Plays and poems

I'm very much a fair weather camper, so I'm not sorry that I'm not under canvas at the Hay Festival this week - though I'm very sorry not to be able to get to some of the events there this year. The town was gearing itself up for its annual invasion when we were there on Wednesday, tents and caravans setting up on the field, Bed and Breakfast establishments welcoming early birds, the marquees awaiting their writing celebs. It was a preview performance of Owen Sheers' "Unicorns, almost" at the Swan Hotel that we had gone to see, and I certainly wouldn't have missed it - beautifully scripted and very convincingly acted.

Yesterday afternoon saw the launch of "Cardiff Boy", the debut poetry collection by one of my Wye Valley Writers colleagues, Bernard John, published by Carys Books. Bernard had a very appreciative audience in the library at Caldicot - the town that was my grandfather's birthplace and my early playground, so it felt an appropriate place to be listening to poems of a 1950s childhood, tin bath by the coal fire, "Family Favourites on the Light ...Woodbines after dinner." I found the pieces about his Irish ancestors, abandoning their starving country in the mid 1800s for a chance of survival across the water, very moving. My favourite in the collection though is "Talking Hands"; Bernard's father worked as an instructor at Remploy, where disabled people were once trained for employment. The tragedy of the demise of that facility is so simply evoked - "Not for him to witness the factory / as it is now; the blue hoarding / conceals the rubble. The men  / he loved scattered and scared / of what their lives may become." Only too apt a description of the fate of many more in the current climate of health and social welfare cuts, I'm afraid.

Bernard John

Poets and times past and present

A good evening last Tuesday at the Hen and Chickens in Abergavenny - their monthly poetry evening showcased the work of four Bristol poets, two of whom (Bob Watson and Elizabeth Parker) I'd met at the Abergavenny Festival of Writing, but two of whom I didn't previously know (Claire Williamson and Ben Banyard). I was particularly taken with Ben Banyard's work; on his collection "We Are All Lucky", a reviewer praises the "accessible poems about the real world with its triumphs and disasters, tragedies and comedies." If you read the wonderful poem "Early Days" on his blog (benbanyard.wordress.com) I'm sure you'll agree.

Saturday saw an interesting couple of hours - at a school reunion. Not my usual venue of choice at a weekend but I was keen to go along to see the memorabilia that's always wheeled out for the occasion; on this occasion it certainly fulfilled a useful function, prompting memories, starting conversations and providing copious notes for the memoir project with which I'm currently underway. The yellowing copies of the school magazines were particularly useful. I was busy making notes from a couple of articles when I suddenly realised they were ones that I'd written - fifty years ago! I was also amused to come across a photo of myself treading the boards in the school production of "Much Ado About Nothing" - although it took an old school friend to point out to me that it actually was me!

4th from left as Don Pedro, mid 1960s

Later today I'm going to watch the preview of Owen Sheers' play "Unicorns, almost" at Hay-on-Wye, where it's playing for the duration of the Literary Festival. It tells the story of the poet Keith Douglas, who was killed in action during the Normandy invasion in June 1944. Like so many schoolchildren in the 1960s, I studied the First World War poets for A level English - Siegfried Sassoon, Edward Thomas, Wilfred Owen; no mention was ever made then of the poets who sadly followed in their footsteps only a generation later. It was years before I came across their work - and the work of women writers at the time of both conflicts (that certainly wouldn't have got a look-in during my school days - they may have been at a girls grammar school, but as aspiring writers we were introduced to no female role models!). If you were similarly brought up on a restricted diet of male authors and poets, do read the two wonderful volumes of women's poetry from Virago, "Scars upon my heart" from the First World War and "Chaos of the night" from the Second. For me it's no exaggeration to say that first readings were revelations.

Writers on the radio

This morning I'm recovering at the desk after yesterday's ten mile charity walk we did in aid of breast cancer research at Velindre Cancer Centre in Cardiff; perhaps I'm not quite the girl I used to be! But the sun shone as we walked the beautiful banks of the River Wye, clambered up Symonds Yat Rock and enjoyed the company of fellow walkers. Hopefully we'll have raised a good amount of money between us (350 walkers on seven different Wye routes) - it's all for an excellent cause.

Now it's down to work on preparing for a new venture I'm starting next month. I was delighted to be asked recently if I would present a fortnightly programme on NHSound, the community radio station in Abergavenny. I've written a lot on this blog about Rona Laycock's programme "The Writer's Room" on Corinium Radio in Cirencester; over the years I've much enjoyed contributing to it and occasionally hosting it. I'm hoping to put together similar programmes for NHSound, to give local writers a platform for their poetry and prose and to promote and discuss local writing-related events. If I can keep my mind on the matter in hand that is! The view from the studio window - looking out over the mountains - is amazing; after the second floor, town centre facilities used by Corinium Radio, where the window has to be kept closed against the traffic and street commotion, it seems luxury indeed.

Bridgend Writers Circle

Over the years, as a teacher and trainer, I've worked in some very varied locations - draughty village halls and damp church rooms, plush hotel conference facilities and busy hospital wards. But until Thursday I'd never taught in a council chamber, complete with honours board, mayoral chain and a horseshoe table with brass ink wells and name card holders for the council members! A very formal setting - but more than offset by the delightful members of Bridgend Writers Circle, who made me very welcome and contributed so enthusiastically to our session on Life Writing. I'd like to thank them all for their invitation and for a very pleasant evening - I enjoyed it a lot.

"Away From Your Desk"

A regular feature in Writing magazine is a page entitled "Away From Your Desk"; every month it suggests writing related activities around the country, events that that might enlarge horizons, facilitate networking, refresh a word-weary brain. Over the last couple of weeks I seem to have taken advantage of every "away" opportunity I've come across and I've thoroughly enjoyed them - the only problem being the return to the desk with all the accumulated minutiae of life (bills, e mails etc) to wade through before being able to crack on with the task in hand!

But I wouldn't have missed the events I was able to get to on the Cheltenham Poetry Festival. Last Tuesday saw our Festival Players performance at the Playhouse. Sadly one of our members was unwell but, at short notice, her place was admirably filled by local poet and author Christine Whittemore. The programme ranged widely over works as diverse as "Ode To A Nightingale" and "The Owl And The Pussycat", covered eighteenth century poets to the very much alive Anne Drysdale and hopefully exemplified "the power of words". The audience certainly appeared very appreciative.

Reading with Robin Gilbert, Frances March,
Christine Whittemore and Peter Wyton

On Saturday David Clarke led a fascinating workshop at the Suffolk Anthology on Poetry and Museums; some excellent writing came out of it and some intriguing ideas were floated. (If you're not familiar with David's work, do read his blog "A Thing For Poetry" and check out his new pamphlet, "Scare Stories" published by V. Press in March) Later on Saturday St. Andrews hosted an inspirational reading by Owen Lowry. Tetraplegic following an accident, Owen, who at 18 was a national judo champion, describes his portable ventilator as "a vanity-case sized thing with batteries, about the size of a Filofax"; his poems are delivered in time with the ventilator's input. My poetry group colleague Christine Griffin read at the same event. Christine's poems are always powerful - thought-provoking and often of real contemporary relevance. Although I had heard it in preparation, "Flight", evoking so vivid a picture of villagers scattering before attackers, moved me to tears. Overall an excellent event.

Christine Griffin

Talks and walks

What skill and insight it takes to make a work of art out of a national tragedy, to retain the horror and sadness but also to uplift and inspire. Yesterday evening I went to hear the poet Owen Sheers talk about writing the script for the film commissioned by the BBC two years ago to mark the 50th anniversary of the Aberfan disaster - something that will forever be in the memories of those of us of a certain age. Watching the film was not an easy experience, nor was listening to Owen talk about his interviews with survivors, rescuers and the families of those who died. But should you ever get the chance to watch "The Green Hollow", don't miss it. The hardback of the film poem, by the same name, was published earlier this month; it is well worth getting hold of.

The evening was part of the Abergavenny Festival of Writing and I much enjoyed the other events I went to over the three days. A highlight (as I'd anticipated) was the riverside poetry walk, led by clare e. potter (and yes, that's the correct rendition of her name!). We walked by the Usk in warm sunshine and listened to Clare reading poems both familiar and new to us, from a childhood favourite of mine - "What is this life" by W. H. Davies - through R. S. Thomas and Fleur Adcock to Rumi. We skimmed pebbles across the clear water towards islands of silt and fern, watched children and dogs paddling in the shallows and pondered other's responses to rivers before writing of our own - "Something is going on with the river, more vital than death" (Ted Hughes), "When you place your finger in a river, you are the end of what has been and the start of what is to come" (Leonardo da Vinci). So many possibilities in the topic - no wonder rivers have featured so large in prose and poetry from time immemorial!

Clare reads our last poem
beneath the castle walls

Out and about

After a few weeks of being desk-bound (where of course the real work gets done!), this week brings the welcome opportunity to get to some great literary happenings. I'm looking forward to several events on the Abergavenny Festival of Writing, one of which combines a walk along part of the Usk Valley with a "Write Me A River" workshop. My favourite walks are always woodland and water trails; I'm just hoping for some decent weather. Last week I joined in several of the events on the Chepstow Walking Festival when we had far from ideal conditions; trudging through mud up to your ankles and getting saturated through your waterproofs is not my idea of a good day out! Conversation with fellow walkers tends to be minimal in those situations but I'd been struggling with some recalcitrant pieces of prose and at least five or six solitary miles give ample opportunity for thinking things through ...

The end of the week sees the beginning of the Cheltenham Poetry Festival, with its usual great line up of national and local talent. Should you be in the area next Tuesday (April 24th), we'd be delighted to see you at the Festival Players reading at the Playhouse, 5.00 - 6.00pm. In keeping with the Festival theme of "Power", all our readings have been chosen to demonstrate the incredible power of words - it promises to be an interesting event.