Other Lives

Dan Wyke has three of my poems up over at his Other Lives blog today - Extranjero, Dad On The M25 After Midnight and San Fairy Ann. With recent posts including pieces from the likes of Todd Swift, Helen Ivory and Michelle McGrane, there's plenty of intriguing poetry to be found there.

Review: Birdhouse, by Anna Woodford

Whenever the new issue of a magazine reaches my hands, I first flick through it, poem by poem, seeking “something” that might arrest me. On several occasions, poetry by Anna Woodford has done so. What’s more, her work has invariably followed through from that initial stab of pleasure.

For this reason I was delighted when Woodford won the Crawshaw Prize last year, which guaranteed the publication of her first full collection, Birdhouse, by Salt. It’s a heady read – all those poems that were individually exciting now become enthralling when lined up page after page. Woodford might be in love with language, but her poetry shows it’s a relationship of equals right from the collection’s dazzling opening lines…

“You fiddle with the catch
between my legs until my mouth
springs open…”

In other words, Birdhouse is a book that savours originality of language as a means of transmutation, rather than as an end in itself. There’s no sense of narcissistic revelling in a mastery of linguistic effects. Instead, Woodford harnesses them so as to free the reader, as in the following example from Scan…

…I think
of my heart, that has been
seconded – its old iamb
beating in the dark of my chest.

Anna Woodford doesn’t attempt rupture from previous poetries. In fact, she takes them and casts them in a new light. Just as the reader starts ticking boxes, she springs another surprise. For example, the typical poem that uses a photo as its launch pad – in this case, it’s Clipping, with a purposely drab beginning , as if in a knowing nod to the sub-genre…

September 30 1987. You are a picture
in the North Wales Echo…

Just as we’re sighing at Woodford’s supposed slip, she abruptly changes gear and we’re off…

…How carelessly you carry your son in your face.
I cannot bear to leave you to your ex-girlfriends
until I think of your mother: folding and unfolding
the clipping you sent home between lectures
before tucking it away with your childhood
cards in her heart’s solid dresser.

Terrific stuff! What’s more, Birdhouse is packed with poems of this quality. Anna Woodford has achieved something special with her first collection – a fusion of linguistic playfulness and thematic seriousness. Not hectoring, not lecturing, her poetic generosity launches the reader on countless flights. This is a book I’ll be reading for many years to come.

Review: New Walk Magazine Issue One

In the current climate of e-zines and blogs, the launch of an ambitious, beautifully presented print-based poetry journal is a significant event in the U.K. poetry world.

As such, Issue One of New Walk magazine is arresting even at first glance. The artwork is excellent, implicitly exploring its own relationship with poetry, as in Claire Blyth's gorgeous back cover, while the layout of the poems invites the reader in, giving verse room to breathe on the page.

Edited by Rory Waterman, Nick Everett and Libby Peake at the University of Leicester, New Walk sets out its aims in the opening editorial:

"We want to reflect in our magazine as wide a range as possible of the ways in which contemporary poets respond to the challenges of freedom. This is why we are interested in modernist and experimental poetry but no less in so-called formalist poetry, which is not necessarily any more conservative nor any less daring in the freedoms it discovers".

The magazine's contents then set out to prove the editors' points, especially in terms of the precise order of poems. Contrasting poetic stances and methods are juxtaposed: Rob Mackenzie is alongside Andrew Motion, while Alison Brackenbury is followed by Peter Larkin. This editorial tightrope is successfully walked and provides a useful snapshot of a wide range of writing.

As would be expected from a magazine that boasts such a well-known line-up for Issue One (Hilary Menos, Matt Merritt, Grevel Lindop, Leontia Flynn, etc, etc...), the standard of writing is consistently high, but my personal favourite is Journey Home by Stephen Payne. This poem's achievement lies in enabling the reader to grasp a new truth that seems obvious once it's been revealed. That might sound cryptic, but you'll have to read the poem to see what I mean, as quotes would sell it short.

New Walk's reviews, meanwhile, further underline the magaine's editorial position: a whole gamut of poets are tackled, from Robin Robertson to Louis Simpson. Criticism isn't shirked, which leads to some uncomfortable reading, as in Nicholas Friedman's review of Mark Halliday's "No panic here". Rob Mackenzie has already discussed this review on his Surroundings blog, and I agree with much of what he states, as Friedman seems to knock Halliday for doing exactly what he intended! If this review were published in a stand-along context, I'd thus be very unsure of its value. However, in New Walk magazine, I do think it performs a useful function, implicitly encouraging the reader to consider and reconsider differing poetic stances.

The editors have done a terrific job with Issue One of New Walk. The magazine looks to have a very promising future on the U.K. poetry scene, especially if its delicate editorial balance is maintained, drawing together different poetic strands, comparing and contrasting them, showing how they can and should develop alongside each other.

La Orquesta Mondragón

I should be blogging about all the excellent poetry I've read this weekend, but there's been such a glut that I'm still digesting it. Time for a trashy novel and some dodgy music, such as this 80s track from La Orquesta Mondragón, led by Javier Gurruchaga...

Ink Sweat & Tears

I'm delighted to have a poem, Paco, Mum and Me, up at the excellent Ink Sweat & Tears today. While you're there, I thoroughly recommend you browse their archive - it's a treasure trove of top-notch poetry and prose.

Poetry in the media

This week has encapsulated the media's treatment of poetry in several ways.

To start with, there was The Guardian's coverage of the Forward Prize. Sam Willets is a fine poet, but why was he singled out for a major feature prior to the awards ceremony? The answer could clearly be found in his former heroin addiction, which provided much-needed "human interest" for the journalist and newspaper readers. I feel this tabloid-driven slant devalues his excellent work. Meanwhile, Hilary Menos' actual winning of the First Collection Prize gained far fewer column inches.

And then there was Ted Hughes. Again. And Sylvia. Again. The Guardian titled one of their articles as follows: "Ted Hughes's final lines to Sylvia Plath bring closure to a tragic tale". That reference to a "tragic tale" is key to our understanding of the sub-editor's angle on this feature: the focus and draw originated in the tragedy of the couple's background story.

These are not just two examples of how poetry is used to provide colour for newspaper articles. In fact, they resonate further and perpetuate misconceptions among the general public. These features reinforce the stereotype of poets as a rare breed who lead atypical and often tragic lives. Many people are turned off both reading and writing the genre, feeling that poetry is consequently not for them.

I often find people taking a surreptitious fresh look at me after finding out I write verse, assessing me anew. A few have expressed surprise and mentioned that I don't look like a poet! Such articles don't help us to get rid of these caricatures.

Review: Hace Triste, by Jordi Virallonga

A quick look at the labels that run down the right-hand side of this blog should provide any passing readers with the chance to catch up on Jordi Virallonga'a poetic background. This post will focus instead on Hace Triste (DVD Ediciones, 2010), his latest collection.

Hace Triste finds Virallonga covering familiar territory such as the intricacy of relationships, while also opening up to new subjects, such as the ageing process. The book's first poem, Azúcar Quemado, states his aim:

"no caer antes del duodécimo asalto"
"not to hit the canvas before the 12th round"

In other words, defiance, expressed via engagement with life. This engagement has long been a crucial feature of Virallonga's work, and is something that sets him apart from many contemporary Spanish poets. Reading Hace Triste, I'm reminded once more of what first drew me to his work: poetics that gain much of their power thanks to the interlinking of ideas and events, as in this example from Del Orden:

"Ordenas la rabia en el armario,
las risas en el album, el odio en los estantes,
las caricias con los tranquilizantes,
la venganza metida entre las faldas, el llanto
entre cortinas, en la puerta la basura
con recuerdos, con latas,
tu obsesión por reciclar"

"You tidy up anger in the wardrobe,
laughter in the album, hatred on shelves,
caresses with tranquilisers,
revenge slipped between skirts, teardrops
between curtains, rubbish at the door
with memories, with cans,
your obsession with recycling."

The use of this technique might seem commonplace to U.K. readers, but it's unusual in the context of contemporary Spanish poetry, as is Virallonga's use of register, which shows clear development and greater surefootedness in Hace Triste. He veers between formal language and colloquialisms, yet always postions himself firmly within a Spanish that exists beyond the page.

Again, U.K.-based readers might take this for granted. However, much poetry written in Spain seems to bear little correlation with the language that people use, esoteric verse being written with esoteric syntax.

Hace Triste perhaps lacks the seismic thematic drive that made Crónicas de Usura such a stand-out collection, but it's still an excellent book, an alternative vision of how verse in Spain could progress if the current generation of poets were to throw off the shackles of their idolised predecessors. Jordi Virallonga deserves to be read.