To argue or to not.....

I will now assert my reign over this argument.....

So lets consider the 'argument', firstly in terms most people recognise - it is quite an affront when an argument commences between strangers; your either always prepared (a 'bicker badge' - that never was offered when I was at Guides) and throw many years of experience and relative wisdom into the tussle, or your left scarred for next few days wondering how it all 'kicked off'. Car parks, queues, supermarkets; irate mothers in school playgrounds are all gladiatorial sites for confrontation. Closer to home arguments are wounding, restrictive and sometimes fatal - or all can be put right over a cup of tea and an agreement to 'beg to differ'.

What of the argument in the world of the academics? Oh so many, many arguments and all on the basis of 'reason' so why would it be now after all this time on a degree would I question the argument?
Because I believe its banded about without any clear definition regarding the practise of reasoning. Lately two things have struck me whilst absorbing the comments that fly in the conference/seminar rooms of University. One is the matter of being responsible in all areas of literary study and the other is the group of words used to give direction to a question. Yesterday I was informed (formally) that to argue is another way to explore, this did not settle right with me, so I turned to the source of all best advice 'the dictionary' to confer. It is not the case that I did not see any reference towards exploration because it is there: 'to seek', but I find this a little underhand. By the word explore one feels that ones arms are wide, open to new things not peeping under chairs and behind doors. There is the possibility that the subject in question could be bigger.

(Big and small: a recent lecture I sat through exploring the Modernists view, the magnified view, the, don't over look this view.)

Moving on through arguments definition I also read: 'a quantity upon which another depends, or under which it is to be sought in a table' I know full well that this is pointing to the world of mathematics however if we change the latter 'in' to 'at' then an image of the argument in action suddenly comes to mind.
Do we not depend on our government to sit at the table and quantify reason within their debates? Earlier still with King Arthur and the infamous round table, did he not sit with his Knights to discuss what was best for his people of Camelot? A table so often is a division between asking and answering in all institutions of rule. It is also symbolic to discussion, as in an alter to offer something of our selves for the greater good. To plead, appease, persuade and wager we exchange opinions and demand proof of the value of others ideals and why?...so with reason there is a reasonable conclusion..... After all it has to be whittled down to what is right, doesn't it?
Yet that is not what literature is - the pages continue to be open to questions but not with wrath. How does this make sense in literature: pages of written words full of secrets luring us into centuries of excavation - to dig deep into the text, closer and closer. Can we argue with Shakespeare, Dante, Homer and Yeats? Asking them bluntly: "what is your writing for, is it valuable?" if we could, then there argument would certainly be useful, and it would remove the middle person who speaks on their behalf. The ones who with rigidity rise with letters after their names like add on carriages of clout.
To analyse (so science based - thank you structuralists for those images of the book slapped on the examination table), to explore (feel the tug of the wind on the sail Sir Walter Raleigh and Christopher Columbus) or to argue, there is at least one on this list that sounds staunchly one sided.

To be remonstrated against for a lack of argument seems futile when you look at the breadth of published work - who has the energy to stomp and bark all day ('Q')? It stands to reason that we have all approached our search for answers from the same source of resplendent knowledge; where people branch off  and deviate is just another way society has endeavoured to individualise themselves. I'm sure that this was not done by constant petty squabbling but by at least some decisive exploration.

Negative noun that it is, I'd prefer not to have to use it when thinking about questions raised about literature texts; if arguments are healthy - and only through my cultural belief do I debate (which must be around a table with pasta, a warm Rosso and a big smile) then my essays are poorly....but passionate. As a gorger and explorer of language, me the reader, has digested  and ruminated on many texts (well we've done it together) and if they could speak I hope it would be from around my table ....

Radio Time Again......

This Friday 13th December I will be making my self heard once again on Redruth Community Radio with Sue Farmer. The show airs at 3.30pm and I shall be reading two of my new poems which I've selected from a three chaptered collection I'm compiling ready for next summer.

I've decided to be a little more organized for this show and have a theme in mind - 'family'. As it is Christmas and a time when people will be considering all the aspects of family politics I want to highlight some recent events and how I believe they tie into this dutiful period.

 

My own poems which are family orientated at the core are also split geographically (being North and South respectfully) so the tone is very different in each one. Ultimately the crowning glory that I shall try and do justice to is a monumental poem by a lesser know Romantic poet, Elizabeth Hands. This is the best poem I've ever read regarding the perceptions of family life; it is dark, moving and very pertinent with the structure an ironic form of sonnet. I feel honoured that I can represent such an insightful poet who never reached the heights that the male writers of the Romantic period did.

I can honestly say after an extremely sorrowful few months this is a real boost to get back to what is centre to my creative world so I hope you can all listen in. It will also be included on my links after the show has been aired and recorded.

I am already preparing my next post on my suspicions of the argument in academic work..
...the worms are wriggling furiously in the can......

it's time for a little sprinkle....

Something astonishing occurred to me whilst watching the latest episode (21) of  The Arts Show. Broadcast from the new temporary home of The Turner Prize at an ex-army base in Derry, Ireland they had gathered some in the know art people to banter about their opinions on contemporary art and, if this year there was more of a feeling of 'inclusion'.

What made me so astonished though was the indirect comments of Grayson Perry (artist of ceramic urns with many a symbolically mood enhancing tale to tell) about the art scene today and how he would like more "internecine spats" between the different kinds of "tribes inside the contemporary art world". Very good, I think Jackson Pollock had the same idea.

So how does this relate to my point of place? Cornwall...lets start with Time and Change (caps are self evident) and the weight of dragging behind. Does the creative community give society a snapshot of a particular moment that is vital to expose about Cornwall? Where is the present, the now, the happening? How can Cornwall be declarative if it's voice is controlled by people of rooted institutions and with no branches to spare for new shoots. I look at the landscape around me and feel like it has given up waiting for communities to change and for it to be noted and expressed, it is taking its own course and evolving, but yawning all the same. How many more angles of boat, beach, bird, sea and surfer do artists need to commoditize the relevance of Cornwall's usage. I'm convinced that amongst the 'people' there are people who want to race against the herds and propel Cornwall into a new era of creative enterprise....but it would take one hell of a hefty shoulder.

Perry wisely observes the relevance of stand out artists who create work that "can be used as pixie dust to sprinkle on places which are wanting regeneration". These cultural movements into the now  can gain a healthy amount of interest and investment in the people and the place - look at Hull a proud City of Culture winner that will be showing off its stuff in 2017.

Too many moments are poorly supported and woefully unattended in Cornwall - even after months and months of advertising. I'm not suggesting that with the traditions that have long been held and tended to are not still receiving there rites of passage through the new generations - far from it, without these any other radical contributions would look exposed for what they are 'different', unnecessary; 'other'.

It is a tranquil place for the tussled urban artist to display their wares for a month or two, the unique light softening the harsh edges of the raw contemporary emotion of new. Art work often looks so much older in Tate St Ives, relic like and attic found. Nice.

My heart rarely beats to the rhythm of the new age we live in, the future seems to be a dark space with nothing hanging. Dribs and drabs that creep in and creep back out - no big explosions in this county. Can someone else start on a form of sculpture that can make the head reel with the sensuality of shape and texture (Damien Hirst's 'Verity', but Devon) or write a poem that expresses the image of a town going around in hopeless circles....I am here.....or a painting that announces that the sea is drained and off on its own holiday.

Just something outstanding - arm stretched out sprinkling the sparkles - Different.....

A mid-life chapter........

I'm now eight weeks into my third year of this English Degree. How am I progressing? Well that is in the hands of my new lecturers (I've submitted my first two essays). But that's not what I want to discuss here....

I have become increasingly aware that changes are happening in my thinking, learning and formulating capacity - almost as if I have reverted back to being on the brink of infant absorption. The mighty hold of literature is not barring my way; new forms and revisions of  theories are on the boil. I am a melting pot of ideas. So what is this development and how can it be happening so late in my life. One conclusion is that the more I write the more I understand the motivation of language, it is taking me along with it, we are strolling and talking. At curfew I'm led back to where words dwell and I settle in with the pages to read, redundant of any further input from my own expression. This revision is a whole new cognitive structure and I do not believe that I'm loosing any of my 'little grey cells', quite the contrary, I'm growing them.....

Could this be possible? I'm positive that this process is not an expansion of anything I learnt in the past, rather: it is not a treasure trove of buried repressed intellect in my subconscious. I wonder if this is a reserve of brain matter that is lying dormant for precisely this period in my life; if not used it will simply dissolve.

To read of other writers that connect threads through fiction and theories is a huge stimulant. I also strongly believe that if you don't agree with their thesis then change tack....make your own coherent argument. It is never enough to just disagree, or lamely complain. Ideas are orbs that float inside the mind, firing and fading - so one has to be quick. Our conceptual systems are like shutters on a camera (the very old ones anyway) the greatest of ideas can momentarily feel like there on a long exposure, the orbs stretching like tentacles. And like any beautifully figured equation the points need to be joined and patterns formed.

I am formulating a new idea, connective threads are waving and it is very exciting. My central word is ideology.....I'm willing to except that this concept in practise is still valuable, however the world is ever more idiosyncratic and our social behaviours are breaking down to such an extent that to generalise on structured formula's that we abide to might be too simplistic. We are still drifting in a post-modern phenomena - but it feels over extended. The consequences that build on a daily basis due to societies actions and the institutions in power need to be acquainted to new terms: obviously these ideologies are not functioning as well as humanity would like. I would like to see a new system which configures what influences the world today, but not to harmfully disrupt the previous set pattern of organised ideals as these are long formed and complex.

This is a long term diversion, firstly I must find a way to write about D. H. Lawrence which actually seems a far less daunting task now I'm reading Ulysses. Why does Molly Bloom remind me of Elsie Tanner so much? Better get the pan on.....

What about Yeats......?

I've come to Yeats late in life - not that I was unaware of him as a poet. The most important thing is I've cast another thread that links my devotion to Blake and Clemo. So what is it about this 'Mystic' description of these poets that enthrals me so much? Well it is still an on-going investigation that broadens over time. I keep collecting all this inspiration and adding to it as it filters through the mass of poetry I read. I had a remarkable chance just recently to voice my thoughts on my reading traits in a meeting with the poet Alyson Hallet (see links).

 

I booked the session through 'The Poetry Society' and every minute was a revelation. This was time to discuss not only my own writing but the reasons behind what I like in the writers I indulge in. The next discussion was narrative voice, does it tell the truth? This matter of truth can be a heavy burden to the writer and at times you can question not just why one writes poetry but how. Technique obviously is picked up on and the keys used to unlock each subject matter can also be scrutinized. I still maintain that I quite happily lug my case full of observations with me (I like to call them snippets) and often I don't even have time to pack them as the poem is impatient to be heard. This is what I call the guts.... this is what I trust; I believe in this voice, thus I believe in the Mystic in me. I find talking to people that avoid poetry more fascinating than the endless time that the old hands and academics spend dissecting and accessing do. All that analysis of cause is valuable but if the truth is so important, and it is, then I want to hear it from ALL readers. The point is, or should I say the question is why do so many readers who avoid poetry find so much relief (when forced) in their moment of understanding to what you've presented on the page. Poetry becomes a revelation; more importantly it becomes memorable.

 

Coming back to my brilliant meeting with Alyson: my work, or should I say my words, are shifting a little uncomfortably under the glare yet it will bring about a change of voice volume. I will be a better poet if I turn up that Mystic inside. It also needs to focus more, the subject demands it. The clearer I become the more the poems will 'insist' in all honesty to anybody who takes the time to indulge. After all I took the time to create it for just that reason: consider  T.S. Eliot's 'The Waste Land' that took over a year to write - recently myself and a couple of fellow students had less than two hours to 'figure it out' - enough said......

 

 

 I find that the most important and helpful question to ask myself when I'm working on a poem is "Am I telling the truth?" TS Eliot said that the greatest difficulty for a poet is to distinguish between "what one really feels and what one would like to feel". (Cope, Wendy 2008, Online)

 

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2008/sep/21/poetry.writing.wendycope?CMP=twt_gu

Just a little bit more....

I was leaving this to the last minute but I now can confirm that tomorrow evening I'll be interviewing singer songwriter Jim Causley who has been touring a new collection of songs that incorporate a certain distant relatives poems....

To any lovers of Cornish literature the surname Causley will definitely ignite memories of the multi faceted writer from Launceston, Charles Causley (1917-2003). Highly original and constantly mixing shades of language in his layered poems he entertained with the sharpest of wit and considered observations. Equally, there is magically captured the culture at the heart of Cornwall's communities. But he also had a gift for entering (in glorious 'Brothers Grimm' style) the light and darker sides of folklore and nursery rhymes; playing wonderful games with words in his own way.

So what will I be asking Jim Causley? I'll start with 'just how do you go about putting these poems to music?' I have a little experience with this myself as my husband and fellow band member creates the most fabulous compositions that weave in and out of my words but it is always fascinating to discover other techniques.

After the interview I will be watching Jim's performance which is part of the St Ives Literature Festival's amazing array of live music gigs. The final piece will be posted on Writing South West, (date to be confirmed).

 

 

Sorry, could you repeat that please........

Is anyone else missing 'Question Time' as much as me? Thursday evenings have fallen very flat since its departure on the 4th July. It has only been through sheer will power that I've managed to hold on until tonight when it broadcasts to us eager, all ears, pursuers of truth. Because is there really any deeper bottom to reach than the quest for the political truth?, I would say it's the most infuriating task and I give all credit to those in the audience that do not rush to a member on the panel; with all British decency cast aside, begins to throttle to the life out of a politician. I have found myself purely judging the purveyors of policies on their ability to answer any question put to them in a straight forward manner, but the manner in which we debate never really has the sharp returns of Murry on court, as they are laden with digressions or self certifications on character traits (think Janet Street Porter style).

This brings me nicely to who else blesses the chairs around the masterly shrewd David Dimbleby: journalists who tend, I think, to be less entertaining as the years go by. The recent upheavals and revelations in the press world has knocked the stuffing out of an institution that had, less we forget, a huge amount of clout when it came to delivering answers to our questions; even presenting us with questions and startling reveals that we didn't even know we wanted to ask. However they constructed the stories of the day and classed them as reports; to the public it was a part of the day to be assured, whether breakfast, lunch break or teatime we were being kept informed - did we trust it?, probably as much as we trusted the government, but those paper sheets of words seemed to penetrate on a deeper level, rousing discussions at work, down the pub and over the fence between neighbours.

Since yesterday I have been focusing on the factors of questions and how I have change in my quest for answers. One thing that has come to my attention is the way I weave information together; I believe that connectives are more than they appear to be - coincidences, no, I don't like this word as it douses the possibilities in the subconscious that makes the brain spark and link things together. I'm also a great advocator of further reaching questions in life, although I'm careful not to rocket off into the realm of Plato and Aristotle - yet.....but I have read about Descartes (1596-1650) and his theories. I'm sure his dualism principles would not of been favourable to D H Lawrence but I have always endeavoured to practice, 'I think, therefore I am'.

People make established careers from the art of questioning, and it is an art to ask questions well, according to who you are referring to. Of course simple questions can gather far too much baggage and get loaded down with further complexes - ask any seven year old!

Yesterday I read about a philosopher I knew by name only, C. E. M. Joad who made a name for himself in the thirties and forties by questioning the glories of war, embracing socialism and voicing his startling opinions on women:

'Women, he insisted, were "capricious, self-important, touchy, egotistical and, above all, boring".
(Bourke, Joanna 2013, BBC History Magazine, Bristol: Immediate Media Company Bristol Ltd)


In 1941 he starred in one of the most popular radio information programmes during the war called The Brains Trust along side Julian Huxley who, as well as being a brilliant biologist made studies into social philosophies, for instance eugenics, which was a popular topic for the early Fabian's whose members included George Bernard Shaw and H G Wells.

My last recall from the 11th September 2013 regarding questions was from yet another radio programme, the Jeremy Vine show. Not usually something I tune into but I caught the last fifteen minutes of the modern philosopher Roger Scruton's soothing tones on 'What Makes Us Human'. I will include it on my links purely because it is an appropriate question for yesterday.

What fills me with hope is humanities on going quest with recording the details of life - tragedies and celebrations. For as much as the people who are in charge are being careless with life, society is still 'making things new': the new super library in Birmingham is yet another effort to maximize the post modern theory. Ultimately I have realized - to question all things leads to a better understanding in the actual art of query and this in turn is paramount to our survival.

Thus, faced with the question.....

How is it going out there amongst my fellow bloggers? To redefine a borrowed line from R.J. Ellis's chapter 'Mapping the United Kingdoms Little Magazine Field' in New British Poetries, The scope of the Possible (ed. Robert Hampson and Peter Barry)

'How would one attempt to "map out" the "landscape" of blog activity on the Internet at present?'

I have also recently been asked to give some thought on the issues of commentaries to posts on a blog that is trying to circulate ideas on 'New Technology' - a module that is part of a English Studies FdA.

With both these questions seemingly merging into the same question I thought I'd simplify things and narrow down the geographic to reflect on my experience of blogging so far. Tied into this is also yet another pause for thought with episode two of Radio 4 The Sins of Literature;

Thou Shalt not hide. It's lonely business writing. Day after day at the keyboard with only your thoughts for company. Many writers develop rituals, habits and creative ticks to get them through. Historically lots of them have found succour in the arms of alcohol. The god like omnipotence they hold over the world of their novel can encourage an equal and opposite retreat from the real world (where they have no such powers). Thou Shalt not Hide examines the psychology and the discipline of writing and how writers are necessarily locked into their own heads yet trying to capture the whole wide world on the page. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0383hsr/The_Sins_of_Literature_Thou_Shalt_Not_Hide/
BBC 2013 accessed 17/08/2013)

Is the blogger as lonely as the novelist, is there trepidation in waiting for a stranger to answer or ask of you from the Webs abyss?

I have no doubt that several hundreds of keen, sharp Internet analysis types have critically accessed the blogging phenomena, particularly the fastest routes to successful commentator participation. Or you could just visit 'The Blog Reviewer', ummm. I myself have willingly fallen upon the notion that Google + must be a way of drawing in more of an audience, but who will that consist of? But then, I am happy with my blogs purpose; it is proving itself to be a connecting approach to key people who I am inviting to read about what I do as a writer. The visuals I include are just sparkler's to display book covers and titles, so determined am I to keep that part of the book alive. Photographs are usually my own to show that my ideas are real and from within my imagination or places and scenes connected to my poetry and art.

One can presume that people viewing your blog are enjoying it and whether your receiving comments on a level of great excitement, aroused angered fervour or just a lecture in what your doing wrong (which I can imagine the latter and former could be conjoined for effect!) is all a reaction.  Along the way I  don't seem to have assaulted any ones temperaments and I do enjoy the discussions had with various readers of my blog away from the site. But herein is the key - the discussion is on the topics of my posts, not me as a blogger. It has somehow become part of who I am as a writer, this is fascinating as I rarely publish any poetry for one.....

So is it a working diary like Woolf or Path? Not as such, I keep things fixture around the middle belly of emotion, yet it is evident that I have a great passion for literature and a determination to see my creative writing eventually published. What has led on from my blog is the offer of an opportunity to write about literary things in the South West for an online magazine. My interests and research in this county can now be honed into a regular post that will hopefully shine a light on some hidden talents and tales; even directing a new angle on what is more commonly know about literature in Cornwall. I will as always endeavour to reveal more very soon......

To wrap this up I will briefly summarise that, as I touched upon Ellis's chapter regarding the landscape of small poetry publications the blog's data discourse can be viewed from a similar perspective - have blogs been evaluated by descriptive methods or analytical  ones. The success of some blogs can be viewed on how greatly they express what to wear, where to eat, what is 'now' in the creative arts (be quick to keep up) the narrative persuasive in nature. The speed and direction in which things move on is like a ride in Wonka's Great Glass Elevator .....
To rouse, to conduct, to state, to be rhetoric - it is all a whirl of post modern toppings but I think my approach to good blogging is comparable to the great sitcoms and the fine radio broadcasters who like me just want the audience to keep tuning in.....

Characters shape the plot.....

Has anyone else been listening to the Radio 4 programme The Sins of Literature?

I have pondered over this first transmission with interest, which you can 'catch up' on BBC iplayer. At one point I had practically decided to don my wellies and start digging over my raised beds; packets of seeds at the ready. Is this the worst metaphor for novel writing? Maybe, I am a poet after all....
I agree characters are of utmost importance but where does that leave the novels of rich descriptive attention concerning sense of place, think Thomas Hardy The Return of the Native as one glorious example. The soil of the landscape may be full of the elements to germinate and mature each of your fictional persons in a grand fashion yet what if they spoil the readers view? It could be classed as a conceited concept to let the characters take over such sublime space - are people that important that they can't do without themselves for a few pages a chapter? On the flip side it is worth considering how well we want to know the characters introduced to us by the narrator. Personally I prefer sound strong individuals that do not over analysis every breeze that blows and every emotion they feel...apologies to the Modernists, but then the french writers are so good at balancing both...Merci Colette.

My considerations don't usually follow the idea that a perfect book and a great book aren't the same thing - which statement holds the most truth? Focusing on the frustrating slow parts in the middle can be somewhat like a soufflé. Does the reader approach with caution or rush in and knock the air out desperate to discover the ending? The narrator can aim to turn a runny, sloppy concoction into a light airy delight that melts in the mouth (when read out loud), yet we are warned by one of this panel of published elite that nobody thinks in metaphors. Should the reader therefore be suspicious of metaphors: something is what it is, don't confuse the reader with what it could be like, a book is not like staring at clouds! I believe that fiction is a contradiction - the writer should tell a lie truthfully; a sense of place can be achieved in a sentence and whilst levels of experience are of value, the writer can subsequently deal with an fictional experience without actually having that experience. The key here is to observe as much as possible, use the senses, then respond.

So has there been a writer who I can claim has produced a book of greatness, perceptive to the point that even after bathing the smell of a scene is still on the skin? For me that book is The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (1940) by Carson McCullers. I confess this book has only recently been in my possession but I devoured it as one would a meal when griping with hunger. I have tried to not fall into the trap of gasping with amazement at McCullers age or gender at the time of writing this non-superfluous piece of eloquent fiction. What I do consider genius is how she balances the characters and the sense of surroundings - neither fight for the limelight but work together harmoniously, the narrator moving  words strategically in order to deeper enhance the stories scenes. A masterpiece, and I for one did not skip a single sentence, even the punctuation detected exactly where it should be, decidedly and sound.



The next few weeks I will be probably leaving the world of fiction and applying myself to theory and my approach for my third year dissertation. My personal achievements in writing are still forging ahead and I'm trying very hard to gain feedback on some of my poems before I send any more off to competitions. I have four diverse competitions which I will be entering this year. A lasting memory was attained last week when I found amongst a donated collection of Cornish books a signed copy of Jack Clemo's Confessions of a Rebel. It is just his name and no dedication and that is all I needed to make the daydream a tad real - remember a signature lends itself to the myth, a 'language-object' as Barthe termed could also be the author themselves....

Eyes to the skies.....

I must have been wandering lonely as a cloud.... unloaded... puffy-light; now I've fallen back down to home with a thump; surrounded by young expectant faces - the summer holidays are here.

I'm keeping one eye on that vast expanse above, the calm blue density which has blessed us since the beginning of July as Sound of Fable are re-emerging with a concept EP based on Sky and Space. This has been simmering for a while, as far back as Circus of Words, our first album, when a  song 'There is a Moon Calling' was placed in the 'on hold' file till a later date. Other poems and pieces of music have been formed and tinkered with and now it looks like a serious prospect.

Getting back to the array of tonal travellers in the skies, clouds have been quite a talking point recently. I few weeks ago an app was launched to educate on the types of clouds we witness through out the seasonal shifts - http://cloudspotterapp.com/

My interest in clouds started in my teenage years with Peter Reich's 1973 memoir of his Father's radical meteorology experiments, A Book of Dreams that inspired Kate Bush to write Cloud Busting - nothing short of an epically rousing tune from Hounds of Love (1985). Whilst in my first year at college I'd discovered an inspiring book The Invention of Clouds by Richard Hamblyn that explores the little-known scientific studies of the early 19th century defining the cataloguing of clouds. With the wonder, awe, terror and beauty of our skies and beyond still enthralling many writers and artists of today we musical types from Sound of Fable are about to debark on an ethereal journey too....

am I inside....outside....balanced on the edge of both sides

sounds like the beginnings of a song....
no seriously this will be one of the small few philosophical posts I have to deliver and so ... this morning I had a Glastonbury feeling, and not the fling a ragged tent, dented pack of beer and blanket wrap cardigan sort of festival feeling but the feeling I had back in 94'  on the brink of the Glastonbury (free) experience; suspended on a 16 foot corrugated metal fence in denim shorts; where there was no time to think about a safety roll to the field down below as another three revellers were making there way up the make shift shoe lace rope (I kid you not). I had a mere split second to think 'tip'.....

That's how I'm feeling - do I tip over into the poetry community, brassy and bolshy - present myself at every 'session' to read aloud, express my words and then onto a Saturday morning share and be subjective group at the local library. This is all that's on offer (or so it seems) but where are the non-poets? Where are the public who just like to be given to: the gentle caressers of words in a scented bath or on a Sunday afternoon to help digest the roast or even the pissed up students who want to rant in rowdy fashion but not in 'Beat' mode or Byron snipe but with the new, the now, the next in line, I am not the nemesis just the light....

Some of what has helped piece my theories together is a book by the American poet Dana Gioia, Can Poetry Matter? (1992). His summarization of what has concluded from the network of professionals teaching creative writing and the growing body of poets themselves has formed a 'new world' within a world where poets read poetry (not such a new theory) and some even go on to become notably qualified to publish many books and papers on the merits, substance and relevance of the craft and who produces the finished article well.

Consequently, the energy of American poetry, which was once directed outward, is now increasingly focused inward. Reputations are made and rewards distributed within the poetry subculture. To adapt Russell Jacoby's definition of contemporary academic renown from The Last Intellectuals, a "famous" poet now means someone famous only to other poets. But there are enough poets to make that local fame relatively meaningful. Not long ago, "only poets read poetry" was meant as damning criticism. Now it is a proven marketing strategy.
(http://www.danagioia.net/essays/ecpm.htm)

Sounds cosy? The question for me is am I pulling out the black ball? In other words how can I get past all this mass congregating  bullish tag teams of poets and find a little space to let the public see that they are not obliterated, poetry can still be enjoyed if you don't write it yourself, (newspapers get back in the game please). When I don't want to write I take the gift bestowed upon us from the past and present poets and divulged in glutinous joy.
I am weary of all the poetry competitions that employ the talents of the published elite. They backstroke through the oceans of submissions sinking a few here and casting a pile out to oblivion, the winner carefully watching from the shore dry and home free. This is not the cynic at thought but I find all the inclusion and welcomed diversity a veil of hypocrisy, when the audience is a select committee and the poets of the realm 'unheard' are simply left there to jump up and down trying to catch a glimpse of what the 'real' poets look like.
Look at things differently - if your highly respected as a poet and critic whatever is placed before you
should be a challenge to your sensibilities. Start to read again and enjoy the words, take bold steps out of trendy comfort zones and again read like you read before when it all kicked off in your head and certain poems that struck a cord stayed with you for days, weeks.....
I don't want to write about the seaside for a while, or the clay landscape, or being a woman....all these things are around me, are me but its not quite enough because I can't reach out to an audience beyond the restraints of so many poetical departmental demands.....
BUT I can write a poem about the North, about Lowry's painting Discord(1943)...so I did...and its a good one....

Welcome to the wonder-room....

Back again so soon and with weird and wonderful tales of odd curiosities...
I have, for as long as I can remember, had morbid fascinations with curio artefact's which would explain my love of the Victorian age with there automata, taxidermy, conjuring and magic shows, contraptions and hidden fetishes.....My favourite of all is locks and cogs - engineering at its finest and if its employed into puzzles then so much the better...All I can say is if one gets a chance to return to the Science Museum in London to see there interlocking devices again it would be heaven.
And so.......
It was delightful to see an announcement on the Truro College website for a production called
Wunderkammer:

‘Wunderkammer’ fuses both satirical and downright absurd comedy, physical theatre and puppetry alongside perception changing philosophical theory to tell this psychological tragicomedy, a moving yet humorous story.'

By former A-level student Jimmy Addy from the Wild Oak theatre company that was started with his fellow college acquaintance Alan Neve. The title of said production is pulled from, I believe, the 'Cabinet of Curiosities'

The 'Cabinet of Curiosities' was originally a personal collection of things of wonder (the cabinets were also referred to as Wunderkammer - or Cabinet of Wonders).These cabinets reached the peak of their popularity in the 17th Century; they were the personal and often idiosyncratic collections of individual, wealthy owners and contained both natural and man-made objects:

The main function of cabinets was to provoke a sense of curiosity and wonder in the viewer; in many ways they represented a world-view that valued the 'wonder' in an artefact much more than the need to analyse and classify that artefact. There were not yet universal systems of scientific classification and each collection sported its own unique organisational structure. The specimens in one corner of the Anatomical Museum in Leiden were grouped by type of defect. Sitting side by side were "separate pickling jars containing two-tailed lizards, doubled apples, conjoined Siamese twin infants, forked carrots, and a two-headed cat." The cabinets displayed their owners' notions of Art (man-made artefacts), Science (natural artefacts) and    Spirituality (sense of wonder at God's works) in a physical form. [http://www.middlestreet.org/cabinet/whatisa.htm] Two of my particular favourite takes on this area of interest is of cause Dickens' Old Curiosity Shop and Stephen King's Needful Things. There is also a blog link opposite to a few weirdly exquisite objects if you dare..... Wunderkammer is on in the Mylor Theatre, Truro Campus, next Wednesday 19th June at 7pm

A slow start...a sad end...a new beginning..

It has taken me a while to get on with this post, mainly due to sorting out my three sons with sport days, exams and a lot of new adjustments for my middle son who is now living with us again. Both myself and my husband have celebrated big birthdays and amongst all this came the Jack Clemo conference. I did mange to get my pieces finished and the end result was a little flustered but I grew to like them more once they were up in Wheal Martyn's foyer and more still once I'd reflected over the many talks and celebratory moments of the weekend.

My art work was displayed along side numerous old photos; Clemo and Ruth's diary; letters from fellow writers and poets and other artists who had either found inspiration in the poets characteristics or from the actual poems. It was pretty overwhelming really especially the images of Jack as a younger man. I had never seen photo's of him in that period of his life; so now I could connect the earlier poetry to a face - it became right for me at last. On Saturday night we sat in Trethosa Chapel for local stories and the memorial for Jack - and the chapel too, as it will be no more in a few weeks. A mixed bag of sorrow, loss and the hardship of change (am I now gaining a Cornish temperament with this reaction?) was felt within me as I stood outside Trethosa and watched the sunset over the fields of the clays.

I took a few pictures whilst milling amongst the old and new folks that came to catch up and remember and regardless of how little comment was left regarding the display on the feedback sheets at Wheal Martyn, personally I feel that I have gained some ground with this constant struggle with Cornwall.

 

 TRETHOSA CHAPEL

                                  
Maybe its my stubbornness and perseverance to want to make use of what this place has to offer and bypass the grumbles, doubt and ever widening divides between rich and poor. I even find that I have stumbled across new understandings on the margins of academic shifts that involve change; (Alan Kent mentioned 'Ecocriticism' and Clemo's impact with words: a witness to man's intervention on our natural surroundings. Further renewed discussion on the clay's landscape/environment is necessary to determine where future decisions will lead, something which I brought to the fore whilst delivering a talk on Thomas Hardy) whether we like it or not it has been happening for a long time. All this nostalgia mingling with the emergence of the new reminds me of Gabriel's speech from Joyce's 'The Dead' in Dubliners,

"Ladies and Gentlemen,
"A new generation is growing in our midst, a generation actuated by new ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for these new ideas and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected, is, I believe, in the main sincere. But we are living in a sceptical and, if I may use the phrase, a thought-tormented age: and sometimes I fear that this new generation, educated or hypereducated as it is, will lack those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humour which belong to an older day.
(Joyce, James 1993. Dubliners, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions Limited )

I can safely say that the organisers of the conference, Gemma Goodman and  Luke Thompson showed tremendous humanity and humour to their guests and never more so than at the chapel where a large proportion of them were elderly and obviously feeling the sad regret of seeing such a loved local institution filled for the last time, so the three h's from above can be passed on to the next generations.
My last words on this event is for the minority of residents who although not born in Cornwall take part and contribute to the people and places that are regarded as an embodiment of Cornish culture and heritage - keep seeking insight, there are those who want to include everybody it's just a matter of time before they are the majority.

I'm getting back on with my two short collections of poetry this week 'Endless Lesson' and 'Marriage' only stopping my own creativity to watch the wonderful Miracle Theatre's production of Beckett's Waiting For Godot in its 60th year of performing.

...and now a new chapter begins.

This morning I parted with my last essay for my FdA English Studies course. I'd saved the best till last: the threads of postmodernism ran its stitches through the Internet - relenting and poised with  unpicker, bated breath and ready to tear and pull the lines out, but I didn't, not once. The words went in and a sense of something came out. It was an essay of embroidered ideas and questions. I sewed my words to make a tapestry of thought patterns and after I read it through I placed it in a wallet, signed the form and.....cut the thread.....

This summer I will  be writing freely. I will endeavour to complete a post a week either with creative pieces or informative blather. There will also be a lot of  appearances from completion who will be busying itself about my files and neatly prising formations of poems into stacks ready for the big brown envelopes.

The Clemo conference is nearly here and I've booked an appearance for the sun to come out and shine for that first week in June. Whether or not the burning mass will turn up is another matter...but I hope it does as I need its light to shine through three large windows at Wheal Martyn!

The chapters waiting so back to work....

It's all going on.....literally

St Ives literary festival is on and tomorrow I will be experiencing it for the first time. My two main reasons for being there is the 'Text Tent' starting at 5.30 which I believe will house under canvas an interesting mix of art based poetry and Sue Farmer's performance of John Harris's life and poetry put to song starting at 7pm at the Art's Cafe. As I'm also a keen songwriter and lyricist in the band 'Sound of Fable' this aspect of story telling to music holds a real fascination for me.
I shall be attempting to review these events next week.....and still I'm writing essay's...is the end in sight, I think a see a twinkling light....

May 21st the paints and clay come out and I will subject two beautifully sparse canvases to brush and knife whilst some wild jazz bounces off the walls......bliss..

Set amongst us again...the arousal of Jack Clemo

I have yet more joyful news regarding the conference on Jack Clemo....

 

             ...and here is the part where my good self is mentioned (so very proud)

Jack Clemo Exhibition

Wheal Martyn

Friday 31st May - 9th June (Opening Hours)

Peruse a variety of Clemo related artefacts. This exhibition gets to the heart of Clemo and his work and includes drawings of Clemo by Heather Spears, portraits by Lionel Miskin, his writing desk and typewriter, photos, letters, manuscripts and a Clemo-inspired installation by local artist Kyla Sidwell. This is the first time that all of these items have been exhibited together. Artefacts have been collated from the Jack Clemo Memorial Room, the University of Exeter Archive, the Royal Cornwall Museum and the Wheal Martyn Archive.

Entry will be free for conference attendees and the parts of the exhibition in the foyer of Wheal Martyn will be free for all. Access to exhibits displayed in the Wheal Martyn museum will be charged at the usual entry price.                                                                                                                                                                      

 

 

I am working on a new canvas piece especially for this exhibition whilst streaming out the words to finish my essays on deadline, 20th May. It is this Friday when I'll be donning the headphones again and sitting opposite the lovely Sue Farmer on Redruth Radio, expect at least one Clemo poem to be read aloud....and probably a couple of mine too...

Just had to mention my long hike today over to St Enodoc to see;

 

 John Betjemen's resting place,

 so feminine and full of grace,

open petalled, pretty church,

woven scrolls that sliver-search

 does my womanly eye behold

a book open and telling-told

 how my sex was once sold 

how art thou Bible bold

 

"Non, je ne regrette rien"......

I could say that all my pieces have been wrapped up and put away, to bed down, gather dust and maybe one day see the light again - when I have big walls and high ceilings...I did have a house like that once. But no - already one of my sculptures is sat in the White building at Truro College waiting to once more be scrutinised by the public. So I appeal to any body who just so happens to be at college next Thursday 25th  to stroll over to Tresillian building between 12.25 and 2.45 and have a look and a vote on what is displayed before you. All items on show follow the themes of equality, inclusion and diversity. The next piece to be separated from the mob is one I composed on canvas, this will be shown at the Wheal Martyn Museum May/June as part of the Jack Clemo conference.

I am having to go back on my word - and squash it back down to where it came from - the poems promised to be published on this blog from the exhibition will not be now. Reason: the many months drafting these poems will never be regained and I feel at some point I would like to submit them for future publishing and invite the rest of the minority of poetry lovers to read them. Placing them here on this white blank box will remove any right I have to say they are original pieces, I hope the photos don't give too much away. It is not to say that I will not be exposing new poems, short stories, and a whole host of other words that want to play, this blog is now born, it's alive and will have to be fed on a weekly basis.
I will be sat with the lovely Sue Farmer next Friday afternoon on Redruth Radio describing my experiences of the exhibition and thanking those of you that took the enlightened approach to poetry and many of the artistic mediums used: appreciate the work or its not worth getting out of bed..unless I use that as my next conceptual piece? It rings a bell though....

I would like to invite other people to send me poems to post, but not willy nilly! I would like to receive poems 'correspondant' style, any subject. So french to open, french to close...this always happens in spring...Brittany is calling...

Where have I been?

Well you might well ask! It has not all gone to plan regarding getting the public interacting here in my blog world....
Explanation - the Internet was down at the gallery so whilst I was there all day setting up the exhibition with my lovely assistant Ros I could not record events as they unfolded.
We made it on time and even had an hour for a quick break for food and lots of tea, then it was back to open up for the preview. In all honesty I didn't have the turn out hoped for but the people who did support the exhibition made the evening a joy, so thanks Sam, Phil, Luke, the couple from 'Whitemoor' and a great big thanks to Charlie and Dan Radcliffe for their support. But heh out there to all the artists from the press gallery - support the gallery, support the artists - we need to encourage a healthy creative community in St Austell and it starts with all the artists going that extra mile, or just a quick trip into town...'unison' is the key word.
So onwards to Redruth and now it is all installed in the libraries gallery and looking good. The space is fantastic, each piece can have its own area to settle and give the reader the room to contemplate. The dates now have been extended at the Cornish Studies Library to Thursday 11th April, and I shall be around for poem discussions whilst packing all the pieces up. In the meantime here are some shots from the galleries....

 

Just a mention to the great exhibition at 'Heartlands' from the John Harris Society, please go along to support this and see some fabulous contributions from the first years on the FdA English Studies course at Truro College.

 

 

 

 

 

Bind and Bound poem

Copy and paste into translation wiget on links

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Radio Blah Blah.....

Did I feel like I talked a bit of nonsensical tripe on Friday afternoon? Interspersed with reading my poems out loud, which incidentally I believe I'm getting better at, some sensible and enlightening comments might have been made - thank goodness for Sue Farmer, what a lovely lady... I would though like to be able to gesture more in the future  when performing my poems which is impossible at the moment as I tend to become rigid like a board when reading my own work. Ah those memories of school, Shakespeare and John Keats's - apparently I murdered their words - stone dead, their souls wailing in the playground as my unaccomplished vocals grappled with pronunciation. Confidence, wine and good friends around me, that helps and on that theme I'm reminded of today's date - two days to go until opening. Its getting a little frayed at the edges (me?) but I am checking everything over and over again; you would think I was on the operations team for NASA, no clipboard though, back of hand is good enough...

I have been taking some sneaky shots of sections of my pieces as I work....so here they are...tempted?
Well you know where they'll be and everyone is welcome.

Next post will be live and throughout the day so lots of people will be contributing...interesting.....

Here it comes......

Like a freight train down the track! Yes it's count down time and that's seven days from tomorrow....
Today communication has suddenly burst back into life and slowly my mind is settling again. Set up dates and times for Cornish Studies Library are confirmed and I will be manning the gallery in St Austell on the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday (25th - 27th March) for extra viewing time.
Many thanks to Martin and Amy from the 'White' building at Truro College for assisting me today, the easel is great!
Tomorrow I'm on Sue Farmer's show on Redruth Community Radio sometime between 3.15 - 4.30pm and I will be reading one of my exhibition poems live on air, and so the real exposure begins.

The latest flyer from 'The Old Press Gallery' is out....

 

 

 

 

 

Short...unsure...but still....

it's one of those tidy up posts, to brush up all the bits and bobs that occur when you believe you've wasted a week on nothing substantial. Well I'm going to throw that metaphor into confusion by telling myself - 'Rubbish' I have actually achieved rather a lot. Photo shoot with Charlie, goosebumps and all! pictures surreal, a very real statement. Countless emails (and repeats of emails) to people regarding promotion. Sue Farmer from Redruth Community Radio was on my list this week, an email went today. Her show 'The Written Word', Friday's 3.30 - 4.30 pm, is perfect for a plug in the right direction. I really want to talk about how much Kim has supported this exhibition. The descriptive pieces for each sculpture makes sense, not an easy task,both sets of surveys are drafted and proofs checked by both venues.
On a more reflective note, time for contemplation is short, and I'm unsure: is my work deep enough or consistently surface styled (that's a definite no, minimalism I can't do, but would you make a cup of tea without the leaves in the bag...?).The ideas are solid and the poetry is by far the best I've given to my friend and foe 'word'. I have to remember that this is not art alone in just the visual sense. I want each piece to be enough to hold the attention, the novel can lead the reader like a symphony...is the poem the poor overture?
I have never attempted an epic piece of poetry, it is better when I separate my poetry from my short stories, the endings fall and settle as they should. Whereas my poems rise, fall, rest and rise again like breathing, it is a process which is the same every time. The end can come if it needs to or it can pause infinitely, the subject getting tired of my observation. Every theme has a character of its own; I would say its almost like interviewing the subject whilst the object appears busy but aware. Odd, but imagination must be, should be? All I have to do is try and hold on to the ropes of technicalities, form, movement etc... moulding my creations like Ovid's Prometheus, 'From such rude principles our form began' but it is not man that is revealed in my words, but there once was a toad.......

Opening night, late nights, shells and hairspray.......

I've used half a large can already, hairspray that is, and still my charcoal smudges. I wait upon further ideas fellow artists out there....
I gave a tub full of beautiful shells a bath a couple of nights ago; when they are dry I will begin to burrow through the layers of calcium carbonate to find another poem.

Last Tuesday evening (12th Feb) I attended the preview evening of 'Lightlines' to witness the two screens of photographs and poems parallelled to show and speak to the visitors.

Tom said: "We haven't asked photographers to illustrate poems or poets to respond to photographs. Instead, we all gathered at Trebah on a single day in late November, and particular areas of the garden were assigned to poets and photographers. The results are stunning: a version of Cornwall's most beautiful garden transformed through the photographers' visions and the poets' imaginations. One of the best things about teaching and studying at Falmouth is the opportunity to develop collaborations between different creative disciplines, and this is a great example."

Tom Scott had compiled all our poems into a A4 booklet - I'm still slightly overwhelmed and remained a quiet observer on the night being surrounded by experienced published poets. Ros was on one side (beautiful flowers and now fully bloomed, thank you fab friend), my husband on the other; so apart from winching at my audio attempts I was bursting with pride. It was very sad to hear about Rodger, I will remember him, eyes closed and intently listening to the poems read out that day.

 

Pondering over my presentation to the first years, I started to wonder how my brain was functioning with the constant hopping from academic study to writing creatively. Is it artistic to compose a qualitative survey? As another evening slipped on into the darkest recesses of the night I doubted that any poetry would ever come out of my curdled mind again after this endeavour; then I delved around, my curiosity wandering through a lecture on music, a book on a 'Wider Sky' and a diary entry or two from dearest Woolf and the wisps of words began again.

 

Six pieces done, my back to expose and a bowl of soil to set with PVA.... What wild ecstasy....