Tag Archives: #poets

Looking through a skylight

Yesterday evening saw an exciting event – the official launch of my exhibition with Maggie Cameron. What grew from a fun exercise for us both has become something that is bring genuine joy to people, and that is a wonderful thing.

Our Inktober poetry and art collaboration began by accident. I noticed Maggie had set herself a challenge to respond to the Inktober prompts by creating images of birds. I had my own October challenge of getting up early each morning to write, and I love to write about birds. And so a perfect match was born. I’d signed up to a Dawn Chorus writing group too, so the timing early couldn’t have been better.

The poems are different to my other work – more fact inspired I suppose. There’s a lot of fun in some of them and a fair bit of anger and frustration at the world in others. The poems in the exhibition are redrafted versions of the ones on my Inktober page, and it’s interesting to see the changes.

Things I loved about last night

Seeing my work on display – I love the marriage of poetry and art. It’s something I’ve seen a lot in various cities and it’s brilliant to have it here in Ironbridge.

Hearing the good things people say. An artist I’ve admired for years bought three cards because she thought the words and pictures were so perfect together. That’s something to treasure. So many people asked if Maggie and I will produce a book, and so many loved the idea and the content.

Seeing people spend time reading my words – it’s something that still surprises me. Self belief is not my natural state and watching people seem to enjoy my work is an alien thing.

Things I wish were different

I wish I had read. This would have been a perfect opportunity – but so close to Dad dying I just didn’t trust myself not to crack. A love of birds is something we shared from when I was tiny, and so many of the poems are intertwined with him. There’s one about a Mandarin Duck which inspired a poem sparked by one of the last conversations we had – Dad wasn’t much of a talker so this kind of memory is a precious thing. One day I’ll read it aloud.

I wish I felt less ill. Emotional exhaustion has numbed me a little, and sparked a lot of M.E. symptoms. I wasn’t as engaged as I could have been, which makes me sad. Lee, Maggie and Molly have literally take the reigns and made this happen, and as you know, sitting back and letting others do the work is not a comfortable place for me.

Will there be a book?

So many people asked this last night – it’s definitely something we will explore. The costs to publish an art type book will be a good deal more than a simple pamphlet, so it may be time to get the crowdfunding hats on again!

Thanks for reading, if you’re local to Ironbridge do pop over to 86’d to enjoy some delicious coffee and cakes, as well as looking at our work.

If you’re not local and you’d like to buy some of our poetry and art in postcard form, just send me an email kathrynannawrites@gmail.com

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Read poems – save lives. Project update.

I’m almost a week in to my crowdfunding project and things are going well. Funding is coming in slowly and it seems like there will be enough interest in the book for it to go to press.

I’ll be honest, this is hard. It’s so much more than a book of poems I suppose. It’s a stage of grief – I won’t say final because I suspect it never ends. It’s part of my goodbye to my brother and part of my learning to live with the jumble of shame, sadness, anger and guilt that weaves through the very real fact that I don’t have a brother any more.

I have spent the last week wondering if I’m doing the right thing, if I should just do a sponsored run (!) whether that would get more money. It probably would. But this isn’t just about money. .

Until we start talking about suicide, about the impact on those left and the things that lead people to decide the world will be better without them then this will keep happening. The work I’ve written is honest, brutal and suffused with love. These are poems that will start conversations. Framing this work as a fundraiser places this work firmly in the poetry with purpose category. And I suppose this is another way of absolving the never ending “if onlys” that pepper my thoughts each day. It’s difficult to revisit all those feelings, but the support and care I’m getting is so helpful. Thank you.

Over the next few days I’ll be writing more about the charities, and about the look and feel of the book. In the meantime to find out how to support the project financially head over to my crowdfunding page.

https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/poetry-for-calm—help-prevent-suicide

Publicity is king in this hideous world of algorithms, so even if you can’t donate, please interact with and comment on any posts you happen to see xx

An unwelcome shift

Just before Christmas I felt my work was full of possibility. I was writing, dreaming, seeing dreams become reality. Now – it’s just stopped. I have stopped. In the face of the awfulness outside my comfortable world, writing seems insulting to those in terror. Writing about anything other than war, poverty, injustice seems wrong. Yet I have no direct experience of these things, so for me to write about them is also wrong.

I am acutely aware that war, poverty, injustice have been part of life across the world for too many years. Blanket media coverage has a huge impact though and my hollow tears cannot seem to translate into meaningful action. Poets across the world have rallied themselves to write poems for peace, for fundraising, for awareness raising. I still write about trees, or things that made me feel a particular way when I was 17. It feels pointless.

Why am I writing this then? I’ve been putting it off – for fear of fulfilling the poor me trope, but I have to try to unravel this. I miss writing. I miss the joy of sharing work. I miss the challenge of seeking the perfect word, of deliberating over a comma. Whether I write or not makes no difference to anyone but me.

Perhaps I am at a low ebb for other reasons too. The beginning of this year has felt like a time of endings, and a series of possibilities that have turned out to be non-starters. I have a litany of failed, or unfounded projects, a sheaf of ideas that I just cannot get off the ground. I’m not even getting as far as failing half the time.

I feel at a loss as to hoe to move forward in my writing career –  as with so many other things, lack of confidence and a feeling of never quite fitting in leave me on the edge of everything. I am old now. I have felt this way since I was 6. Perhaps this is just how it is, and perhaps I just need to step away from that particular dream of “doing something” with my writing. It makes me sad to have got so close.

Perhaps it will pick up. Perhaps I will gain confidence, both in myself and others. Perhaps it is worth carrying on. Perhaps it’s just time to stop.

Money makes the world go….

round? Well yes it does I suppose. Food, heat, light,time to write. All the essentials. I send out a lot of invoices for writing work, and it still gives me a bit of a thrill (people pay me to write ). Today I sent out a slightly different one – to my local bookseller, The Ironbridge Bookshop. They stocked my poetry zine last year and have just sold the last one. Now I’m not going to be retiring to the Bahamas (after commission and the graphic designer’s fee I could just about get a day out in Brum) but this does feel special. There’s something about the fact that someone has walked into a shop, seen my work and liked it enough exchange some of their hard earned cash in order to take it home. It feels like validation I suppose – as though there is a market for my words, and that it genuinely connects with people.

I’ve spent my earnings on two more courses. One is with Spelt magazine all about how to submit to magazines, which I’m obviously doing but I feel I could perhaps do better, with a bit of practical help. The other is a workshop which sounds right up my street both in terms of method and subject. I’m not great in a classroom situation (thank you repressive girls’ school) and struggle to contribute but this workshop seems like it might be just the right balance of contribution and contemplation. My experience on my York CLL course has really shown me how much I learn from a workshop style, and how it builds on everything I’ve read about poetry in the last couple of years.

Things feel good at the moment. I mean obviously everything is terrible, but this tiny poetry aspect of my life feels like a refuge, rather than yet another point of worry. And refuge is, after all, one of the reasons I write.

You can buy Yes to Tigers from Ironbridge Bookshop, or direct from me – just email kathrynannawrites@gmail.com x

What’s the first rule of M.E. club?

Yep. Don’t overstretch yourself.

What have I done?

Overstretched myself. I’ve signed up for all the things, said yes to all the jobs and I’m just about coping…

The thing is, new year, new intentions, the weird belief that being in lockdown means I’m less busy (being in lockdown isn’t that different when you’ve got a chronic condition) and a good deal of need for distraction means my “no” filter is well and truly clogged.

Cat is disappointed with my lack of discipline

Starting the year with a rejection or two

is never ideal. It’s part of being a published writer, and I am less likely to weep and wail and snap pencils in half* than I used to be but it still hurts. One in particular was for a set of poems I’ve worked really hard on, and pinned a host of hopes to and the days after finding out they’d not been chosen oscillated between Pollyanna-like positivity and a touch of crushed despair. Putting your heart on a page to be judged will do that I guess. Add in the context of knowing people are going through a whole lot worse than you, others are working round the clock to save lives, continue education and feed people who are too stubborn to wear a mask, and the whole business of submitting poetry feels a little hollow.

Poetry isn’t pointless though

nor is music, art, tv (unless it’s actually Pointless of course) film or any hybrid collab you can shake a stick at.  It helps distract, comfort, crystallise emotion. It might make someone laugh or be the gateway for unshed tears. I’ve said before, the thing that means the most to me is when people getting in touch to say what I’ve written resonated with them, moved them, mattered to them. And of course I’ll keep going because that appears to be what I do, what I stick at despite the challenges and what I seem to be good at. I’ve sent another batch of submissions out today…I’ll spend the next week or so checking my inbox far too often, then forget about them and get either a fabulous surprise or another knock. And so the cycle continues.

Reading is hard at the moment

because I’ve taken on all the things, when I stop, it’s hard to focus on reading. I know this is bad – my brain needs food to function. Having said that I’ve enjoyed a fabulous collection of short stories Black Vodka by Deborah Levy is a collection that explore all kinds of love, in all kinds of cities and all kinds of lives. I miss travel, I miss people, and this collection of stories has snaked its way around my heart and mind. The writing is so beautiful I can almost taste it as I read.

Poetry wise I’m revisiting an unfinished book Urn & Drum by Lila Matsumoto. The poems are sparse. They leave me with a sense of hanging in the air. I enjoy the quiet that surrounds the words, the focus that inhabits each line. It’s a collection I’ll return to.

Halfway through February

already and it’s Valentine’s day! I love this day, the hearts, the kitschness, the overcommercialism. I am taking the weekend off to spend time surrounded by paper hearts  eat every heart shaped item of food I can find and drink every pink drink produced to celebrate the brutal martyrdom of a 5th century member of the clergy I can lay my hands on. At this point in winter, it really is a case of any excuse for a celebration and I really do love a heart or two.

Thank you for reading, stay safe, wash your hands, eat your greens and hug a tree

Kathryn xx

Connections, zines and new builds.

Apparently, my blog is supposed to be a round up of all the things I’m expert on – I have to be a leading voice in my field. I have no idea what that means. I’m not an expert on being me, never mind anything else. To be fair, I’ve never really looked at what my blog should be. It’s always been a kind of diary I suppose; a way of reconnecting with the world.

I seem to be using that phrase a lot lately and I suppose my default state is somewhat disconnected – that sense of being other. I’ve come to love the fact that I don’t really fit (except when I collide with a bunch of people who seem to resent it) and understand that it’s what makes me me. That doesn’t mean I don’t like to feel connected with others though, I just find it a bit more difficult at first. For someone who loves people I really do struggle to feel quite safe with them.

image by @lukeporter.co.uk

Zine on the horizon?

Connections are happening though and I seem to be venturing towards putting together something cool from my Secret Severn work. Amanda Hillier, one of the artists I worked with on the project has approached me about putting together a zine and getting it on sale in funky little shops. I’ve always been sniffy about self-publishing, but this idea seems to really work with the collaborative nature of the project. I’d far rather these poems be in a book with a real handmade, multi-level feel, that showcases the art that inspired the words.  

Our beautiful cooling towers in their final summer

New Build

In January Words for the Wild put out a call for poetry around the theme New Build – this fitted perfectly with work I had been doing for a local project (postponed due to Covid-19) and tied with a beautiful piece of work by two local artists who go by the name Both in Stitches. The poem was published on Words for the Wild on Sunday. It’s a piece that I love – it’s got bullfinches, cooling towers …. what more could anyone want? If you fancy reading, you’ll get the best visual effect on a laptop.

The original art work Your shadow at morning was the spark I needed
I even have my own tiny version on my desk

Time squeeze

My grand intentions for this week have been put on the back burner in the name of commerce. I’ve written about all sorts from theme parks to seat belt law, and much more in between. I’m hoping to spend this weekend on a mini writing retreat, by which  I mean no household jobs or gardening, just writing – I’ve got a bunch of easy meals lined up so I’m hoping to be able to spend the bulk of Saturday and Sunday working on a big submission, a fantastic prize (that I won’t win but I have to try) and a couple of Secret Severn stragglers. Next week I’m determined to get down to some self-study – I’ve a copy of The Craft from Nine Arches that I’m itching to get into plus I need to spend much more time reading – between paid work, domestic duties and limited energy levels, time is squeezed like a lemon, leaving me with just pips.

So, there we are – not an expert view of the world just me trying to make sense of everything while batting away the worries that crowd in through every minute of the day. Tiny connections make these things feel a little better.

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