white ink (07134 258796)
there it sat - the numerical love note written on a napkin.
never had a 3 or a 7 shined so bright. even to a magpie.
the 0 swirled like a whirlpool of disappointment, while the
winking eye of the number 9 mischievously giggled at
her misfortune.
funnily enough, the symmetry of 8 mirrored her
enviable hourglass figure, but this was not
enough to make him come.
4 sugars dove into her latte, whilst the number 1 stirrer
rippled through the foamy ceiling of her coffee.
Evelyn had never much cared for the 2 step, but she would
gladly perform it with the boy.
6o'clock came and went, as did the regulars.
Tommy and Jane disappeared like the bacon does from
Tommy's plate. (and sometimes even Jane's.)
the fish hook of 5 had pierced her insides, at least
the belly ache felt like it. she slid down number 7 and
hit its blunted door at the end. rejection.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Pumpernickel Timeline
The smell of sour kraut on your breath permeated the room,
as your Budweiser belly came towards me -
the iceberg threatening the titanic.
Your fraying round the edges, old grey y-fronts
are the opposite of an aphrodisiac;
and the disappointment beneath them ever more so.
The young girl of 1971 found you
charismatic, and beguiling, like the ballerina ornament
in my grandmother's front room, that I so
longed to touch as a child.
The woman of 1982 found you
shaking with fear in the waiting room
of the building that gave birth to my girls,
yet still you were my second kidney.
This year sees an old man, lethargic
and unwilling to change.
Beside him, a woman who would
die before leaving.
For better, for worse her vows read.
Yellowish curtains that used to be white
are drawn around me, still endeavouring to protect me
after all this time.
The bed slumps, groaning as your weight hollows it out,
and I sigh as I get caught in the wave.
You pick your Reader's Digest of choice and settle,
as my Mills and Boon gets racy -
The climax of my night.
• Deborah Bates is studying for BA Hons Creative Writing and says her ambition is "to spend my life writing poetry bathed in the sunshine of Tucson".
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Wednesday, April 30
Two pieces by Deborah Bates
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 30 Apr 2008 09:38 AM BST
Tuesday, April 29
Prose poetry by Sharon Petts
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 29 Apr 2008 08:24 AM BST
Sex With David Attenborough
Have you noticed the way the way David Attenborough says sexual? Sek-sule… He just has to put those syllables together and you're in the realms of two slugs dangling from a thread of mucus beneath a branch, glutinously entwined for hours, artfully backlit so every trail of spittle and glue is captured. You’re out on the Galapagos with the slow clamber, rock on rock, of the giant tortoises, or with the tree frog beating her bodily fluids into foam, her legs like egg whisks, while the males peer over her shoulder like children waiting to add sugar to the meringue. He might even be saying asexual, not speaking of sex but of its absence and still it’s there in the air like spores, making you sneeze. Bacteria, apparently, swap bits of themselves with any passer-by. The bonobos are bonking with one eye on the cameramen, a perfunctory fuck, sociable as an air kiss or handshake. When we're not watching, they light candles, take luxuriant baths together and coil in Tantric postures for days, festooning the trees like the erotic sculptures on Indian temples. The lust of the universe cast in stone. • Sharon Petts lives in Kent and is working on a novel and an MA in Creative Writing at Kent Uni. She adds "I'm very happy to find a magazine exploring this area. I'm studying with Patricia Debney on the prose poetry module at Kent and have become very excited about the prose poetry form and then very frustrated at the limited attention paid to it. So good on ya." Monday, April 28
Say it - by Jesica Flowerdew
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 28 Apr 2008 08:36 AM BST
Say It
Subdue me Make a berry jewel In the furnace of your throat Hold it on your tongue Hang it in the air Make Me Wait, Roll it from there Into my ear. Make me submit, Start to say it Swallow it, Let the colour of the thought Fill the air A hue of desire A tracing. Translate it, Say it And Subdue me. • Jessica Flowerdew says "I've always written poems, since I was a child but I've never really been confident to do anything with them. I did an English lit A-level but didn't do very well so I've never pursued any kind of creative writing training. I'm a philosophy student, there are some great literary figures in philosophy – I particularly admire Schopenhaur's work. He wrote brilliant aphorisms, they encapsulate so much and have no formula except their shortness. I've barely shown my work to anyone but your website seems kind of anonymous and I had an unusual burst of confidence!" Sunday, April 27
Friday, April 25
Two poems by Richard Wink
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 25 Apr 2008 06:52 AM BST
There is an army of THEM
dipstick depravity crossed swords, intense dribbling over suicide girls I'm wearing tight Lycra tonight swapping pillows with a model in drag caricatured braggart deep coma python. Vomiting captivity from a stolen armchair ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Poor Henry I asked Henry why he kept a picture of Audrey Tautou in his wallet he told me that every day he wanted a glimpse of a goddess Surprised with his sickly strong words I reasoned with him that he keeps a picture of a woman he is never likely to meet he told me the glorious guilt of distraction kept him on his feet A jazzy tune floated from the corner jukebox taking away our conversation For a moment I was distracted by something beautiful gripped by glorious guilt • Richard Wink is a poet and raconteur from Norwich, UK. He writes, he sleeps and sometimes he gets lucky. Thursday, April 24
New flash fiction by Sarah Black
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 24 Apr 2008 08:08 AM BST
45 Seconds and Gone
That teacher with her smiling face, she’s always, how was your weekend? My fist in her fucking mouth, that’s how it was. I ought to tell her, just to watch her eyes, all caring and shit, get real hard and cold. Those soft eyes, that would be too fucking funny. So this is what I’d tell her. D picked me up on Saturday night, and he was already wasted. We were gonna go up Lukachukai Mountain, just hang out. There were these guys with him. I’d seen them around school. They had the shit, I don’t know what it was, something clear like vodka mixed up in one of those two liter Dr. Pepper bottles. Whatever it was, it got all of us off quick. Me and D, we go off a little way in the woods, have some privacy. We’d talked before about how we’re gonna do it when we’ve been going together a year, we talked some shit about getting a hotel in town with a nice, soft bed and room service, cause I was a virgin, but it wasn’t like that. It was right there on the ground, those Aspen leaves brown and wet underneath me, stinking wet earth, and D pulling at me and then he’s inside. It was fast, forty-five seconds and gone, and it’s burning down there, and wet, I don’t know, blood or something. The sky was cold, man, so black, and the stars up there just staring down at me like all these eyes, like all these grandmothers’ eyes. They were looking down at me laying there in the dirt and the leaves with my pants off and I could hear what they was calling me. D rolled off and I was getting ready to heave so I crawled away next to a tree. I’m throwing up and somebody grabbed me by the waist and shoved inside me from behind. It wasn’t D because I could see him passed out and whoever it was, he had big hands, all rough, and I could feel something tearing, like I was on fire down there and I squeezed my eyes shut so I don’t have to see. Those big hands on me. When he was done I just stayed there with vomit and wet leaves all under my knees and hands until I don’t hear them no more, but they don’t go. They was just waiting for me. I put on my underwear and jeans and sat down next to D. He was still passed out, his face half in the muck. There were three of them. They tried to make a little fire, but it just kept smoking, so they sat there and drank out of the bottle and the one in the middle, he passed it over to me again. He had big hands. They just sat there and watched me with their yellow eyes, like wolves. I ought to tell that bitch, with her soft face and her eyes all caring like she really gives a shit. I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna watch her eyes turn cold like those stars. I’m gonna tell her, that would be so fucking funny. She asks me one more time, I’m gonna tell her… • Sarah Black has published short fiction at Word Riot, Flashquake, Slow Trains, The Angler, Rio Grande Review; novels with Loose ID, MLR Press; erotica at Clean Sheets and Ruthie's Club. Wednesday, April 23
Writing Wrongs - what is creative writing all about?
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 23 Apr 2008 08:33 AM BST
• We are breaking with tradition today to carry an essay by Juliet England on the subject of creative writing. The text version appears below and we have also attached a PDF containing the full references and footnotes. Juliet England is a regular contributor to IS&T.
Writing Wrongs Introduction: What is Creative Writing, and why are we all doing more of it? Wikipedia, the online encyclopaedia, defines creative writing as: Any writing of original composition…It goes outside the bounds of normal, professional, journalistic, academic and technical forms. Almost everyone I interviewed for this essay agreed that creative writing is more popular than ever. There was a lone voice of dissent, from Reading-based poet Ashley Harrold, who maintained that numbers for the groups in which he is involved – a workshop and a Poets’ Café – are steady but not rising. But his view was not typical. The Writers’ Conference, at Winchester University, for example, has mushroomed tenfold since it began in 1980. Welsh writer Phil Carradice read nearly 700 entries while judging the last Rhys Davies Short Story Competition, and Barbara Large, Founder-Director of Winchester University’s annual writing conference, reports that the 2007 event’s accompanying competition attracted more than 800 entries in the category for young poets alone. Not to mention 700 short stories, and more than 350 first pages of a novel. Writing is now widely taught, not only in universities and schools, but in prisons, as part of mental health care, and in adult education colleges, where it features in prospectuses alongside Italian and cake icing. There is a growing trend for large organisations, from Marks and Spencer to the British Antarctic Survey, to hire writers in residence. And, with more magazines, web sites, and TV channels hungry for fresh scripts meaning more outlets for publication, the craft of writing has rarely been more visible. These days, you have to shout pretty loudly to be heard over the babble. But why should more people feel inspired to put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard, now? Some of the possible explanations swirl with contradiction. On one hand, all leisure pursuits seem to be on the rise – from salsa classes to sudoku. (This despite, the fact that we appear to be working longer hours than ever.) Has a rise in literacy been a contributory factor? Yet the Skills for Life survey published by the Department for Education and Skills in October 2003 reports that one in six respondents (16 per cent, or 5.2 million adults) had lower level literacy skills. Could computing be the reason, with people happy to tap out on a screen what they wouldn’t have bothered to write on paper? As John Moat points out in his eloquent memoir about the creation of the Arvon Foundation, The Founding of Arvon which runs residential creative writing courses, a student is ‘as likely these days to have a laptop as a toothbrush.’ Despite the depressing statistics from the DfES, we are more computer literate than ever, and the Internet has created a host of opportunities for writers to network and promote themselves, to receive feedback, and showcase their work – from blogging to online competitions and forums. Barbara Large points out that books are cheaper now, and more accessible. Book groups have taken off in recent years, in pubs, libraries, homes, prisons, through newspapers, web sites (even the social networking site Facebook has a ‘my favourite read’ feature) and on television thanks to Richard and Judy. There are other considerations as well. We are, in theory at least, better educated, more affluent and aspirational. We live longer, and spend more years in retirement. Writing is no longer considered to be exclusively for an educated elite. Arguably, being assailed by information on all sides, we are more able to absorb and take things in. With more of us journeying more frequently and further afield than previous generations, it’s not difficult to see why travel writing, as a particular example, has never been more competitive. High-profile millionaire authors such as JK Rowling have doubtlessly caused some to hanker after glamour and fortune along with literary immortality. It’s easy to understand what Russell Celyn Jones means when he reflects: ‘Writers have become the product now.’ Even supermodel Naomi Campbell has done her best to get in on the act, with her novel, Swan, which she allegedly has not even read, let alone written. (She is reported to have put said: ‘I just didn’t have time to sit down and write a book.’) Dr Johnson famously asserted: ‘No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.’ Yet barely a handful of those who turn up diligently for their weekly writing class, or follow correspondence courses will make a penny or see their efforts or names in print. So why are they writing, and who for? For pleasure, stimulation, therapy? For the love of it? To be read, to be heard? Do they just want some company? Do they, as Rilke urged, ask themselves’ in the most silent hour of their night’ whether they ‘must write’, and then ‘build their lives in accordance with this necessity?’ Or would they be just as happy going to macramé on Wednesday evenings? No doubt people write for all these reasons, and more. Does More Mean Less? I wondered whether the standard of what is being produced has risen, along with the volume, or whether we are guilty of creating what William Jay Smith describes as: ‘Creative writing writing – competent, passionless stuff learned in workshops and seminars and published in Mickey Mouse magazines’? Welsh poet, novelist, broadcaster and historian Phil Carradice argues: “While there is a lot of dross, the standard seems to be much higher than it was 10 or 20 years ago. There are some pretty good writers out there.” Ashley Harrold agrees: “There is a lot of good material being produced. Rubbish doesn’t usually make it into the public forum. There is a large amount of adequate stuff …but the exceptional is rare.” The Creative Writing Industry A ‘creative writing industry’ has shot up alongside this growing army of largely unpublished and unpaid would-be wordsmiths. The last issue of 2007 of Mslexia, the magazine for women writers, carries seven adverts for graduate and undergraduate university courses, 11 advertisements for a variety of writing related services, from literary consultancies to mentoring, coaching and self-publishing. Also featured are five writing competitions, 10 non-university courses, two writers’ organisations and five books. The December 2007 issue of Writer’s Forum has no fewer than 16 advertisements for a similar array of writing services, one for some software, five for non-university courses, two for university BA and MA creative writing degrees, and two for competitions. Not to mention its directory, which lists a vast array of classified adverts. Poet Polly Clark emailed: “If you’ve done your homework, you’ll know who to work with, and what is a good course. Payment doesn’t guarantee publishing success, and it is a very naïve writer who believes it does, or gets angry when it doesn’t.” Carradice commented that several of his students have reported “very bad experiences” with these kinds of organisations. That’s not to suggest that some don’t provide useful services, but, tellingly, those I tried to contact who earned money from the creative writing industry, who had a commercial interest – Mslexia, a writing coach, Writer’s Forum – declined to respond. Such organisations exist purely to relieve aspiring writers of their money. But I also wonder whether any of these organisations are sometimes guilty of giving false hope, of making students believe they can write when maybe they can’t, at least not professionally, of helping to foster a culture in which everyone gets a prize. I should probably declare an interest here. As the ‘graduate’ of three writing retreats, two Arvon Foundation courses, 18 months of adult education classes, one writing coach, countless workshops and as a current MA student, I have not inconsiderable first-hand experience of the creative writing industry. I found the writing coach a monumental waste of time, and she would have represented a waste of money, too, had I paid for her services. Arvon Foundation courses, on the other hand, are unfailingly helpful and inspiring, not least because they offer time and a space for writing. The adult education course was well-meaning but ultimately ineffectual, while the MA has helped me develop a voice and given me much some much-needed discipline in my writing, while also, I am sure, making me a better reader. Barbara Large points out that creative writing industry, outside the university setting at least, is new and not officially evaluated - anyone can set themselves up in business, just as anyone can nail a plaque to their door and proclaim themselves to be a counsellor or psychotherapist. But, admittedly the issue of how you would regulate this industry subjectively is fraught with difficulty. It is not meaningful to assess organisations in terms of the volume of work its students produce, or on whether or not such work of ‘publishable’ quality. In this I have to agree with Patricia Duncker, Professor of Modern Literature at Manchester University, who writes in the arts section of the British Council web site: ‘So much badly written nonsense and best-selling vacuous cliché is published … that being ‘publishable’ cannot be a failsafe guide to quality.’ In any case, only 20 per cent of graduates from even Britain’s most prestigious creative writing MA programme, at the University of East Anglia, become published writers. While some say true originality should be the deciding factor when it comes to assessing work, this is just as tricky to define, making regulation an almost impossibly complex issue to resolve. Can Writing Be Taught? The argument over whether writers can be made, whether the craft of writing can be taught, and indeed learnt, is hardly new. As early as the eighteenth century, Mary Shelley wrote: ‘I recommend the mind’s being put into a proper train, and then left to itself. Fixed rules cannot be given …The mind …cannot be created by the teacher, though it may be cultivated, and its real mind is not, cannot powers found out.’ But what did more modern practitioners have to say? For Barbara Large, although not everyone can turn out copy which will be published, everyone can improve and increase the enjoyment they derive from writing. In that sense, then, yes, writing can be taught. Poet John Hegley told me: “You can nurture talent and teach tricks of the trade but you can’t teach someone the magic.” For Ashley Harrold: ”A voice can’t be taught, a voice must be discovered.” Even some of those who make their living from teaching creative writing are sceptical. Jack Epps, of the University of Southern California writes in Graeme Harper’s book Teaching Creative Writing : ‘What cannot be crafted is the talent, the soul of a writer.’ Another thing that cannot really be taught, the factor which for Phil Carradice is the single most important factor in writing success, is discipline. Roger Scruton would agree. In the Sunday Times Review , in a reactionary rant slating artist Tracey Emin for not having had the same formal training as Mozart, he avers: ‘Artistic ability is not like scientific knowledge: you cannot acquire it … by diligent study. There comes a point where a leap of the imagination is required.’ Graeme Harper, a teacher at Portsmouth University, states in Teaching Creative Wring that the subject can be described as ‘an elaborate educational hoax’, a ‘hopeful but doomed activity.’ He claims that writers are better off without formal education, that most of what needs to be learnt can be acquired through life experience, travelling and reading. David Myers in The Elephants Teach , which traces the history of creative writing since the latter part of the nineteenth century, laments that: ‘The idea of hiring writers to teach writing has never won unquestioned acceptance, not has creative writing – the classroom subject - progressed much beyond apologising for itself.’ . Writing and teaching are surely distinct disciplines, with the best writers not necessarily making the best teachers. You can write without being able to teach, but I am not convinced the reverse is true. (Our teacher at the local adult education college was always evasive when asked what he wrote himself. It did not inspire confidence.) Someone who would wholeheartedly agree is John Moat, who, in The Founding of Arvon , discusses his apprenticeship with the poet John Howland Beaumont: ‘….the only person who can teach the technique of writing is an experienced writer …teaching is proved by experience that is wholehearted and profoundly relevant. It is the authority that can relate the specifics of technique to the spirit of writing. Which means the authority … of one who has ‘been in it with all his or her heart.’ This is encapsulated in Arvon’s motto, The fire in the flint shows not till it be struck. What can you teach? If you cannot teach talent, genius or creativity, what can you teach? Certainly, there are aspects of the craft which can be passed on – Hegley’s ‘tricks of the trade’, for example. As Lajos Egri puts it in The Art of Dramatic Writing : ‘If you know the principles, you will be a better craftsman and artist.’ Tuition can also give students the opportunity to develop and increase their own understanding of their craft. Perhaps the greatest strength of all creative writing tuition is in its capacity for forcing people to write, for making them better editors of their own work, and for bringing them together with others who share their passion. For many, a creative writing class may be the first time they have shared their work, or received any kind of meaningful feedback. It may be the first time they realise they have any sort of ability. Teaching Creative Writing in Universities The place of creative writing in universities, specifically, has long been mired in controversy, particularly in Britain, with mutual mistrust between some academics and professional writers. Traditionally, the study of ‘English’ has been about the critical study of literary forms, rather than their creation. Possibly some academics see creative writing as a challenge to this tradition. The first chair of English literature at Harvard was only appointed in 1876, and the English honours degree at Oxford was not established until less than 20 years later. Both factors have directly affected the construction of postgraduate creative writing programmes. Such debate has not stopped the subject from becoming increasingly popular in the university setting, with dozens of undergraduate and postgraduate courses offering everything from novel writing to creative non-fiction. (At the last count there were more than 12 Masters programmes on offer in screenwriting alone.) Many traditional English Literature courses now also include creative writing modules. In the current higher education climate, students have become customers who expect a tangible result beyond simple education for their money, and, some of the time, they may be disappointed. Creative writing as a university subject is much less controversial in the United States. As Russell Celyn Jones, writing states in the Richmond Review: ‘the creative writing business is like the psychotherapy business, something the Americans are more comfortable with than the British …The problem sets in when the party never ends. Some students go from three years of undergraduate workshops onto MA courses … capping it all … teaching … without publishing anything. That is taking a good thing too far.’ Phil Carradice’s main concern is that degree courses are not churning out more creative writers, but more teachers: “Who will go on to produce more courses for people to attend and churn out more. Sit down and write your book – that’s the best training.” To what extent should these degree courses be preparing their students for life beyond university? Especially for undergraduate courses, should a job at the end be the ultimate goal? Are universities churning out graduates with paper qualifications but nothing to do at the end of their three years’ study? In that sense, creative writing is no guiltier than, say, Media Studies. And it’s probably not the prime reason most students sign up for university courses in the first place. There are no particular reports of long queues of Creative Writing graduates at unemployment offices. Yet if students are not being prepared for definite jobs, then perhaps at least they should be introduced to the publishing industry. Barbara Large, at Winchester, is keen on forging connections, and encouraging student work placements. In that sense, should teachers be urging their students to write stuff that stands a chance of seeing the light of day, work that the publishing industry is looking for? Celyn Jones is astonished that ‘We no longer train people in coal mining .. yet we encourage students to write at the literary end of the market, even as it is shrinking.’ In Teaching Creative Writing , radio drama teacher Steve May worries about the tension between teaching within the extremely narrow range of actually commissioned radio plays, and giving students freedom to write the stuff they want. He is always clear with his students about what the market really commissions. This combination of free reign, mixed with a healthy dose of realism, must be the best compromise. Conclusion The last word goes to Warwick University’s Professor David Morley, who writes in his blog . He sums up perfectly the value and pitfalls of creative writing teaching: 'Writing requires nerve, stamina – as well as talent, and editorial discrimination. ... Although learning creative writing can be fun, becoming and being a writer is a far more ruthless, wilder game... Creative writing can be taught most effectively when students have some talent and vocation ... If a teacher can shape the talent, and steer that vocation … then … creative writing should be taught as a craft. The whole point of teaching creative writing, however, is that students must learn to … guide themselves.’ For some, he adds : ‘ the creative writing industry is a cartoon world, a cloud cuckoo land of fantasy accomplishment and vacuum-sealed reputation. 'It is evidently much more open-ended. At best, the teaching of creative writing provides a moving edge for literary evolutions and language’s revelations…An open book of possibility, the creative academy is an open space, but .. just sometimes, we need rewriting.’ And here is the PDF with the full references  1 AttachmentsTuesday, April 22
Three pieces by Matthew Howard
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 22 Apr 2008 01:15 PM BST
Little
I saw the last-gasped feather-weighted ‘O’ written by a shower of little quills cooling at the tips. The tin-god voice on the radio sang along with my own, numb and as low as tyres. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Lash An eyelash pressed in a book catches my breath with the clinch of its perfect line break. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Buttonholed The boyish bridegroom’s button-hole red as his razor-burned cheeks; no top hat, no length in his tales. • Matthew Howard works in the insurance industry in Norwich and, along with providing IS&T with some much appreciated book reviews, is also reading for an MA in creative writing at Manchester Metropolitan University. Monday, April 21
Three pieces by Julian Stannard
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 21 Apr 2008 05:26 PM BST
Bob Dylan Plays Down in the Port
(Genoa 1992) We were almost at the end of the world on the uppermost floor in earshot of the world’s ghostliest ships. The baby was asleep in his cot. Darling, your breasts were my nest. Just to twitch was to feel a cascade of sweat down our necks. We’d heard they’d flown in a god who’d died to be revived. Heat made porridge of us. You blinked when that growl drifted from the port and bade us sleep. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ An Itch in the City A purple slipper lies in the street: an itch in the city, a bishop in flight. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Drowned City (November 2002) What struck me most about the drowned city was the way in which a whole generation of umbrellas was wiped out. Some were shoved cruelly into litter boxes. But many just drifted around like tramps, zombies, barboni giving us the questionable benefit of their death-rattle. The unequivocally dead lay on broken backs, their thin bones showing signs of torture. • Julian Stannard teaches creative writing at the University of Winchester and has published two collections with Peterloo Poets. Saturday, April 19
New haiga by Maggie West
by
Charles Christian
on Sat 19 Apr 2008 10:13 AM BST
 • Maggie West says "After I had been writing short poems for some years, I discovered haiku while studying formal western-style calligraphy. In 1992, I became a member of The British Haiku Society and was thereby introduced to other forms of Japanese poetry. Working mainly with inks and other water-based media, I have always enjoyed 'mark making'; transforming the tactile working surface using many types of brushes, pens, quills and sticks as necessary. I try to make my handwriting on the haiga as legible as possible without being formal. As I come from a 'western art' background, my work is not traditional in the Japanese sense; however, I try to be true to the spirit of haiga." For more information visit Maggie's website at www.maggieonthebeach.co.uk Friday, April 18
Two poems by Katrina Naomi
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 18 Apr 2008 12:06 PM BST
My Fathers
One wore a St Christopher, the other a watch. One liked cricket, the other football. One drove a Lotus, the other a Morris. One was a nurse, the other sold turf. One read Orwell, the other The Sun. One sported a tweed jacket, the other leather. One listened to brass bands, the other to Brubeck. One took me to Brands Hatch, the other to Butlins. One was Catholic, the other C of E. One drank bitter, the other lager. One was Clairol’s ‘Natural Nordic’, the other a darker blond. One left when I was 7, the other arrived when I was 11. One hit my mother, the other hit my dog. I haven’t seen either of them in years. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Headbanger You might not take me for a headbanger, but look down my back, see that plait, ranged along my spine. When it shakes loose, there’s sparks, like metal meeting axe. Dah dah dah da da da da da da da da It might be true to say that nothing seems to satisfy, and the head is left, unshaken. • Katrina Naomi is studying for a Creative Writing MA at Goldsmiths. Thursday, April 17
All in black by John Irvine
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 17 Apr 2008 08:16 AM BST
All in black
Slender as a reed all in black dark bobbed hair green eyes red lips perches sidesaddle on the crossbar of my bicycle she tinkles a laugh as my old legs crank the pedals “I love you,” I whisper seriously following her perfume and pressing my lips to her cheek “Your not loving me would be inconceivable,” she laughs I wobble and strike the curb tumbling us in an untidy heap onto the grass verge “Now look what you made me do,” I laugh back. I can still taste her skin on my lips when I awake. • John Irvine writes... "John Irvine is an Old Aged Pensioner in New Zealand with delusions of immortal failure and a cynical view of life. He has a mole under his left arm, and a wife who hates pizza and tripe. He hopes to die painlessly one day without warning, and with a minimum of leakage." Wednesday, April 16
Literary consultancies - what are they good for ?
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 16 Apr 2008 10:23 AM BST
A few weeks ago we received the following message...
"I work for the Writers’ Workshop literary consultancy. We offer both free advice over the phone and fee-based editorial services. We mostly deal with fiction and non-fiction books but are hoping to develop our poetry service and I wondered whether you'd be interested in receiving a package of information which we're sending out to poetry magazine editors and small poetry presses. The pack contains information about us, details of the poetry pages on our website, links to our website plus some small flyers specifically designed to be included in any rejection material you might send out by post. "As the editor of a poetry magazine I imagine there must have been many times that you have been asked to give critical feedback on someone’s poetry. And perhaps on rare occasions you have commented on work that seems genuinely interesting. You will have risked having an angry or emotional response … it is an area fraught with complications, which is why (apart from not having the time) most poetry editors don’t go there. "So what are the options for a potentially good poet who is serious about his or her work? They may be lucky and find someone – a friend or acquaintance perhaps – to act as mentor to them, but the bottom line is that at some point they will need someone who will give them insightful, professional feedback. That is what we do. We have two excellent poetry editors: Sarah Law and Todd Swift - both contemporary published poets. We charge £99 for 7 poems and £150 for up to 25 poems. The client gets an in-depth written report (of between 1,000 and 2,5000 words depending on the number of poems submitted) and the chance to speak to their editor on the phone. Have a browse on our poetry pages at: www.writersworkshop.co.uk/Poetry.htm "Do let me know if any of this sounds interesting. I’m happy to discuss how we might work together on this. Where magazines are helpful to us, we want to be helpful back again." AS IT HAPPENS here on IS&T we do not offer a critical service however we have heard from contributors who say they've used 'commercial' critical services in the past and basically been ripped off. So, we said to the Writers Workshop people (and I have had Sarah Law as a tutor in the past on a writing course, so I know she is not a monkey) tell us why anyone should use your services. This is what they said – and feel free to post comments on this if you want to... Working for the Writers’ Workshop: a Poetry Editor’s Perspective Picking up a crisp white A4 envelope from the Writers’ Workshop is something of a pleasure for me, because I know I will have an in-depth engagement with an aspiring, and often emerging, poetic voice. I’d like to talk about my experiences as a poetry editor for a professional and legitimate writing consultancy: what it’s like to be on the other side of a process you may have considered initiating by sending your poems off for feedback, focused comment, and constructive criticism. First of all, this isn’t my only job. I’m a lecturer in creative writing and currently divide my teaching time between London Metropolitan University and the Open University. I teach a range of genres – life writing, prose fiction, included – but my major interest is poetry. I write poetry myself, and I love to read and discover new poetic voices of all styles. And it’s always satisfying to witness a new voice experimenting with subject, phrasing and form. With teaching comes marking, so I have a lot of experience of looking at both writing-in-progress and final drafts. Sometimes major revisions are in order; sometimes I offer fine tuning comments. This is a process which very much informs my reports for the Writers’ Workshop. The difference is that I can look at more work (25 poems gives a good overview of where you might be in your poetic journey) and in more detail – a Writers’ Workshop report can be 2,000 words or more. There’s also the assurance of complete objectivity: I don’t communicate with the writer of the submitted poetry until the optional follow up phone call. So I pay close attention to the poems themselves, usually setting aside a whole day to give them my full consideration. I often recommend further reading. If I think a particular collection, anthology, how-to book or even a teaching hand-out might be useful, I’ll include the bibliographical details in my report too. In fact, another occasional job I have is reviewing poetry (usually for Orbis and Stride Magazines). This is another enjoyable task, as I receive collections from the poetry mainstream (if poetry can be said to have a mainstream, that is!) as well as from the more adventurous tributaries. So my approach isn’t academic to the exclusion of knowledge of the publishing world. If a selection of poems merits it, I’ll mention specific magazines, and book publishers too. The world of contemporary poetry is very various, and I certainly don’t claim to know it all. But if I can point someone in a potentially fruitful direction for reading and submitting, then I’m happy to do it. The only occasions where I am not able to offer much constructive support are when a potential client claims to ‘dislike all contemporary poetry’ because his or her poetry is likely to suffer from unintentional, and often unintentionally comic, pastiche of centuries past: serious poetry has always been a forward looking discipline, and it still is today. However, lack of interest in contemporary writing is usually picked up on by Workshop headquarters, prior to any money or manuscripts changing hands: it’s also clearly flagged on the website. I’ve had some great conversations with clients subsequent to emailing them my reports. I keep the print-out of poems I receive so I can revisit them while we speak. It’s not a compulsory part of the service, so if you don’t want to talk, I shan’t be offended! However, if you would like to go for any aspect of Writers’ Workshop service, then we editors look forward to hearing from you. • Sarah Law, April, 2008. Tuesday, April 15
Three poems by David LaBounty
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 15 Apr 2008 02:16 PM BST
Another Poem About More of the Same the words rise above the coffee smells and soft music like an antiseptic cloud and the words rise from a collection of women dressed in black sweaters black pants black boots and they all look the same but different and their cars out front, ski racks and honor student stickers, suvs and minivans, envoys and tahoes, caravans and odysseys. milk, one of them says, I haven't given Nathan anything with milk in it for the past two months. not even grilled cheese | |||
