil, the dog nearby, the sound of the insects at night. It worked out in the end as a kind of reclamation poem, the landscape un-taming itself. The only human involvement left being the wasting remains and the dog that’s trained to sit by the hearth
I thought it seemed to fit the call.

Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?

This poem is free verse as most of my work is. I find it less constraining being unbound by traditional form, rhyme scheme or meter.

Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?

I don’t think too much of the empty space in a poem or experimenting much with the page format, but I have been fighting the fear of the long line. My early work looked like a bean pole! I think ‘Doghouse’ is a happy medium. I am cautious about leaving too much of the page blank. A page needs more pulp sometimes.

Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?

I have a standard rule when I’m naming poems: If you can’t make it clever make it simple. I don’t think there could have been a better name for this piece than a “say-what-you-see” title.

Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?

Absolutely imagery. Colorado is gorgeous and so alien to an outsider. The soil by itself is a whole pallette of dark blue-greens and straw yellows and iron reds. That landscape in a freeze frame, like a blurred photograph of the roadside when you’re going 60 MPH. That’s what I was aiming to capture. There’s no story here except a dog sleeping in the ruins of a shack.

Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?

I don’t particularly think about where my poetry comes in a journal. Manuscripts are a different story but what matters for me mostly is the company the poem keeps and in TWT ‘Doghouse’ is in very good company.

Q:7. Once they have read your poem, what do you hope the reader will leave with?

Apparently the average person considers a single painting in a museum or a gallery for 15-30 seconds.
Every image in this painting, every colour in the soil, every insect screech, every plank and slate got mushed together into a few lines. I was careful. I tried to get it all right or as close to what I saw as possible. It was beautiful.
If a reader considers it, imagines something close to what I saw for 15-30 6 least, I’ll be happy with that.

Bio and Links

Jay Rafferty

is a redhead, an uncle, and an eejit. He is a guest lecturer on Irish Literature and a Programme Committee member for The John Hewitt Society. He is also the author of two published chapbooks, Holy Things (The Broken Spine, 2022) & Strange Magic (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). You can read his poetry, essays, and reviews in several journals, including FU Review Berlin, An Áitiúil Anthology, Unstamatic and HOWL New Irish Writing.

Q:1. How did you decide on what poems to send?

I was appointed Poet Laureate of the town, Bellmullet, in North Mayo in 2021. It’s a beautiful wild and rugged part of Ireland. The poem I sent in was one of a few poems I wrote about the area so I felt it was very suitable for this anthology.

Q:2. What poetic form did it take, and why?

It took the form of couplets, no major reason why, that’s just how it went from my head to pen to paper.

Q:3. How did you use the whiteness of the page in your poem?

I didn’t think about how I used the whiteness on the page. It just is.

Q:4. How did you decide on the title of your poem?

I wanted the poem to be a blessing from Mayo, hence the title.

Q:5. Imagery, or narrative. Which was more important to you in writing the poem?

Both were as important as each other. I wanted to use imagery from the Wild Atlantic Way to write a blessing to anyone who is grieving.

Q:6. What do you think of where your poem is placed in the collection?

I’m very happy with where it is in the collection. It’s a privilege to be included alongside some very fine poets.

Q:7. Once they have read your poem what do you hope the reader will leave with?

I hope it will console the reader in some way if they are grieving and for the general reader that they are left with a sense of the healing power of the wilderness and maybe it might entice some to come and explore the wild and wonderful west of Ireland!

Bios and Links

Anne Walsh Donnelly

lives in the west of Ireland. She writes poetry, prose, and plays. She describes her writing process as ‘Bungee jumping, naked, off the Cliffs of Moher.’ Her poetry is wild and wonderful, honest and brave.

She was shortlisted for the Hennessy/Irish Times New Irish Writing Award in 2019 and selected for the Poetry Ireland Introduction Series in the same year.

She was awarded a Words Ireland Mentorship in 2020 and a bursary from the Dublin Gay Theatre Festival.

Her first full length poetry collection, ‘Odd as F*ck,’ is published by Fly On The Wall Poetry Press in May, 2021

She is the author of the poetry chapbook, “The Woman With An Owl Tattoo” (Fly On The Wall Poetry Press, 2019), which is a reflection on her growth since the ending of her marriage, an exploration of her sexuality and coming out in mid-life. The collection was awarded second prize in the International Poetry Book Awards in 2020.

She is also the author of the short story collection, “Demise of the Undertaker’s Wife” (Blue Nib, 2019).

Anne travels purposely in life towards an as-yet-unknown destination.

See her website for more information – http://www.annewdonnelly.com