This sounds like so much fun — New Zealand's talking post boxes spout poetry!

The well-versed mail boxes are fitted with a heat sensitive "gadget" developed by a Dunedin company. When the sender's hand reaches into the slot, a recorded voice calls out "cheers" or "hang on a minute".
Seconds later, one of eight New Zealand poets – Kate Camp, Jo Randerson, Geoff Cochrane, Peter Bland, J C Sturm, Vincent O'Sullivan, Glenn Colquhoun or Dinah Hawken – begin reading one of their works. »

I want one ... in every city!
- posted by Ivy @ 9:47 AM ¦ | ¦

 
If you can't annoy somebody, there is little point in writing.
—Kingsley Amis

I wonder how true that is.

At this Wednesday's Poetry Ireland reading, the man sitting next to me said, 'I'm so glad you turned up. I thought I'd be the only one here under seventy.' I noticed he didn't stay very long. From his conversation, I gather he preferred a far more dynamic, energetic sort of performance poetry, while that evening it was quieter, more reflective.

Bantering and quips were inserted between poems. This put me to mind of a bet I once made with another writer at the National Young Writers Festival in Newcastle. We had been observing how a lot of performance poetry seemed to believe that their reading's success (or how the poet/performer perceives as success) is dependent on making the audience laugh. On being more like a stand-up comedian than a poet.

I said to her (foolhardy me, full of hubris), I don't need to make them laugh. I can make them react without being funny.

So we bet. She dared me. Go up there, get a reaction, without cracking wise, without a note of funny.

The guy before me was funny. No way could I followed it up with more humour. I took the best course, I think.

I grossed them out. I read out the most visceral, horrible (as in full of horrific detail), unflinching work there was to hand, and I had them in my thrall.

Hanging on to my every word. I could see it and I knew it. I could feel it in the room.

When I went back to my seat, my friend just looked at me and nodded, the tiniest of smiles playing on her face.

Fantastic.

And it was actually better to come after the funny guy, because he provided the contrast.

The way I saw it, we were there for the writing, for the poetry. Poetry's not necessarily a stand-up comic act.



According to rumour, the novel competition a friend and I entered has not seen us in the running. Ah, well, back to the writing desk.
- posted by Ivy @ 12:01 AM ¦ | ¦

 
From 'wink':

someone crosses the room
the threshold and out
moving off, as if after a kiss. Goodbye,
and the clouds intercede, the sun pours
over the earth a warm air
that sticks to the walls
long after the rays
wink behind the mountain

Writing seems as distant as summer sometimes.

All I have in the mail is a letter from an editor who can't recall my contribution to his journal. I guess it's no wonder, as it was sent a year ago. I was just nudging him for a response. Yea or nay, I say. Since he couldn't remember, it was agreed I should hand in another batch. Sometime.

Someone saw my poems and article in the mag I sent my stuff to some weeks ago. Yay! Sounds like the ed gave it a one-page spread or something, with my picture and all. So some good news.

One particular correspondence from last year always amuses me:

Wooooh
that was a close one Ivy
i nearly took one for the next issue, but just hesitated finally - dunno why. they're
good poems....But please send some more stuff to us soon. sorry for the slow response too...

'Slow' here means over one year's wait. No, really, it's funny. But what I want to know is, which one? And what made it close? I guess I might never know.
- posted by Ivy @ 5:44 PM ¦ | ¦

 
From 'Her skin's movement':

Pare that skin tidily off
her belly and back,
loosen its fibrous grip.
Break ankles, wrists
for her feet and hands.
Sharply circumnavigate her hips,
pull the skin free
from her legs.

- posted by Ivy @ 4:15 PM ¦ | ¦

 
Most writers regard the truth as their most valuable possession, and therefore are most economical in its use.
—Mark Twain

In truth, I have not been so, completely. I do talk between poems. But I try to have it as non-intrusive as possible, more like brackets than preambles: 'This poem is called...', 'The second poem I will read tonight is titled...', 'I will read two more poems...' and 'This last poem is called...'

I know I am not a confident improviser when I am up on stage, so I choose simplicity, as there's less chance of things going wrong. So far it's worked. I've not been told that I should have more stories between my poems, not been asked to explain anything. The lengthiest interjection I've made is to explain the meaning of a foreign word I'd used, and even then people said to me they could have picked up the meaning from the poem.

There are notable poets of whom I've had the pleasure of enjoying a performance of their work. A literary festival some years ago in Tasmania showcased the talents of the then relatively-unknown Simon Armitage and Kate Clanchy, both strong readers of their work. Armitage chose a dramatic final piece and it made quite an impact on me. I can still remember, imperfectly I'm sure, lines, images from that poem.

The chocolate coin of the moon
The gold coin of the sun

Kate Clanchy followed and her reading was remarkable, more a recitation, a chanting. I am in awe of poets who can memorise their work because they gain a freedom in which to directly engage with the audience, empowering them with immediacy and, I don't know, charisma. Clanchy's presence seemed to grow exponentially with every word she spoke, a dark energy flowing around her. When I bought her book, I was surprised with its lack of ornateness, by its almost ordinariness. It was her reading that brought it to life.

Other poets who are excellent readers of their work: MML Bliss, Anthony Lawrence, eric beach, Geoff Goodfellow (all Australian), and Deryn Rees-Jones, from Wales. The latter has an exceptionally lovely cadence in her speaking voice, part of the allure of the unheard-of accent, I think.

Last year, Lemn Sissay, Knute Odegaard and Liz McSkeane stood out among the many poets I saw and heard at the Dublin Writers Festival. They were charming, powerful, engaging and never let us off the hook with their gentle, forceful, varied assault of words, of poetry.



I've been enjoying the writing over at The Poetry of Place. Poets, poets, poets!
- posted by Ivy @ 3:48 PM ¦ | ¦

 

Silk threads wind-jostled
red leaf caught between the bars
soft saw-tooth ripples

- posted by Ivy @ 5:52 PM ¦ | ¦

 
Writers have two main problems. One is writer's block, when the words won't come at all, and the other is logorrhea, when the words come so fast that they can hardly get to the wastebasket in time.
—Cecilia Bartholomew

My high school English teacher used to describe a talkative person as having verbal diarrhoea. Ick.

I looked in on the Kerry Hardie and Joan McBreen reading last night at the new Poetry Ireland premises. Both are, it goes without saying, quite accomplished poets.

Hardie read her work seated behind a table, interspersing her poems with anecdotes about her previous residencies. These anecdotes set the scene for the poems, though I'm not too sure hearing these added anything. In the end, while I was happy to listen, I don't think I got much out of her work, which didn't have the immediacy of impact I prefer.

McBreen delivered her work standing up, though still behind that darned table. She seemed at ease, though belied by a slight and occasional stutter, which became more frequent during preambles to poems, when she was grasping for the right word. McBreen also tended not to emphasise between what was a poem and preamble, neither pitch nor pause appearing to differentiate between the two. To her I would also advise to be more definite about the ending of the poem.

Still, I must admit that she told a quite significant story last night about a moment that took place between her and poet Medbh McGuckian (if memory serves... she named a number of poets):

Somehow I found myself asking her, How do you do it? How can you be both a mother and a poet? Now she and I remember this. She looked at me. She looked and looked, and I looked at her, and her eyes filled up.

To be honest, I do feel a measure of guilt when assessing their reading as performance. I am certain they would be ill-at-ease at the thought, and would argue with me that they are there to deliver the poem, not perform it (though I don't know, and how can I presume?). Nevertheless, I disliked the barrier between the reader and the audience, which the table presented. To me, it looked as if they were hidden behind it. Better to be in front. And McBreen read more poems than Hardie, and therefore seemed to go on too long.

(Aside) Why is there not some discreet signal agreed upon in advance, like miming a throatslash, for instance, so that the poet knows when to stop, thus preventing the shuffles and creaks of an audience too far gone into the Land of Inattention?

(Further aside) And how I wanted to be the one in front! Reading my poems! Let me do it!

Perhaps I am too critical, but having been to a few readings, I am quite definite about what I like. I had wondered if either Hardie or McBreen themselves went to poetry readings with a view to assessing which style works for them.

I did learn from Hardie a gracious way to invite the late stragglers in:

Would you like to sit down?

thus letting me know that she was not inward-looking and was, in fact, paying attention to the audience.

I whinge too much. I really did enjoy the outing.

In separate instances, Tom and Hannah recently discussed the relationship between the preamble and the poem. Tom writes,

Well, I suppose some musicians do talk between songs in live shows. They don't get to talk between songs on the radio. The song is still the song. I think the talking between poems is part of the poet's attempt to establish a relationship with the audience. Do comics talk to the audience between bits? Or are their bits their talking? How hard can you push the audience before losing them?

I like Tom's point here. So, how and why is introducing a poem different to introducing a song? Yet, are they different? Would I be similarly annoyed by the singer who gives a who-cares introduction ('I wrote this for my lover while we were sitting in the bath')? Perhaps the thing for the performer to remember is, don't trespass too much on the audience. And, 'Is what I'm about to say go into the too-much-information category?' That said, pushing the audience, done the right way, can be fun.

Hannah raises a provoking thought,

that after having read poetry, we would seek out prose to deepen, to amplify the experience. »

My response is to ask further questions. If poetry is a distilled form of prose (is it?), then why use prose to dilute the experience? Does it dilute?

Okay, I think I have logorrhea.
- posted by Ivy @ 7:13 PM ¦ | ¦

 
The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them.
—Mark Twain (1835-1910)

In response to Tuesday's post about reading poetry with or without preamble, biographical or otherwise, Dave warns that

potentially obscure references should be briefly explained in advance - the sort of things that might be included in notes. One faces always the difficulty of how much knowledge to presume upon: is this audience likely to be biblically literate? If the point of the poem hinges on knowing the difference between crows and ravens, or understanding something about quantum physics, will they get it? Also, depending on the density (specific gravity?) of the poems, there is merit to the argument that you just can't expect people to grasp them completely with one listen. That's O.K., of course: the sound and superficial meaning should be engrossing enough. But some of my most supportive fans actually prefer to have photocopies to refer to during a reading. So I do recommend trying that approach - at least if you have a way to get free photocopies.

To which I replied,

Then I think this goes back to choosing (or pitching) the appropriate poems for a reading.

Say if your audience is academic, they are more likely to have a greater attention span and more open to denser works, compared to if you were to give a reading at a pub, where you can instantaneously lose an audience with too much waffle or obscurity, and not enough sparkiness to keep them attentive.

As for giving away photocopies of poems, that's also another option. One could also try projecting words on a screen.

In addition, there's much to be said about hearing the poet's voice read their own work. I know that once I've heard the poet, their voice, their particular rhythm and speech patterns colours the way I hear&read (a peculiar synaesthesia, if that's the right word) the poem on the page.

I would also add that while you might get a bit of leeway from one person, another will just dismiss you out of hand because it just doesn't work for them. All this just reinforces the cliché that you can't please everyone.

This is, of course, different to the poem on the page, where your reader, if they don't get something and hasn't closed the book on you already, might be sufficiently intrigued to consult another oracular source for illumination.

I'm probably regurgitating old arguments here, but still, I find this discussion quite intriguing. I believe the performance aspect of poetry tends to be overlooked.



I just received this notice in my email:

Poetry Reading by Ciaran Carson
Thursday 26th February at 7pm
Entry: €10 / €5 conc.
For tickets and to pre order signed books, please contact the Irish Writers Centre.

Hmm, I'd love to go. Something to learn, maybe. I'll have to save up my Euros.
- posted by Ivy @ 5:50 PM ¦ | ¦

 
Non-poetry related but cool — I ♥ my new Trackback! Haloscan are ace.
- posted by Ivy @ 11:33 PM ¦ | ¦

 
I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.
—Jorge Luis Borges

Please don't think that because I quote the greats that it means I've read them. So many books, so little time. But I guess my Paradise will have to wait.

An initial invitation for poems and a quick'n'dirty article has transformed into an extended request for more poems. So I sent off three. Here's an excerpt from 'money equals debt':

tap tap needles — you're inked by

time and I'm your tic,
moving nerves, muscles under
yielding skin that no
blood can flush.


[Full text can be found over at the Mocha Memoirs archive. Just scroll down a bit.]

This request is very good as it increases the likelihood of a fatter cheque. More money means more stamps. More stamps means more envelopes full of poems to be gazed upon with blearily exhausted loving eyes by an editor. Here's hoping.

Ever find yourself being unhealthily acquisitory over stamps? A recent trip to the States found me exulting over a stamp vending machine. Hm, methinks something's wrong here.
- posted by Ivy @ 5:56 PM ¦ | ¦

 
Lifted from Sydney University Press's catalogue:

Letters to Live Poets (1969) is a series of confessional poems arranged as a livre compose. It is a major work of Australian poetry [that has] had a profound influence since it was first published. Letters to Live Poets won the Grace Leven poetry prize in 1970, and has also won a number of other awards.

Bruce Beaver was born in 1928. He wrote his first poem at 8 pm on the evening of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Unlike the event, it wasn't memorable. However, he kept on writing. Letters to Live Poets is his fourth book of poems; he has recently completed his fifteenth. He has been called a confessional poet, probably because of a strong autobiographical tendency in his writing. Letters is generally acknowledged to be his best work.

Thanks to Adam Aitken, who posted this excerpt from 'Death's Directives' (Bruce Beaver, 1978):

...
Not life or death, just the first kicks
of continuity. So that now
still surrounded by death -
death of this, death of that,
fly shells in the window groove,
beetle shells among the brown leaves;
death of these, death of those,
5000 in the Philippines earthquake,
3 children in an Ulster family -
I write madly about life.

Bruce Beaver, 1928-2004.
Vale te.

[Postscript: In Memoriam on Jill Jones's Ruby Street]
- posted by Ivy @ 10:25 AM ¦ | ¦

 
Received this in my email yesterday:

Just a short note ... to inform you that the most excellent poems you entered for the resident poet project have been sent off to our current guest judge regarding our next residency which will begin in March. The residency pays [bleep] for 6 poems.

I'd completely erased this one from my radar, figuring that since I wasn't chosen, that was the end of it. Apparently not. So, here's hoping the judge says yes.

[Bleeped because I lost my nerve.]
- posted by Ivy @ 7:24 PM ¦ | ¦

 
If a writer has to rob his mother, he will not hesitate; the 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' is worth any number of old ladies.
—William Faulkner (1897-1962)

Rather extreme... but okay!

A few days ago, Anita wrote:

A poem should stand on its own, but I have to admit that sometimes I'm as interested in the story behind the poem as I am in the poem itself. Every year, when I get the Best American Poetry anthology, as I read the poems, I go to the back of the book and read about each poet and see if he or she has anything to say about how the poem came to be written. Some do. Some don't. »

I fulminated on this topic somewhat in Tuesday's entry, as well as in the comment box. At one point, I said

Perhaps this points to a lack of confidence on the part of the speaker in their work, who thinks maybe their poems aren't self-contained enough, and so requires the explanatory preamble. (By self-contained, I mean whole and complete in themselves.)

I mean, the preamble works if there are unfamiliar words and concepts in the poem that's read out, but I can't decide whether I prefer to hear all this in a preamble or postamble.

Now it appears to be down to a matter of choosing the right material for a reading.

I guess, as with poetry, one learns, over time, what to leave out, and that what remains are the true essentials. »

I want to address this inherent curiosity in the author's biography and how this relates to the poem itself. I admit to sharing this curiosity. I, too, like reading the author bios placed at the bottom of poems, on the end-pages of journals and anthologies such as Best American Poetry. But what can this mean? How does this contribute to an understanding of the poem?

There must be this need to complete the picture, of which a poem is only a part. What has this writer done, where have they been, what do they know? How can I, as a reader, relate to the writer, and subsequently, to what they've written? How does their life story, encapsulated in 50 words or fewer, illuminate the poem and how I might (re)read it?

There is this difficulty of not being able to separate the poet from the poem (the dancer from the dance!). In one respect, I ask, why should we have to? Yet, contrarily, I also feel the poem should stand on its own merits, without the need to contextualise, else why not include such context within the poem. Perhaps if a poet is questioned in this way, they might ask themselves whether it is necessary to tell the story at all.

Maybe their story is another poem altogether.



Ever since I threw out the terms 'submit', 'submission', 'reject' and 'rejection', and replaced them with 'contributions' and 'returns', I've been feeling much more positive in the way I send out my work.

But still there is that phrase 'for your consideration', which I find a touch obsequious. Perhaps something else might be better.




I started going through my ms the other day. I feel doing this is going to be quite fruitful, especially if I stick with it. But it's not easy to be honest. At times it feels easier to think, That's good enough. But of course, to me, it's not. Not with this work, anyway.

The meeting with the publisher took a rather surprising turn. While there wasn't a flourish of contracts and exhortations to sign, sign, sign, I might be offered an opportunity to work there in some capacity. I'm a little confused as to what's going on, but no matter. The manuscript is still scheduled for takeoff and will land in any number of destinations soon.
- posted by Ivy @ 12:30 PM ¦ | ¦

 
Marry money.
—Max Shulman's advice to aspiring authors

I find that there's a difference in being allowed to tell a story to accompany a poem, and also imposing that story on a reader (or I guess I really mean audience here), when sometimes it isn't necessary.

In poetry readings, I find that poets tend to do a preamble that is often longer than the poem itself. I have heard the argument that this preamble serves as downtime between poems, a way to cleanse the palate, so to speak. But wouldn't a pause do just as well? Perhaps a lot of poetry performers are uncomfortable with silence. There's a big old space out there that has to be filled! Fill it! Fill it with my voice, my words!

It's just as brave to speak aloud as it is to be silent.



Now I find that 'Seph tells Dee', which I thought was a sonnet, is naught but a twelve-line poem. Partly to cover up my mild embarrassment at my inability to count, I searched for other forms that were twelve lines long and discovered the calendelle.

"[A] poem with twelve lines, corresponding to the sequence of months of the year [...] whose names [...] must rhyme with each other (for example, three of the last four lines, corresponding to September, November, and December)..."

A challenge! I'll have to see if I can use that.



Today, I thought I might go through my manuscript (ms), and do a stress-test on it, see whether it holds up. It's been about a year since I last read it in full.

I'm not going to do this all at once. Maybe look at three this time around.

I will try to be honest, pick out the ones that aren't up to the same standard as the others, and keep in mind that the narrative this ms is telling. I hope this also clarifies my choices, whether the poems sit right with each other, whether they need further re-ordering. Although I'm not sure whether an editor would have something to say about this anyway, I suppose it's best not to give a publisher a reason to pass up on it.
- posted by Ivy @ 3:01 PM ¦ | ¦

 
In literature as in love, we are astonished at what is chosen by others.
—Andre Maurois (1885-1967)

Oh, thank goodness, after all this waiting, now the reward. I am reaping fruit of some sort.

Two batches of work were returned yesterday with lovely, favourable comments, one for a short story:

Thank you for letting us read your work. We will not be publishing "Fireflies", but we enjoyed it and would like to see more.

and one for poetry:

Although your submission was not quite right for us, it did receive extra attention beyond the first reading, and we encourage you to try us again.

So I gathered my courage (such as it is, a sad, tattered and sorely-tested thing) together, rang the publisher last week, and now I have a meeting this Thursday.

We are astonished.

Nota bene:

• I am pleased to be today's guest writer over at commonbeauty, where two poems of mine, 'Ash' and 'fire' can be viewed.
  
• Thanks to Michael of Stick Poet Super Hero fame for placing me #5 at Stick Poet Top 5 Blogs of the Week. Number 5 is alive!
  
• 'Slushkiller' is an illuminating rant on slush piles and the 11 gates of competence by which a writer must pass to enter the hallowed halls of publication. The blog entry has elicited 350 responses—and still counting. [via hot soup girl]

Some upcoming Dublin events I want to keep an eye on:

Poetry Ireland
120 St. Stephens Green, Dublin 2. Admission free. Starts 7pm.
Thursday, 19th February - Kerry Hardie and Joan McBreen
Wednesday, 25th February - Paul Murray and Dennis O'Driscoll

Out to Lunch poetry readings
Fridays, 1.15pm, Bank of Ireland Arts Centre, Foster Place, Temple Bar, Dublin 2
20 February - Rachel Hegarty
5 March - Anatoly Kudryavitsky

Poets Anonymous
An open mic session plus Featured Poet each Wednesday, 7.30pm in Fire Bar, Eden Quay, Dublin 1

Good. I need a fresh infusion of poetry.
- posted by Ivy @ 6:53 AM ¦ | ¦

 
How can I believe in God when just last week I got my tongue caught in the roller of an electric typewriter?
—Woody Allen

I wrote poetry today. Yay!

But I need to let it settle for a little while. I'm also re-drafting a poem that I thought didn't need it when first it was written, but now that I look at it... yes, it does. Good thing I kept the first draft, which really is not that much different in look from its present shape, but I can tell something's off. So, back I go.

Here are the best lines from today's labours, a poem titled, provisionally perhaps, 'Seph tells Dee':

don't pick them before they're ready to be eased
by gravity, crumpling into the ground

Oh, it feels good to be writing a poem. It makes sense. The world mutes itself into the background, and the light and the words and the mood come shyly, then strongly forward, and I take my pen and set it all down as best I can.

The poem was catalysed by Mike Snider's Jan 27th entry and so I say, blushingly, it is a sonnet, although I use that word roughly.

In fact, I may have pushed it around a bit. Maybe it's now a bruised meta-sonnet, or a pseudo-sonnet, or even a sonnet a lá pomo. Who knows? But it was fun, anyway.
- posted by Ivy @ 5:13 PM ¦ | ¦

 
In America, only the successful writer is important, in France, all writers are important, in England, no writer is important, and in Australia you have to explain what a writer is.
—Geoffrey Cottrell

I'm not sure who Cottrell is, but it rings true to me.

Please take your mouse in hand and click over to Lois's Heart @ Work, where I am today's guest blogger, waxing (somewhat) eloquent on why I blog, adding to an already varied collection of thoughts and ideas.

I am so pleased with Lois's introduction. When she writes that she felt my site to be ...

sobering and comforting all at once, for she wrestles with the reality of how hard it can be to be a writer

... I find myself thinking, Thank goodness! I must be on the right track.

Thanks to Anita for recommending me for the series.
- posted by Ivy @ 12:44 PM ¦ | ¦

 
It is a delicious thing to write, to be no longer yourself but to move in an entire universe of your own creating.
—Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880)

Today has been a day of ordinaries, writing the driest of prose, cover letters for poetry contributions.

From 'As we grew':

moths ushered out the butterflies
the dark was too slow
running to catch the light
the cicadas sang on

I am procrastinating on contacting the publisher. I think I'm afraid of disappointment, so I put it off. Better make it tomorrow.

Let it be tomorrow.
- posted by Ivy @ 9:12 PM ¦ | ¦

 

worms still on the ground
last night's rain reflects the sky
nothing dry on earth

- posted by Ivy @ 4:14 PM ¦ | ¦

 

'You are William Blake! Wow. I'm impressed. Not only are you a self-made artist and poet, but you've suddenly become a very trendy guy to like. It's not that we doubt that you have all your marbles, it's just that we're not quite sure what you did with them to come up with those terrifying theological visions. The people of your time were nowhere near as forgiving as that, and all your neighbors thought you were a grade-A nut job. But we love you, so rest happy.'
Which Major Romantic Poet Would You Be (if You Were a Major Romantic Poet)?
brought to you by Quizilla
- posted by Ivy @ 5:13 PM ¦ | ¦

 

appetite

she was never so hungry
as to eat the pages of books

Does it matter that I don't quite know what this poem means?

My poetry manuscript—it all feels rather complicated to me. When I publish a poem, that is more straightforward. Poem on paper, poem on screen... yes, that's cool. That works. It makes sense.

But all together. In a book. That's something else.

Each poem is a piece, an element. All forty poems, however, are part of a whole narrative.

The poems are tubes of paint, where the book is the canvas. To me, they are incomplete, amputated, unless they are all together. They form part of a story, and unless you read them in the one place, you only hear a whispered fragment of it.

This is important to me. The book. Yes, I want recognition, yes, I want validation. It is this desire I have mentioned before. But there is more to it. The painting might not make sense if you only see the brushes, the sketches, the rough drafts, the slop of paint in the glass jar.

So the manuscript needs the right hole to slot into.

And will this publisher be the right one for it?

I've been toying with the idea of continuing with the second manuscript, filling that up until it's full, until it's ready, and sending it to be published first. Not sure, though.

I need to write more.
- posted by Ivy @ 4:10 PM ¦ | ¦