Stanza Link Day - London - December 2009

Overview
Stanza Reps' updates
Pics
Poems from the event

Overview

Date: December 9, 1-4pm

Venue: Poetry Society offices, Studio, Betterton Street, London (and 2nd half in Basement, Poetry Cafe)

Attendees: 
Judith Palmer (Poetry Society Director), Paul McGrane (Waltham Forest Stanza / PS Membership Manager), John Williams (Stoke), Robbie Pearson (W3, London), Rachel McCarthy (Exeter), Robbie Burton (North Wales), Con Connell (Southampton), Kavita Jindal (Barnes, London), Jacqui Rowe (Birmingham), Joan Bryant (Plymouth), Helen Jagger Wood (Camelford), Charles Lauder (South Leicestershire),  Howard Phillips (Penzance), Jenny Shepherd (Forest Gate/East London), Jocelyn Page (South East London), Edmund Matyjaszek (Isle Of Wight), Kate Miller (London, Southwark), Clive Eastwood (Kent & Sussex), Maureen Almond (Teesside), Dave Brooks (Crawley), Kate White (Guest), Katrina Naomi (Stanza Comp Runner-Up)

We had 19 Stanza reps on the day, plus Katrina Naomi (Stanza Competition runner up) and Kate White (who, along with Jocelyn Page, helped Paul to run the event). After a welcome from Judith Palmer (Director) and a brief update on Stanzas from Paul McGrane, we had a Stanza update and a poem from each of the Stanza reps, and then, after a break, we moved down into the Poetry Cafe for another poem from each of the reps.

Stanza Link Day, London, 2009 Jocelyn Page reading2nd half of the Stanza Link Day: Jocelyn Page reads one of her poems (credit: Howard Phillips)

More pictures from the event

Stanza Reps' updates

Each Rep was given 3 minutes to give an update on their Stanza - to include, where possible, where/how often you meet, number of people in your Stanza, male/female split, number of Poetry Society members in the Stanza, what you do in your meetings, recent successes, problems, info on involvement in Poetry Societry centenary celebrations. 

Kavita Jindal, (London, Barnes):

The London South-West (Barnes) Stanza has been running for three years and is going strong. We have 14 current members, with an equal split of male and female members of a wide age range. For the Poetry Society’s Centenary we collaborated very successfully with Osterley Park, a beautiful National Trust property in Hounslow, where we organised poetry workshops for families (encompassing young readers and their grandparents) and also a poetry competition for different age groups. We were inspired to write some poems about Osterley Park ourselves, both for adults and children.

Charles Lauder (South Leicestershire):

  • Stanza has been in existence since March 2008 (started by me)
  • 18 on the e-mail list (including myself)
  • 15 women, 3 men (but I'm the only male that comes to the meetings)
  • Average age (and this is a wild guess): mid-50s, youngest being early 40s
  • Average attendance: about six.
  • About two-thirds are PS members.
  • We meet the 3rd Saturday of the month at Waterstone's in Market Harborough, with the exception of July and August, and December (given the busy-ness of the store).
  • We workshop poems each month, sometimes bringing in published poems of other people
  • Back in September we instituted a few changes where the poet does not read out their own poem, and remains quiet while the poem is being discussed.
  • Given that the group's not been in existence for very long, we haven't done any readings or held public workshops, nor did we hold a centenary event.

Joan Bryant (Plymouth):

Thank you and the Poetry Society for a very enjoyable time on Wednesday.

1) Obviously the verve and commitment of the Stanza Organizers (not necessarily the same people as the online reps) are the main inspiration for successful stanzas, but other influences are important, too.

2) One requirement seems to be a strong sense of community within geographical/cultural 'islands' e.g. Isle of Wight and districts of London. (Birmingham is an exception to this.)

3) Without decent public transport you tend to get middle class women and retirees who own cars - but not unemployed men, for example. This is a particular problem in rural areas, or in cities like those in the north-east, where public transport to the hinterland usually stops quite early in the evening.

4) Other successful stanzas are actually well established groups of writers simply relabelled as 'stanzas'.

5) Good funding allows more varied programming: this can involve pay-as-you-go where members can afford it, or the rarer and more chancy access to public grants of various kinds.

6) I found that, although everyone had a good day out, there was some bewilderment about how the Poetry Society perceives Stanzas. A few reps were quite disappointed to find that there was no funding or other assistance on offer.

7) Mischievous thought for the day: the poems read by the reps were much less pretentious than the standard fare in Poetry Review - and possibly the better for this?

It was fun meeting everybody, both the London team and the reps. The Cafe provides decent food and coffee, too - a useful bolthole to have discovered for future visits to London.

Paul McGrane (London, Waltham Forest)

Began June 2009 (after an idea by Mike Sims, Poetry News editor) and meet monthly in back room of pub on Tuesday nights (hire charge: £5 an hour - so as long as there's 10 of us we pay £1 each for a 2 hour session). 15 on email list, average monthly attendance = 10. We workshop our poems (about 5 people get to read each month), and each meeting opens with a poem by a published poet (or a quick writing exercise) - members take it in turns to run this. At Xmas we held an open mic just amongst ourselves (for the practice), we’re about to introduce a poetry book swap scheme and a we have a Facebook page. A third of the group are 60+, a third 40s/50s and a third 20s/30s. 50/50 Male/Female split. 13 of the group are white. 11 of the group are PS members. Good public transport means that 3 of the group are not from the immediate area. 

Dave Brooks (Crawley)

An attempt was made to create a new Stanza in the RH postcode based around Crawley, Redhill and Haywards Heath after the demise of the Brighton group. Only one reply was received in interest, but another attempt to get this going will be made in Spring of 2010. If more convenient, I would be happy to run this as an online forum or a band of wanders/ strolling players who might decamp at other groups on an infrequent basis. Feel free to contact me if you are interested.

Kate Miller (London, Southwark)

Southwark Stanza which welcomes members from across the South Central region (to the edges with Lambeth, Lewisham, Bromley) met first in November and December 2009. There is as yet no consensus on the format and scheduling of the meetings (workshops, open mic readings, invited speakers) but we have great plans for participation in local arts festivals, starting with the Dulwich Festival in May 2010.

Robbie Burton (Wales, Cross Border Poets)

  • First meeting June 09
  • Set up as constituted body in order to access funding
  • One application successful for eco-poetry day with David Morley next May
  • One application successful for Cadwyn Clwyd Sense of Place Project – Poetry posters – ongoing
  • One application successful for voice production workshop - tba
  • Attendees average 14, a 40/60% mix of male / female, and age ranges from 19 to 60+
  • Format varies: read round & feedback sessions; writing workshops; visiting poets (Gill McEvoy and copland smith so far)
  • Group v. grateful to Clwyd Theatr Cymru for use of a room free of charge

Jenny Shepherd (London, Forest Gate)

We are a small group that has been in existence since early 2008, and meet about once a month on a Sunday afternoon at my house, where we read about 3 poems each, and discuss them. We'd like more members, but also realise that having a small group means we have plenty of time to read and discuss our work.

Maureen Almond (Teesside)

Number of members: 11 - 8 women;  3 men

Membership: Andy Croft, Annie Wright, Cynthia Fuller, Diane Cockburn, Frank Lambert, Jackie Litherland, Joanna Boulter, Lindsay Balderson, Marilyn Longstaff, Maureen Almond, Tom Richardson.

We meet once every two months at member’s houses. We red and share work-in-progress and invite comments from each other. We generally spend some time looking at and discussing part of the content of the latest Poetry Review and generally share our views and concerns about the poetry scene, publishing etc.

In 2009 the following members have had publications as follows:

Maureen Almond Chasing the Ivy (Biscuit Publishing) [6th collection]
Cynthia Fuller, Background Music (Flambard Press) [5th collection]
Several members of Tees Valley Poetry Stanza Love in Vane (Vane Women)
Andy Croft Sticky (Flambard)
Andy Croft with W. N. Herbert and Paul Summers) Three Men on the Metro (Five Leaves).

And Smokestack, edited by Andy Croft has published eight new books in 2009 -
Kevin Cadwallender, Dances with Vowels ;
Mike Wilson, Desperanto;
Frank Reeve, The Blue Cat Walks the Earth;
Julian Colton, Everyman Street;
Michael Shepler, Dark Room Elegies;
Jennifer Copley, Beans in Snow;
Kathleen Kenny, Hole;
Linda France, book of days 

Helen Jagger Wood (Cornwall, Camelford)

Camelford Stanza meets most Monday mornings in my home to write together, offer critical support and study contemporary magazines. When offering criticism, someone other than the author reads it, and the author is not allowed to comment on anything until everyone who wants to has made their comment (a system adapted from those used by Jon Silkin and John Greening, former visiting tutors). We organise occasional full day workshops with visiting poets, and are about to hold quarterly evening readings/open mic sessions in the Camelford Gallery. There are 9 regulars plus a further 11 who attend occasionally; 9 are men, and 11 women, and the age ranges from 20s-70s, with the majority between 40 and 60 years old. Most are self-employed or shift workers, some are retired, one is a student. Only 3 regulars are PS members. We promote ourselves through the local authority's website for local organisations, and various internet sites like Poetry Kit, Poetry Can etc, and there is a slow and steady growth in attendance. 

I run the Stanza as part of my self-employed business, so charge £6 a weekly session (and £25/30 for a full day with visiting poet) which goes into a bank account, and is then used to pay visiting poets etc, buy more poetry books and subscriptions to poetry magazines for the Library in which we meet and from which everyone can borrow. If people can't afford it, they either come less often or pay less (it's up to them - they know we'd rather have their presence).

To celebrate the Poetry Society Centenary, we raised over £2k in funding and paid 7 poets to deliver writing workshops in schools, gardens, parks and open countryside and NT properties. We worked alongside the Ancient Tree Forum, the Woodland Trust and others, as a one year contribution to their three year project to map and celebrate every significant tree in Cornwall! The programme culminated in a reading at NT Trelissick, near Truro, at the end of October at which over 70 people attended, many as readers.

Robbie Pearson (London, W3)

The W3 Stanza has been meeting since September 2009 on a monthly basis, and now has 15 people who have expressed an interest although the number meeting is smaller. We have a good mixture of women and men, and have tended to focus on a theme, producing work which we then read. We sometimes read each others poems aloud and it has been an interesting experience to hear your work in another voice, it can add a whole new level of meaning!
 

Clive Eastwood (Kent & Sussex)

The Kent & Sussex Poetry Society was formed more than 60 years ago and has been operating continuously since then from its base in Tunbridge Wells. Our recent membership has been consistently around the 50-60 mark, though some members live away from the area and meetings normally have an audience of 20-25 (though 40 turned up for our January 2010 event). We have a main meeting ten times a year where we usually engage a poet to read to us. Sometimes for variety we have someone to give a talk on a poetry-related theme or invite a magazine editor to discuss their publication.

We run an annual open competition which funds our events, having no sponsorship or subsidy. Along with the monthly open meetings we have a monthly workshop evening for members only. Attendance here varies from 5 to 14 (though more than 8 or 9 means that each poem receives less attention than it should).

Our membership is fairly evenly split between male and female and we do have some younger members though in the main the age is from 50 upwards. The group includes several published writers and we are fortunate to count some established poets amongst our members. We publish an annual booklet of poems submitted by members but selected anonymously by an outside adjudicator.

Poems from the event

Rachel McCarthy (Exeter)
Ag / Lunar Eclipse: The Moon to the Sun

History is littered with fools following their stars,
reflecting their light, collecting dust.
 
Itʼs a peculiar loneliness - being stuck
showing the same face to the dark
 
rolling in and out of nights untouched
by light or heat. A moth, I stir
 
at first sign of dusk, would circle your spark
closer, closer, till I crumbled like rust.
 
If I understood what keeps us
apart, I might explain our passing
 
why, even when weʼre perfectly aligned
the tide does not overwhelm us
 
but like my sudden flush of colour, waxes
wanes, wonʼt douse what youʼve set alight.
 

Con Connell (Southampton)
Ex

Hurrying on our separate weekend tasks
Chance steered us back together as we passed.
It’s been some years. ‘So, how are things?’ she asks.
I mouth some memories, try hard to cast
About for things to say worth saying – none.
I listen. Learn about her new-found life,
Her dreams that all came true - beautiful son -
Contentment just to be a good man’s wife.
I smile and nod. She still looks just as good,
Survived our skirmish, left without a scratch.
“I’d love to talk some more, would if I could,
But must dash now - a bus I have to catch”.
Once out of sight, my pace begins to slow.
I missed the bus. It left five years ago.
 

Kavita Jindal (London, Barnes)
The Almost - Mistress

(Written as part of Poetry Society Centenary celebrations at Osterley Park) 

No visitor asks about me
And there is not much told anymore
But in 1763
I was to be the Mistress of Osterley.
 
Two weeks before our wedding night
My fiancé, Francis Child, died.
He’d commissioned Robert Adam
fashionable architect of our time
to transform this home
into a palace so sublime
that all would know
we had arrived
at the pinnacle of style.
My fiancé did that for me.
 
Did I say he suddenly died?  
Osterley now belonged to Robert Child,
his younger brother. Who went ahead
with his wedding to my friend Sarah.
The banquets, the dresses, the flowers
All planned alongside ours.
 
You won’t know my name. Nobody does.
You won’t read about me.
But in 1763
I would’ve been the Mistress of Osterley. 
 

Charles Lauder Jr. (South Leicestershire)
Wide Awake

I swim up from the bottom of the pool. The dream that follows me
was full of red and gold, of going to dinner parties and rambling,
thinking I've finished a word when really I was only halfway there.
My tongue grew thick with sullenness. My father and uncle
broke into the house while I was away, came in through a skylight
that I didn't know was there, hitting the floor with such a thud,
and then looked for ways to break out, scratched at the window
panes, banged on the door with bare fists. Someday I'll have
a sense of direction, have what it takes to roll out of bed
and be me, a cowboy with six-shooter in hand,
like telekinesis, reaching out to knock something over. The spark
in the gunpowder carries the words to a deeper level,
though the sentiment is still the same: Untie the heroine
before the train can crush her beneath its wheels.
 

John Williams (Stoke)
The Can Opener 

Next time everything will work like a dream;
the doors won’t stick, the lightbulbs never pop
and no more sweating in the ironing steam,
no expired sandwiches; putting a stop
 
to things that are lost or jammed and bust.
I’d be glad not to put the rubbish out
in separate bins or spend time chasing dust
or grazing my knuckles on the cut-out
 
zeros of the can opener every time.
I’ll permit each piece of home a history,
awarding Excellent to some tired old rhyme,
a destiny for the home, a mystery
 
like evolution dreaming up the sword,
the can opener, can and my ironing board.
 

Joan Bryant (Plymouth)
Sonnet to my Daughter on her Fourth Birthday

(My wordsmith daughter reminds me in many ways of Shakespeare’s Beatrice, who said of her birth:
“Sure ... my mother cried, but then a star danced, and under that was I born”.)

Not just a star danced, O my darling daughter,
When you were born, but life’s star itself, the sun,
Which honeys now your skin, burnishes brighter
And lighter than mothflame your hair, as you dance and run
Naked on the grass, scattering petals behind you,
A pagan summer spirit, arms outstretched
To embrace whatever, whoever is around you
In the soft fire of your love; a flame fetched
To kindle a fading earth your love is: “I’m sorry,”
You said to an old man, “you walk with a stick,” and you smiled
And lightened his morning; you have filled the house with a flurry
Of pansies you grew yourself. My enchanted child,
May you always be happy as now you are
And startle this winterish world, my summer star.
 

Paul McGrane (London, Waltham Forest)
Benny Hill

This bloke is sitting on a bus
We cut to where a sign says PUSH
beneath a bell the bell is pushed
We cut again Outside a caff
the door says PULL he pulls the door
Inside the caff the waitress comes
of course she’s young and beautiful
We have a close up on his face
He rolls his eyes and licks his lips
and reaches out toward her chest
her badge says PAT he pats the badge
 
Your face looked like that actresses’
when you caught me with your sister
at the party in her bedroom
we were dancing to old records
we’d speeded up to 45
so they would sound like Benny Hill
I’ve changed the ending of this scene
to make it seem more humorous
You’re chasing me through parks and fields
dressed in heels and red suspenders
mock-angry fist raised in the air
And me? I’m Benny Hill! At last!
With no responsibilities
except for making people laugh
and grabbing their extremities 
 

Katrina Naomi (2009 Stanza Competition runner-up)
Pinochet's Garden

Punctured gasps of bog cotton in the marsh by the stream
only he knew the way through. He liked his knowledge.
He had the gardeners dowse selected plants on the hour,
every hour, calibrating which were the last to droop.
  
He admired cacti for their instinct, their endurance,
liked the sweat of his greenhouse, the heat forced to its limit.
He logged what could survive, beyond the open
mouths of orchids. He knew all their Latin names.
 
As a boy, he’d snipped the heads off lilies, now
he wanted beauty, found comfort in the red wounds of roses.
One task he retained; no one was allowed to shoo the birds
from the lawn. He hung his catapult from a hook.
  
His blooms won prizes. His soil, rich. Bone meal rich.
 

Dave Brooks (Crawley)
Grimoire

I used to own a Grimoire, just for fun
A rainy Sunday afternoon affair
A lonely impulse of magical flair
A time to ponder a more profound world
To call the spirits, some demons, some angels
All drawn to me, enquiring of my need
A vast unholy divination sought
The power hewn, potential damage wrought
All manifest on Sunday afternoon
Just after Bond and before songs of praise
I own it no more, universally
It was a bad idea; I found safety
In writing poetry, and in crosswords,
The universe makes a sigh of relief,
Raw talent I had, being as I am
A true seventh son of a seventh son
I used to own a Grimoire, just for fun
 

Jenny Shepherd (London, Forest Gate)
Remembrance

I:
Four cadets guard the
cenotaph. One does not “slope
arms” to order: we cringe.
 
II:
The boy plays “The Last
Post” in the cold air. We hold
our breaths: note-perfect.
 
III:
The red-coated mother
wears her son’s medals. She reads
out her sobbing rhyme.
 
IV:
Two minutes’ silence:
the rain clatters on the leaves;
the traffic rumbles.
 
V:
The shots that signal
the end of the silence make
us all jump: shell-shock.
 
VI:
A bronze leaf floats down,
and lands on the head of a
trumpeter: my son.
 

Kate White (Stanza meeting co-ordinator)
After Edna St. Vincent Millay's 'What lips my lips have kissed'

What drinks I've drunk and spilt with whom and where
I can't recall, nor lurching to the train,
nor the stops before my stop, nor the lane
to the house, nor if the front door was still there
but there's one thing of which I'm all too aware:
my thirst for these nights is now on the wane.
I've had my fill of the grape and the grain,
those partners in crime, that seedy old pair.
So this tree stands straight and turns a new leaf
but it's lost its bark and hushly shivers,
hopes the season will change and birds fly in,
that its sap will surge before it withers
and a warm wind will blow to see off grief
and the rain will fall clear and strong as gin.
 

Maureen Almond (Teesside)
Ode to the Possible Future Laureate (and his current hot girlfriend)

(after Horace Ode 1.5 Quis multa gracilis)

Who is she making up to now,
that long-haired redhead,
that blarney-kissed girl,
that temptress in the red dress?
And in a jealous rage,
will he too,
end up firing her big, hard lines,
        along with her mascara?
 
She’s such a smooth talker;
great at pouring oil on troubled water,
and he just can’t see through it.
He really believes this golden-tongued girl
is all his;
that she’ll always be there, at his beck and call -
naïve fool!
Is he blind or what?
Can’t he see what’s brewing – God help him?
She’s never going to give him her rhythms for nothing,
or donate her verse and stilettos to Oxfam!
 
As for me,
I’m done with her sort once and for all.
I’ve given up life in the fast column,
hung up my epics with my motor-bike clips
and slipped into something more comfortable:
suitable sonnets to drop gently
in the Poetry Society’s lap.
 

Helen Jagger Wood (Cornwall, Camelford)
Artist at work

(for Ros Eastman on working together in Dizzard Woods)

Seated in the shocking down-slump of wooded cliff,
beyond the ploughed fields, the creosoted fences,
below the air, you are hunched on a sketch book,
 
translating movement into rhythm, life into art,
your whole body thrown through charcoal onto paper.
It's the dot and dash of your fingers, the lunge of your body,
 
the effort of translation, of movement onto still paper,
that amazes me, that challenges my art,
for I am encompassed by a small book and twitching pen,
 
trapped by marks representing words
representing the thing itself, while you mark with wood on wood,
charcoal on paper, so much more immediate, less mediated.
 
So much more like making love.
 

Clive Eastwood (Kent and Sussex)
A Degree of Autism

Six and I can’t catch his eye.
I want to talk about the maze
but it’s finished
after a purple trip three times round the outside
and a green zigzag that outmanoeuvres
all the culs de sac. I ask him to show me how
- it was a hundred days yesterday
he thinks a hundred
before his birthday and flicks a frog
over the wooden floor. I try one myself
but again he’s moved on
and I’m talking to the walls
the frog
thin air because there’s a pterosaur
that’s all green and green eyes
that should be yellow with too many l’s
except there wasn’t any. When his tooth falls out
he might get Daisy. It’s wobbly
and I want to know about Daisy
but this twig is a lever that makes the sofa
go backwards and we’re drowning
apparently we’re crashing. Quick
they’re coming though it’s hard to say who
a bare foot hard against my shoulder.
 
Can I see those flowers? Those ones!
through the noughts and crosses window
with one pane misted. It might be a tiny cloud
it might have come from up there
- it’s stuck, maybe it’s stuck. Maybe, I say,
it wants to watch TV,
but it never works when I try.