Blackpool

i can’t think what to write about. So er a place. I like going to Blackpool, it provides difference. Neon, the sea which is always close unlike Southport or Morecombe Bay. The golden mile of amusment arcades, nightclubs, shows.

There is a lot of poverty. A large young population attracted by cheap, basic accomodation. I’d describe it as a mix between the shoddy and divine. The hedonistic go there at weekends for the nightlife. Others to see shows, comedies, music. Others to the pleasure beach with its rollercoaster. Very few even dare to swim in the summer.

In going there very occasionally i am repeating the trip made in the victorian era by steam train of my ancestors. Britains- tacky Coney Island. With a one third the size Eiffel Tower- Blackpool Tower. And the illuminations in October. I’ve written many poems about Blackpool, perhaps i should write about Cannes, the Almafi coast, Buenos Aires, Marthas Vineyard. Could you call the shore “the north west riviera”. But amongst the shoddy and divine i like to stand in the dark on one of the three piers and gaze out at the never blue, grey- black, Irish Sea.

Many older people still go there for there annual holiday staying in one of the numerous B and B’s. And if the Irish Sea is grey not blue so be it. It is still the frontier sea.

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.

 

 

the olympians

i think there’s something timeless  about Greek myth and the golden age of the Greek city states generally. As there’s a lot of myth from various sources, i’ve just looked at Greek Olympians

Hera was goddess of the  hearth and marriage. Often depicted with a pomegranate as a symbol of fertile blood and death. The lion and peacock where sacred to her. Daughter of Chronus and Rhea, one of three sisters of Zeus. Festivals where held in her honour and flames kept lit in Greek city states

Dionysius was  the god of revellry, wine, the arts, fertility. He is the only one of the Olympians to have  mortal mother. Is seen as an outsider or foreigner “the god that arrives”there where diverse greek cults associated with him

Artemis was the goddess of the harvest of the wild, virginity and child birth. She is usually depicted in a forest with an bow and arrow, in consort with forest nymphs. The deer and cypress where sacred to her

There are twelve olympians, only three depicted here. There is an actual mount Olympus roughly in central greece which can be climbed and is reasonbly high. It is a testemant to this line of enquiry that Hilda Doolittle and numerous modern poets refer.  There revenance seems to me to increase with three millenia. The above is very scant information.

Artemis                            Mount Olympus             Dionysius

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

 

eu referendum

So the British people have spoken. Or at least half of Britain the leave camp who are in a gross generalisation anti technology/ computers, anti cosmopolitan, anti other countries, non outward looking, anti globalisation

These ludites have jeapodised the union jeapodised the economy which is needed to help people who need financial and other support. The poiticians except for Jeremy Corbyn who is too inadequate to be regared as a politician- are wholy out of there depth. And  as extreme right wing nationalism consumes Britain

America and urbane sophisticated Europe seeing clearly what the British apparantly can’t. I feel ashamed to be British.  I love  europe i have spent about four years there. and can only hope ardenly for a reversal, second referendum and reintegration with our geological neighbours and the rest of the world.

europe-flag-1

 

 

 

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

 

 

The Arctic

The arctic and the antarctic hold an allure. The tops of fir trees in the cold sky. Clear forceful  rivers. The film the Reverend catches these poetic moments well. It could also be a place of death, even if not, the extremes could be dangerous. Perhaps it Siberia Lapland Greenland Svarlbard are rooted deep in our mind as a place of travel or a journey towards

Lean wild Otters Snow owls Musk Ox Wolfs Wolverines Bears Polar Bears Lynx Caribou. Add one man in the misdt of flurrying snow treading through danger and seering beauty to where? Is the man lost?

the-arctic

 

poetry pamphlets

Just “signed off” three poetry pamphlets, which i have been working on since August. So now waiting for over 100 copies of each.

Homes is about er homes. The first two sections are bleak delibaratley so. The third section is hopeful and optomistic. There is a lot of understated humour in first two sections. And as poems go on the reader is supposed to be entertained

Narratives is an entire  book of poetry containing questions and replies. The first section is dark, but with humour. The second section attempts to address the main events- birth, marriage, old age, death. Which is done in an abstract way. And again more hopeful joyess poems in the final section “some cathedrals”. I think i did quite well to stick to the format

The Love Songs of James Dyer comprises, of i hope five plausible characters. That i hope i know. And is quirky. Hopully the characters are interesting and the poems about.

If when they arrive i can arrange pay pal they may be available for sale. I might possibly employ a wholesaler. So there not on amazon as “currently unavailable” Although as is common knowledge poetry books dont sell well. I think i should congratulate myself. I guess now i’ll have to find new things to do. Or if i can brave it write some more. I found it easier working on three at once than one at a time.

helvellyn

helvellyn-lake district

 

 

 

poetry-maria baranda- Ficticia

Maria Barranda was born in 1962 in Mexico city. Her poems have been translated by Joshua Edwaeds and Paul Hoover. She is part of a vital tradition of hispanic poetry from eg Vincente Huidobro to Octavio Paz to Xavier Villaurrutia to Homero Aridjis of the early and mid 20th century. And new hispanic poetry from Mercedes Roffe to Elsa Cross. Her book Ficticia is publshed by Sheasman in English translation. Wherefrom some quotes.

The book is in narratives divided into ficticia/ letters to Robinson/ then the Sea.

 

Who will endure their heavy burden- from 1

where fish throb with the calmness/ of a heart that’s on its own- from 1

of someone getting up to take shelter in madness/ in the middle of the night- from 6

the voices of your ancestors was a single word:/ home- from 9

I am not mistaken when i say that the word grace/ incites laughter in lonesome men- from 13 (5) letters to Robinson

That is vertigo: to stand alone and survey/ a paradise at the edge of memory 13 (6) letters to Robinson

I can lick the blood/ of a broken statue in a foggy wasteland 16 (4) Sky cycle

I will have to enlighten myself with a black tear 16 (4) Sky cycle

The century, this century, has already abandoned us./ It has renounced us 16 (5) Sky cycle

those furrows where your history/ always departs as a disasterous ordeal- 17

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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kidsty pike? lake district