What is a poetry film?

Ahead of the online première of Tasting Notes, a poetry film, here's something of a declaration of intent!

So, just what is a "poetry film"? Well, I believe it's capable of bringing about connections and creating metaphors that neither the verbal nor the visual form would produce alone.

In other words, a poetry film is able to give a concrete image to a set of words that were previously limitless in visual terms, enriching poems by driving the verse in question towards a tangible experience. However, this need not be a hindrance, as those very words strengthen and specify the inital generic power of the images employed, enabling the viewer to set off on a new journey.

This, at least, is my aim with Tasting Notes. The poems are already highly visual, but very few of my readers have had the opportunity to see Extremadura, its wineries and vineyards for themselves. The film intends to give them that vicarious chance.

The deft peeling of euphenism, Hilary Menos' Red Devon

In her second full collection, titled Red Devon (Seren, 2013),Hilary Menos builds on the achievements of Wheelbarrow Farm, her 2010 pamphlet fromTemplar poetry, adding further texture and counterpoints to what was already a highly individual and thought-provoking poetic view of modern agricultural life.

Red Devon is far from being some evangelical vegetarian crusade. Instead, it brings us face to face with what we are and what we’ve always been. Let’s take this example from “Stock Take”:

“…And I feel I’m not being euphemistic enough

when I explain the absence of four or five lambs

by saying we ate them…”

Of course, she’s being the opposite of euphemistic throughout this collection. In fact, Menos peels away the layers of euphemism like the plastic wrapping on a supermarket pack of chops.

Red Devon continually challenges us. We’re never told what to think. Instead, the reader is allowed to roam and explore possible reactions. For instance, “Long Pig”, about cannibals, seems a long way removed from the West Country poems at first sight. However, the contrary is true, as the following extract shows:

“We eat the flesh only in wartime, when enraged,

and in a few legal instances. Theft. Treason.”

The reader is implicitly being invited to compare attitudes towards eating humans with attitudes towards eating animals.

This theme of comparisons between humans and animals is crucial to the book. It runs through all the poems, sometimes underneath them, sometimes as a clear driving force. One such piece is “Shambles”, in which the slaughter of animals is compared to the execution of people:

“This is the goat that, incompletely stunned,

Offered his throat to the knife

And said, like Walter Raleigh mentally thumbing the axe,

“So the heart be right, it is no matter which way the heart lieth.””

Any review of Red Devon wouldn’t be complete without mentioning “The Ballad of Grunt Garvey and Jo Tucker, the sequence of poems that lies at the book’s core. Like so much of Menos’ work, it highlights contradictions with a deft touch, never hectoring, always encouraging reflection. For example, its title is traditional, yet much of the versification subverts any pigeonholed expectations. What’s more, any romantic connotations are quickly dispelled.

In other words, tradition is juxtaposed to modernity, thus enabling contrasts to arise. The final (and title) poem of the sequence manages just such a feat,

beginning with…

“Oh for a story as simple as boy meets girl…”

This fairytale content is combined with a sing-song rhythm, setting us up for a shift in the second stanza to…

“At eight Jo parks, unfolds and folds the map,

listens to the metal tick as the big truck cools…”

The inanimate, modern sound of the metal is layered by the size of the vehicle. Modernity is clashing with tradition and the consequences are tragic.

Red Devon is an example of how a pamphlet, already excellent in its own right, can provide a springboard towards the larger canvas of a full collection that’s even better. Hilary Menos writes poetry that is specific in place. However, the key to her achievement lies in her ability to coax interpretation instead of forcing it. As a consequence, I’ll carry Red Devon in my mind for a long time. 

Gareth Prior reviews Tasting Notes

I'm delighted to report that Gareth Prior has posted a very generous review of Tasting Notes on his blog. You can read it here and also take the opportunity to have a look at the many other thought-provoking articles he's written. The role of poetry in education features strongly, while there's also an excellent piece on Fiona Moore's recent pamphlet.

Tasting Notes, a poetry film

To a certain extent, the title of this post is self-explanatory. I'm lucky enough to have some very generous friends down here in Extremadura who've been working with me over the last few months to create a professionally produced film version of Tasting Notes.

I'll be providing some background info over the next few days as to how we've gone about things and with what poetic intentions. All this will be followed by an online première in mid-September. Busy (and very exciting) times!

Tasting Notes - exciting news

This September promises exciting news: a fresh development in the Tasting Notes project. More details over the coming days...

The ebbing of absolutes, Matt Merritt's The Elephant Tests

Matt Merritt's poetry has always stood out for the texturing of its nuances. However, in The Elephant Tests (Nine Arches Press, 2013), his third full collection, Merritt has taken that process a step further.

Throughout the book, he is undermining any sense of absolutes or permanence, his endings playing a key role. They tend to qualify and cast doubt on what comes before, as in the following example from "Always". The first stanza seems affirmative as it sets off, clear in its statements:

"Memory abhors a vacuum. It seeds a coarse grass
between every bloom..."

The above beginning contrasts with the poem's closing lines:

"...Maybe this happened again and again,

maybe just that once. We can live by such uncertainty."

The repetition of "maybe" is topped off by "uncertainty". Nothing is as it appears.

In the same way, flux and movement pervade "The Elephant Tests", forever unsettling and challenging the reader, yet not via crude shocks. Instead, scenes and narratives shift in their portrayal, as in "The Capercaillie". At first, it...

"hasn't moved for the fifteen minutes
we've been watching..."

Nevertheless, a few lines later...

"And already, she's a shadow of herself, a last held breath
away from slipping out of sight. It's easily done."

The poem provides us with two implicit comparisons here: between stasis and transience, between the natural and the human world.

Matt Merritt builds layer upon layer of such subtleties. He is a specialist in trusting his reader. However, he's also capable of gorgeous unveilings of freshly cast images. Never flashy, never needing to show off, he yokes them to the purpose of his verse and they are richer for that. He's always been terrific at endings (as illustrated above), but this one, from "Long Story Short", ranks among his best:

"...the bubblewrap sound
of a car receding over cobbles."

What's more, Merritt is acutely aware that restraint and control are often insufficient. An overreaching is crucial to an understanding of what defies expression. One such example comes at the start of "Chirimoya":

"Custard apple. Sweetsop. Guanabana.
Mostly, it's the human heart..."

In this case, the poet starts by seeking a definition via a list. The pauses are deliberate. And then, all of a sudden, there's a delicious tingle of impatience as he accelerates and brings the reader to the core thrust of his inspiration.

The Elephant Tests shows a fully mature poet who continues to explore the relationship between verse and his life. Merritt accompanies us on a poetic journey that forces us to reflect on ever-growing uncertainties. In that vein, I'd like to end this review with the lines that bring this exceptional collection to a close:

"You still don't know what the elephant looks like,
but today looks a lot like the elephant."

John Hollander

I was saddened to read this morning of John Hollander's death (here's a link to an obituary in the New York Times).

As I've mentioned previously on Rogue Strands, Hollander's Rhyme's Reason played a key role in my poetic development as a teenager, all thanks to a recommendation from Mr Hoyes, my English teacher at the time! His own verse might be highly esoteric at times, but this is a very manageable and accessible little manual of versification. It's ideal for new poets who want to get to grips with metrics and I still recommend it to this day.