Monday, 17 November 2014

Aldeburgh: Rubble Flora, double nostalgia


After Aldeburgh, its tangle of events and impressions, the impossibility of going to everything, there are always threads to follow – and at least one obsession.  This year mine was the festival’s absent centre, [East] German poet Volker Braun who was unable to come, and in particular one poem of twelve end-stopped lines. ‘Property’ was written at and stands for a turning-point in history, after the fall of the Berlin Wall while Germany was moving towards reunification.  I’m going to type it out, for the pleasure of doing so.  I wouldn’t normally do that (copyright) but this poem, originally published widely in the German press in 1990, now appears to be the best sort of common property.  Hope someone will tell me if not.

Das Eigentum

Da bin ich noch: mein Land geht in den Westen.
KRIEG DEN HÜTTEN FRIEDE DEN PALÄSTEN.
Ich selber habe ihm den Tritt versetzt.
Es wirft sich weg und seine magre Zierde.
Dem Winter folgt der Sommer der Begierde.
Und ich kann bleiben wo der Pfeffer wächst.
Und unverständlich wird mein ganzer Text
Was ich niemals besaß wird mir entrissen.
Was ich nicht lebte, werd ich ewig missen.
Die Hoffnung lag im Weg wie eine Falle.
Mein Eigentum, jetzt habt ihrs auf der Kralle.
Wann sag ich wieder mein und meine alle. 

Here are the first few lines of Karen Leeder’s translation.  It captures the poem’s bitter stateliness. 

That’s me still here. My country’s going West.
WAR ON THE POOR GOD BLESS THE PALACES.
I helped it out the door with all the rest.
What paltry charms it has it gives away.
After winter comes the summer of excess. 

The full translation is here.  And here is Braun himself, reading the poem.  The Aldeburgh Poetry Paper has an excellent piece by Leeder on Braun and the poem’s context.  As she points out, Braun did not want to prolong the “winter” of the GDR – “I helped it out the door”.  He wished for a third way between that and the excesses of the West, a democratic, independent country with socialist ideals.  A utopian spring perhaps.  “Property” means not only individual replacing collective ownership (including the theft that went on in former Warsaw Pact countries) but also a sense of identity and the very meaning and purpose of Braun’s own poetry – my whole text becomes incomprehensible, he says.  To succeed, poetry has to find and fill an empty space; a crucial role when political repression multiplies such spaces, but who needs it in times of excess? 

How many poems both say and stand for so much, in twelve lines?  More of Braun’s are here at Modern Poetry in Translation.

In a talk on bearing witness, which deserves a whole post to itself, Leeder said Braun had asked her to tone down her translations to the simplest language. 

Idea for next year, which I hadn’t thought of when I filled in the festival survey: if Volker Braun’s health still prevents him from coming (I’m assuming/hoping they’ll reinvite him), maybe the Poetry Trust could commission some recordings? 

There’s a new selected poems, Rubble Flora, out from Seagull Press, translated by Karen Leeder and David Constantine.  Unfortunately it’s only in English.  The best German volume to buy alongside it is Lustgarten, Preußen. I know that thanks to a downpour at Snape one night, which led to a brief conversation in an archway with Leeder and her fellow German specialist Ian Galbraith who stood in for Braun at the reading.

Galbraith also did a Close Reading of the poem Braun had chosen, ‘Tränen des Vaterlandes’ (Tears of the Fatherland) by Andreas Gryphius, who grew up during the Thirty Years’ War.  The poem is stuffed full of war horrors, including a river choked with corpses:

Dreimal sind schon sechs Jahr, als unser Ströme Flut
Von Leichen fast verstopft, sich langsam fort gedrungen.

Contemporary sources, said Galbraith, confirm that Gryphius was not exaggerating.
 
***   ***   ***

Kathleen Jamie gave a fabulously good reading – she has a clear, strong, confident voice to fill out and inhabit her spare and lyrical poems.  Some of these were from a new sequence reflecting the months up to the Scottish referendum. 

It was good to meet (just before the final bus) Dan O’Brien who read from last year’s Aldeburgh first collection prize winner, War Reporter.  Again, hearing the poet’s voice was a treat – how did he manage not to run out of breath reading these urgent, horrific and often long poems?  Of which there are two new ones in the new Rialto. 

Another reading that stood out: Karen McCarthy Woolf from her new book, An Aviary of Small Birds, very moving.  Other people really liked her talk on Poetry and Disobedience, which I missed – am hoping the Poetry Trust will podcast it and everything else on that festival theme which was hexed for me, I missed the lot.  For once, people said, the opening Saturday panel discussion lived up to its promise... and I was still in Aldeburgh, having a swim and eating porridge.  Festival blogger Anthony Wilson wrote about it here.

More readings: New Poets Chrissy Williams and Kayo Chingonyi, both strong readers and very brainy writers.  I especially like her surrealism and his syntax.  (I was told recently that ‘surreal’ is sometimes used as a put-down for female poets.  It is emphatically not that here.)  Helena Nelson, last-minute stand-in for storm-bound Jen Hadfield, filling the hall with her presence.  Togara Muzanenhamo (born in Zambia, lives in Zimbabwe) reading from his new collection Gumiguru, a calendar for the farming year.  When I met him in London recently he said that from his farm’s study he has a view of fields and cows.    

Thomas Lux did a Close Reading of Hart Crane’s ‘The Air Plant’, written in wonderfully irregular yet perfect iambic pentameter.  It could have been written to illustrate Lux’s quote from Emerson:

For it is not metres, but a metre-making argument, that makes a poem,— a thought so passionate and alive, that, like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new thing.

(This works for Volker Braun’s ‘Property’, too.)  A few of Lux’s metrical readings were debatable… afterwards people were going around saying to each other, “he thinks ‘balloon’ is a trochee!

Lux read with panache to close the festival.  At the end, two huge bouquets of white flowers with legs appeared on stage, to thank outgoing festival director Naomi Jaffa for 22 years of her life.  Of course we gave her a long and standing ovation.  The legs turned out to belong to the other members of the Aldeburgh triumvirate, Michael Laskey and Dean Parkin.  Naomi welcomed her successor, Ellen McAteer, who has written about the weekend on her own website.       

There’s plenty I haven’t written about: Brazilian poet Adelia Prado, Karen Leeder’s talk on the poet in old age, South African poet Beverly Rycroft discussing poetry and illness with Anthony Wilson, the wit of another South African, Finuala Dowling, Hannah Silva’s Schlock! – I think someone else is going to write about Schlock!, will post a link if so.  Now, one more thing.

***   ***   ***
 
Friday afternoon, ten days ago.  Michael Laskey was ending his launch with the last and title poem from his new collection, Weighing the Present, (smith|doorstop) in the Peter Pears gallery, one of the old Aldeburgh venues.  It’s off the High Street up an iron outside staircase, which somehow makes it seem as provisional as the wooden fish shacks on the beach.  Naomi Jaffa had told the crowd that festival founder Michael wouldn’t take full festival honours, so no Main Reading slot. 

Nostalgic for the present moment as well as the past, his poems unwind themselves around something simple in daily life – going for a bike ride, digging potatoes.  Mostly the nostalgia is pure tone.  It surfaces in ‘Together’, which is set in bed:

even then, so close to her all
but inaudible sigh of wellbeing,
I miss her, I grieve for her, ache
for the small of her back I’m actually
making much of, stroking – better
pull yourself together, mgl.

Those who know Michael can hear him in the U-turn of that last line and a bit. 

Anyway, he was almost at the end of the last poem when the fire alarm went off.  Loudly, to startled but gentle laughter.  Perhaps someone set it off on purpose, so that he would have to read the poem again.  It’s one of several in which the dead appear in dreams.      

For an instant he was alive
or I had died, though I knew
neither could be true and pressed on

to the post office past my friend
with the present that needed weighing,
more or less knowing nothing
was impossible, even heaven.

The alarm was silenced, ‘Weighing the Present’ re-read.  Will Michael write a poem about this non-incident?   

Afterwards there was time for a quick walk along the Martello tower path, to watch a just-past-full moon rise over the sea: tarnished but very bright, part-hidden by black clouds blowing up in dramatic shapes, moonlight reflecting on thinner cloud below and on wind-ruffled waves.   

Gales and the moon, on and off all week – I stayed up there.  Only the weekend mornings were swimmable.  No fish at the fish shacks.  And now I’m feeling nostalgic for it all.  Double or triple nostalgia?  So many layers…


Friday, 31 October 2014

The Rialto issue 81: poets on reading to write



The new Rialto’s out..  and now I want to mention everything it contains, so will open it at random.  On page 43: a terrific poem by Roy Marshall – one of those poems which makes such an impact at first reading that when you read it again, the shadow of that first time is still there.  It’s called ‘Carrying the Arrest Bleep’.  On page 42: John Prior’s ‘At the Level Crossing’, whose central image is so striking that level crossings may never look or feel the same again.   

Other things: Chrissy Williams on stingrays and, separately, the gift wrap of LOVE; Nick Makoha and Dan O’Brien on aspects of war; Camino-Victoria Garcia on Serco vans; and a water poem from Clare Best that reflects in more ways than you’d think possible (weirdly difficult to proofread, I hardly dare look at it).  Kjell Espmark’s graveyard voices summon a ghostly Bach, in Swedish and in Robin Fulton Macpherson’s translation; Emily Wills is on the receiving end of a complaint, but death and her mother get in the way; Michael Laskey encounters an excruciating word.   

There’s something we haven’t done before, too.  Our feature this time is about reading to write.  Here’s our introduction:

We asked over thirty Rialto contributors past and present a question: Which poet(s) do you read, in order to write?  (And why – if you have any idea why?)  For example, if you went off to a desert island for 6 months to write, and could only take a handful of books, what would you take to help the writing?  If your answer’s ‘no-one’, ‘someone different every time’, or ‘I keep my mind empty of all previous poetry in order to storm the next frontier’, that’s also interesting, so please tell us.

We wanted to know because this is rather mysterious.  Read-in-order-to-write poets aren’t necessarily the same as favourites or influences, or may be a sub-set of those.  The link between input and output, so to speak, may not be clear. 

There was a tremendous response – replies full of interest psychologically as well as poetically. They reveal a wide range of approaches, and the richness and diversity of sources people go back to.  Contributions appear roughly in the order they arrived, on time for our tight deadline despite holidays, writing retreats and work crises. 

Our respondents range from Lorraine Mariner to Pascale Petit, David Morley to Jon Stone, Liz Berry to Dan O’Brien, Nick Makoha to Fran Lock.  Many of them do read to write but each one differently, and some more deliberately than others. 

A common theme is poets at a distance – dead poets (mostly 20th century), American poets, non-English language poets.  Some names come up several times, not necessarily the ones you’d expect.  The reasons for people’s choices are fascinating. 

A few respondents describe what happens when reading turns into writing. There are stings and kicks, and Christina Dunhill gets “a physical response like a click”.  And birds: Luke Yates is a regurgitating owl, Emily Wills a magpie anxious in the presence of strange objects.  A couple of people say that reading gives them permission to write.  Some read to read, and are equally interesting about this. 

Everyone writes so well and with such enthusiasm, in our mean allowance of 100(ish) words – a fascinating cross-section of contemporary reading/writing practices.

And they were all so generous, to do this for us – and so efficient, meeting our less-than-a-fortnight deadline despite all the conflicting ones of daily life.

If you want to know who helps Hannah Lowe get into narrative vein, which foreign language poet Kim Moore has five different translations of, how Niall Campbell moves physically from writing to reading and back again, which book gets Mimi Khalvati into a dream state, who loves reading poets he’s taught, which poet likes Herodotus and Groucho Marx and which the Flora Britannica, then… you can find the new issue of The Rialto here.

Friday, 10 October 2014

Statistics, aesthetics: Black and Asian poets in the UK, and the Ten launch


Poets and audience did their best to send the Purcell Room into orbit on Monday night for the launch of the second volume of Ten. This is the Bloodaxe anthology for the Complete Works programme, run by Spread the Word which supports the development of Black and Asian poets.  The evening was full of energy not just because all ten poets read well, some of them off-the-scale well, but because there was a sense of shared enterprise.  The audience had come to celebrate the poets’ success and what it symbolises for diversity in British poetry. 

Open Ten: the New Wave, and the first thing you read after the contents list is this quote:

Less than 1% of poetry published by major presses in the UK is by black and Asian poets.

It’s from the 2005 Free Verse report, funded by the Arts Council, which exposed lack of diversity in British poetry and led to the Complete Works programme. 

Before the reading there was a panel discussion on the state of things today, from statistics to aesthetics: chaired by Bernadine Evaristo, editor of the first Ten and instigator of the Free Verse report, with Bloodaxe editor Neil Astley, Carcanet editor Michael Schmidt, and 2014 Forward Prize winner Kei Miller. 

The 1% has grown to 8%.  That’s a long way to move in a decade but to reflect the UK population the figure would be 14%.  Nine of the 20 Complete Works poets have had or are having full collections published, around half by big presses.  They have won awards and been competition judges, editors and PBS selectors.  The panel thought their success has had an impact on perceptions; eg. ten years ago, Black and Asian poets were often assumed to be performance poets not poets of the page. 

The picture’s lopsided, though.  Of the main publishers only Carcanet, Bloodaxe and Peepal Tree publish Black and Asian writers in any numbers*.  And those who get published don’t get reviews.  My last Guardian Review audit showed that in the 13 months to June 2014 only Grace Nicholls and Derek Walcott had collections reviewed.  That’s 5% of the total reviews, though: given that the Guardian reviews mostly books from the big five poetry publishers, this figure may not represent a further bias.  The audit also showed that all (I think) reviewers in the period were white, and all Saturday Poems were written by white poets.  That suggests a bias. 

The weekend after I posted the audit, Kei Miller’s poem ‘When Considering the Long, Long Journey of 28,000 Rubber Ducks’, from The Cartographer Tries to Map a Way to Zion, appeared as the Saturday poem.  Nice coincidence.  The panel told us the Guardian commissioned a review of Miller’s book, but spiked it.  Imagine the frustration...  It will now appear, and he was interviewed in the Review before the Forward news.     

5% of last year’s arts grants (not sure what’s included) went to black and other minority ethnic applicants.  

More history: all the poets up for the 2004 Next Generation promotion were white until Evaristo intervened and asked to widen the field.  That resulted in Patience Agbabi being chosen.  2014 NextGen has four out of 20 though the judging panel was all white.  At the Ten evening the poets were presented as representative of the best, not as The Best.  The NextGen promotion could learn from that. 

But there’s one respect in which Complete Works could learn from NextGen.  There were proud references on Monday, and in the preface to Ten, to the New Wave’s focus on younger poets; and we were told that the next set of ten will be younger again. Should this be about the age of emerging poets, or the quality of their work? Should Complete Works perpetuate the past by excluding older Black and Asian poets who never had an opportunity to become known?  Nathalie Teitler of CW assures me that this is not the case and that the judging process for CWII was blind.  

***

Schmidt talked about difference being more interesting than similarity to him as a publisher; Astley about feeling a responsibility to make available the broadest possible range of poetry.  Schmidt thought the scene had been more open in the mid-20th century, when Tambimuttu started Poetry London.  Miller said there aren’t enough critics and interpreters to create a space in which Black and Asian poetry can be discussed.  

Miller asked: does the sound of black British poetry get heard?  He’s a middle-class Jamaican; many other published Black and Asian poets have a middle-class background and/or were not born in Britain.  I think he’s got a point.  Which one could extend to a broad social analysis of the British poetry scene. 

They discussed aesthetics.  Miller: if you want your next book, your next poem to be better, you have to commit yourself aesthetically.  But to what… aesthetics come from culture. What culture?  If you think you’re getting better, by whose standards are you (or others) judging?  Schmidt:  linguistic dichotomies can lead to a dialectic which helps an aesthetic to emerge, for publisher as well as writer. 

Miller wondered if British poetry, which he described as sterile compared to the US scene, is healthy enough for its aesthetic(s) to be challenged.  I can see where he’s coming from but don’t share his pessimism.  Even the establishment’s looking up: didn’t he just win the Forward and didn’t Liz Berry, whose work is enriched by West Midlands dialect, win the Forward first collection?

Anyway it’s easy to agree with him that poetry by Black and Asian writers has introduced aesthetics from elsewhere.  Maybe every generation of English readers and writers thinks itself fortunate but we seem especially so – with all the sources and uses of English in the UK, the energy and unfathomable variety of US poetry, and so many other influences on the language from the Caribbean to South Asia and beyond.

I’d have liked to hear more from the panel about the future – what they’d want to happen in the next ten years, and how.  Maybe their assumption was, continue as now; and maybe that’s enough, given the talent available and changing attitudes.

Ten: the New Wave is edited by Karen McCarthy Woolf, herself a product of the first wave of ten (four years ago), whose collection is just out from Carcanet.  There’s a preface by Nathalie Teitler, director of CWII, giving some of the history.  There are few magazine credits in the back, other than for Poetry Review, but most of the ten have been widely published.

There is a credit for The Rialto – one of Mona Arshi’s poems.  In a year of reading poems for The Rialto, a disappointment has been how few submissions we get, so far as I can tell, from Black and Asian poets.  We would like to see more.  Everyone reading this, please get the word out. It’s currently taking us under 3 months to read poems. See here for submission guidelines. Ten poet Rishi Dastidar is about to join us as Assistant Editor. 

In her introduction to Ten, Karen McCarthy Woolf picks confidence as an attribute that these diverse poets have in common – the confidence to follow whatever their own aesthetic and interests might be.  That seemed to be borne out by Monday’s reading.  I was especially looking forward to hearing Jay Bernard because of her tall-lighthouse pamphlet Your Sign is Cuckoo, Girl (see picture, if you can - it blurs when enlarged). Here’s the end of her school-set poem ‘The Basics’.

in the park they put the day’s lesson
to the test: the side of your eye is more
sensitive to light, so –

look to one side of a cluster you’ll see it clearly;
like the stark younger face of your gran
if you barely –

The plough, or big dipper,
arching through the dark –
is not a funfair ride, but a question mark –


* Complete Works say: Faber have only published Daljit Nagra and Derek Walcott in full collections.  Nine of their ten authors in the Arts Council-funded Faber Pamphlet series are white.  Cape haven’t published any non-white poets.  Picador have published Yusef Komunyakaa and (once she was established) Jackie Kay. 
Ten poet Sarah Howe will be published by Chatto next year.