Poetry

It’s a week till my newest poetry collection goes out into the world. My daughter Siobhan will start proceedings after Kris’s welcome and then Anne M Carson will send it on its way. I’ll have something to say and I’ll read you some poems.

The venue is Collected Works. I think about all the places I’ve travelled from to end up there. It’s a poetic home for me and, hundred of others.

There’s been a bit of on-line discussion lately about the value of launches. Economic value is not as important to me (luckily 😉 as the gathering of friends families and others interested. I’ve worked on this creation for four years. I’m happy to celebrate its arrival and I’d love it if lots joined with me in the celebration.

After years of wanting to, I finally made it to Berlin, travelled south and then across through the Czech Republic and up into Poland. What I had learnt from history books, anecdotes and documentaries pertaining to Nazism and Stalinism became vividly horrific through these weeks. Conversely I became so much more aware of stories of defiance and resilience and courage.

But there were also stories of intrigue I discovered. I had been alerted to one of these from Anne Carson who has been working on a poetry collection based on the life of Himmler’s masseur, Dr Felix Kerstin.

This weekend Anne’s work was performed at Queen’s College, Melbourne University. This Radio National podcast hosted by Michael McKenzie is a fascinating intro into Anne’s superb poetic biography.

Not so long ago I received an email query on one of the poems ‘Survival Guide’ from my first book In between the dancing.

I have a new project: I am learning a new poem by heart every fortnight. It’s fun! and makes me think more about the author’s choice of words, and I become more aware of the rhymes and alliteration. I’m currently learning “Survival Guide” and just wanted to check with you that there isn’t a typo in its printing in In Between the Dancing. These are the lines:

When you get to the higher slopes, pause
amongst the candlebarks and wrap your
arms around the shredding strips.

I just wanted to check you did not mean shedding? The bark strips are being shed by the tree, but are also shredded by the wind so both would make sense, but because of the word “strips” following, shredding strips is somehow more difficult/awkward to say than shedding strips. I imagine you did mean shredding, because the person is feeling emotionally shredded. I hadn’t noticed this word particularly before when reading the poem silently to myself. It’s a whole new thing reading them aloud, and having them alive inside you, on call, without needing to open a book.

Of course I revisited the poem and then the territory that led to the poem. Shredding is definitely the correct term though I know it is tricky to say, just as it is to go through.

What a beautiful moment: to be led back into one of my own poems by a reader’s response, to be led to reconsider the poetic choices I made at the time, to be challenged to put the effort into learning it that this reader did.

Sometimes you go to a writing festival and you feel that life is going to be different forever after. That’s how it was at Listowel. Such a rich few days.

Everything from the easy companionship from events to lunch to other events, the vitality of the pubs and Woulfe’s book store, the decorated windows and the gorgeousness of the town itself.

Not surprisingly the highlight for me was doing the series of Master Writing classes with Peter Fallon. I’ve loved his poetry for quite a while and now I’ve discovered the man; clever, humble, witty, kindhearted and a stunning poet. I think the group of us was so enriched by what he responded to in our poetry and the poetry of others.

I’ve been writing poetry for twenty years, but it is only now that I’m considering the lines of poetry as an auditory unit and from that stems the questions. What is the effect in the poem of this particular line? To achieve …. such and such an effect how should I shape the line, how should this line sound?

And so now I write with my PF eye and ear on what I’m doing. I keep another eye and ear out for future festivals of such quality and my third eye on the work of the writers I met and to whom we listened. Writing festivals at their best provide a way of living that I love; of complete immersion in the moment, a way of soaking it in and carrying it with you when you get on the plane and eventually arrive home and take up the pen at your own writing desk.

FRIDAY 20 March Wool Museum Geelong

What a delight to attend one of the best poetry readings ever from some of the Geelong poets who featured in Best Australian Poems 2014. Fantastic venue and involvement from The Council and the Library. Great to catch up with poetry friends from way back. And what a joy to listen to excellent poetry being read in voices that allowed the musicality of the poetry to do its own thing. But the highlight for me was the interest of the poetry. This was poetry worth hearing.

SATURDAY 21 March Ocean Grove library

A smaller group hosted by the library but a few poems and plenty of chat but where were those readers?

SUNDAY 22 March Camperdown Botanic Gardens

I presented my poems and mini-workshop to the partners of the Lions delegates in Camperdown for the weekend. Hosted by Judi Oakes in one of Camperdown’s iconic settings. An interesting responsive group, a charming host and a stunning setting..perfect for poetry.