Explorer Arctic

Your dark blue tent and green sleeping bag

Stand out like splashed hued colour

Against the white cold duvet of land

White outs- wind whipping snow, a wall of angel white

If you had a capuccino, the stenght of the vivid smell would kill you

You are attuned to walking stooped at 30 degrees

Pulling the sledge via a harness

Leaning on sno poles

You wear skis, sometimes snow shoes

A packed underground station would be overwhelming

Another colour added to the landscape eg a red crocus could prove fatal

You know the types of ice, the ocean underneath

The types of snow, crevasses

Better than Wainwright knows Harters fell.

Or a cartographer, or a child a play pen

Alaska Range

Arctic, Alaska Range

 

Explorer Mars

Blood on Mars – Explorer

 

First there is no oxygen

But you walk with the last breath, you took in the landing craft

 

Then there is no gravity

But you cling by violent ravid faith to the planet rock

 

The suns radiation blisters your skin

Splits it open and flesh burns like a fragmentation bullet

Shot at by your brother, with an AK he kept hidden under the bed

 

You like the aloneness of Mars

You like the red dust and rock/ softer red than human blood

 

You chuckle- “Martians not here”

 

Then you lie on the ground

As the flesh squirms, through your disapearing skin

You turn on the I pod

A Priests sentimentality at death

And listen to “nothing else matters” by Metallica

 

And this sun which they lied about and said was life giving

The decrepid hypocritical incas, and debauched celts, and deluded indians

 

Melts your eyes in marriage

The most beautiful and real moments of your entire existance.

 

 

poetry progress

Trying to write themed poetry pamphlets on micosoft office word. But still need to put in a lot of editing if say four are going to be publihed before 31/12/16- in progress in some sense “myth”, “politics” at moment past British prime ministers. “explorers” “industrial revolution” drawing a  lot on memories of my grandparents and research on web. “Israel”

I dont think  there is a right and wrong way, but it seems a good idea at the moment for poetry to be about something concrete, and other narratives can play in or not. They still need months of work

Read Katrina Porteous-  Two Countries, Jean Spackland-Hard Water, John Burnide- All One Breath, Ted Berrigan- Sonnets, Xavier Villaurrutia- Nostalgia  For Death. Had poem in Dawntreader- Indigo Dreams, Dial 174, Dandelion Arts Magaine

marrakech20

picture of Marrakech where i’ve never been

 

poetry events

Went to poem and a pint in grenodd ulverstone lake district on Saturday. J O Morgan was the headline act. He read from  his accomplished book “interference patterns” in different accents which made his poems interesting and enjoyable to listen to. Met  the lovely Kim Moore who published “the art of falling” to much well deserved acclaim

Attended wire writers warrington on Friday where we did a well formulated exersise.And two new? members  and i  read out works in progress.

Looking forward to seeing Anne and Peter Sampson read at the brewery in Kendal. But after a two hour drive realized its next week not ie today! So looking forward to seeing them next week. Booked ticket  to see Sarah James at Ledbury poetry festival  in early July. And thats all the news on the last week of poetry events. I think actually writing is more important than poetry events. But its nice to go somewhere particularly in summer.

lake district 3

lake district picture

 

 

2015 in poetry

Round up of my year in poetry. Plus one last post before 2016, so i’ll have done 12, one a month

Thanks to my 19 followers. I only had 17 poems published this year including The Coffee House magazine which pleases me and one short story in Carillon. That’s the worst yearly total for five years. Probably due to moving house. I’m pleased with my new house.

So hopefully do better next year, via more submissions. And to magazines more likely to publish me. Been to a lot of writers groups and open mics in Lancashire which I enjoyed

Got two poetry pamphlets “homes” about homes. And “narratives” at first proof stage and sent files for second proofs. And “the love songs of James Dyer” is sent to first proof. So hopefully all will be self published with printers early next year

Started painting watercolours (not very good) I have no expertise!

Hope the readers new years will be prosperpous. In the  words of the editor of Pulsar magazine in Swindon “poetry is all there is.” Will see what can be achieved poetry wise next year. I still havn’t found a regular format for this blog.

292

kidsty pike? lake district

 

 

 

 

 

American realist paintings three

Third instalment of American realist paintings and my poems on

Maybe in much  edited form a future poetry pamphlet

 

  Wilmslow Homer- Blown Away 1888

 

Two brothers in a boat

The white sail against silver sea

 

Soon it will be pitch black

Moon stars waves murmering  to each other

The salt sharp, blissful ecstatic shipwreck

 

But oh the silver sea, the silver sky, the white sail

The stories we made to be told and re told

blown away wilmslow homer

John Singer Sargent- depicting Rosina Ferrara

 

White blouse pink skirt

 

She looks back

Smiles

Jet black done up hair

 

Carrying a string of onions

She embraces enchantment for us

 

Her smile contains a thousand rivers

Is bridgeless

 

Then I imagine she turns and walks away

 

Carrying jouessance with her

 

What sublimity to catch the moments she made

In a painting

 

 

sargent rosina

 

Raphael Soyer- Passerby

 

The manequins heads are lifeless

And she

Anxious walking home from work

The sidewalks are alien

And she is hurried

A hat a done up coat collar against the cold

 

A husband sits in a flat lounge, smokes a woodbine

 

And upon her arrival

The city cascades into cello and clarinet snow drifts

 

And shes walking through the mined corridors of tall steel scrapers

 

Another person in the crowd hurrying home

 

raphael soyer passerby

 

 

 

 

 

fanny howe Second Childhood favorite passages

Some of my favorite passages from Fanny Howe- Second Childhood

Weary fears, the

usual trials and

a place to surmise

blessedness.                         from For the Book

“Philosophy should only be written as poetry.”

Each person or place wants you as much as you want another

.

and replicated, sucked or kissed into the lips of strangers

.

the total machine of retribution presses on.

Regardless of prayer or what a person did

.

Your scissors are spit your fiddle is cracked its strings are thin

and your mouth is dry your cloths American.        from The Monk and Her Seaside Dreams

i tried the night after

but woke up struggling with machines.       from Why Did I Dream

Of learning  the secular rule of life         from Born Below

I came without a plan empty handed except  for my

notebooks from preceding days.                   from A Vision

The Marriage of James Dyer and Ethel Waddington

James and Ethel met on a Friday evening in an unusually long fish and chip shop queue. They both share an interest in bingo and pontoon cards. They clicked straight away and after a whirlwind romance involving breakfasts in the Greasy Spoon Cafe. Nights in in front of Emerdale, charades and dominos

They tied the knot three later before a Brahim Preist , Bob Bolton the local butchers son. Sold there two up two down and kept one house. Using the money for a hedonistic three months holiday on the north west riviera Fleetwood. and wasting the rest on the lotto and betting on the races

Featured imageFeatured image

James Dyer Poem 5- Aubade

I sit in a room of magnolia walls and cobwebs.
Painted passers-by solemnly walk to there or there
as I listen to the Grateful Dead resonate on low volume
until later the clock shudders to milk bottles’ chink.
There is a nought that is a billion noughts.
Added up they equal suburbia: subtracted they equal dreams.

The room wakes up each morning, to sepia half-light.
Aloneness is a Chaffinch transfixed by glass.
Lorraine is on the other side of an owl’s wings.
A single sound here could equal truth
only money, a world out there carousel ling,
a drop of dew, this room of hope, the light awash

.
Ethel Waddington Stays In

She sits looking at the armchair where her husband used to sit
Fifty years in a cotton mill, a gold plated watch, silver plated cigarrette holder
That led to emphysema, he had cataracts and diabetes
The mill is boarded up, keep out signs, soon to be demolished for housing

There is a gap where she used to wash and shave Frank
A gap that was her youth, increasingly she leans on her daughter
The gap could be filled by biscuits and scallops and lamb chops
Or the world tapping at the door, or the sound of his frail footsteps again

writing poetry

I’ve run out or rather am unwilling to write on another topic. Poetry. i think there are many kinds of writers block. Most people see it as sitting in front of a piece of paper or computer screen and having nothing to say. But there’s also being exhausted through the days work. A unwillingness to edit work or submit to magazines or utilize that spare half hour. Doubt as to worth of writing which makes you think why bother.

At the moment i have so many projects on the go that i wonder is it worth utilising half an hour somehow found from other things. I think poetry structures a life, gives meaning to. Provides something better. To me each poem is a newly built house. if the houses are shipwrecked keep building new ones

At the moment i’m trying to work similtaneously on as many as seventeen proposed pamphlets. these could take between a month and twenty years to write. Which sometimes leads to perhaps overambitious writers block and i do nothing related to writing for days. As the goals are too high and testing

Reading Julia Kristeva- Strangers to Ourselfs/ Helen Cixous- Steps on the writing ladder . Kate Tempest-Hold your Own/ Matt Merritt- The Elephant Tests/ Susan M Schultz- And then something happened/ Philip Roth- American Pastoral. And attempting to move house as my landlord is selling this one. Which could be a good or bad thing depending on where i find. I think if poetry is written on a daily basis it rewards. Also other things going on in a persons life can add to the quality of poetry. Three poems in Transnational magazine, one accepted by Obsessed with pipework and two by Dawntreader accepted. Now back to trying to make time to write poetry. One poem is good. And avoid the multitude of writers blocks. And keep dreaming. i may go back to writing on a specific topic next month. Keep writing! If you don’t write you could start!

affectivity theory and poetry

in the mid 1990’s an interdisiplenary movement advocated affectivity as a panacea for increasingly peripheral doctorates on for instance fast food burgers  (Francois Holland) or the portrayal  of furniture in Victorian women novels. etc, symbolism in Disney movies

The implications of this are possibly subjectivity, and this lends itself to imagistic poery. Is this a disadvantage. Poets such as Trakl and Les Murray also Jen Hadfield in her excellent book Byssus, still work in images without being subjective. While Barbra Guest moved in her later carear into abstract expressionism. At the risk of a liberal turn. i think imagistic poetry is healthy and a good base. Whether it changes into abstract expressionism or narrative or late modernism depends on the poet

Affectivity theory has now morphed somewhat into embodiment theory . I am trying to map directions in poetry from metaphysics. And hope you find these two theories interesting, in an age when as Adorno? says there are thousands of theories with no adherents. The ground is complicated. But both theories provide a way out from the cogito. And are good i think for creativity

This is my first ever blog on an unedited wordpress site. i havn’t decided on themes yet or if there will be any.