dumbfoundry

"I vividly remember reading "Zelkova Tree", the very first poem we published in Cha, for the first time. It triggered my memory of reading Ovid’s Metamorphosis. In Book IX of that book, the nymph Dryope unknowingly plucks a flower of the lotus tree, which is actually another nymph (Lotis). Because of this crime, Dryope is turned into a black poplar. Before the transformation runs its full course, however, she has enough time to utter a message for her son, warning him to be cautious: ‘let him fear the pool, pluck no blossoms from the trees, and think all flowers are goddesses in disguise!’ (Ovid’s Metamorphosis Book IX, 380-81). Apart from pointing out the changeability of all life forms, one can also say Metamorphosis is highly eco-conscious. All these plants and animals are incarnations of others; you are imprudent to poke, pluck and part them, for you cannot be sure what they really are: they may be someone you know!"

Wendy Cope: Yes to the first question. Writing parodies of male poets was one way that I rebelled against male ideas about how we should write. The first poems of mine that got published were literary jokes that made male poets laugh. Some of them probably think those were the only good poems I ever wrote. I don’t think the gender of the Poet Laureate is important. I don’t think the Laureateship is important. I am on record as saying that I would be happy to see it abolished.

And straight off, he mentioned how, as an editor, he wished he did not see quite so very many poems in the present tense--he wanted to see poetry that goes "beyond the lyric moment of now." So how do the tenses work? "I was" gives us rumination, recounting. "I am" gives us immediacy, now (and, I would add, urgency). "I will be" is impending, a prophecy. He advised us a revision technique: try rewriting the poem in another tense entirely. This doesn't have to mean it is correct or there it will remain, but we might open up some possibility, some tension, or find some holes we might not have otherwise noticed.

The TIME Magazine in the dentist’s office is wondering what happens to your cloud-borne data when you’re dead. A relevant question for all of us who a) compute and b) are mortal.

"To mark our 100th birthday I wanted to think of a project on a grand-scale which lots of people could participate in – something that was about Poetry but which also summoned up the idea of ‘Society’ – to reflect all the thousands of people who’ve kept the Society going since 1909.

It being Christmas, the Christina Rossetti poem came into my head “What can I give him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;” So – what skills could I offer the centenary? – I thought – 'I CAN KNIT'."

The current project we are undertaking, in partnership with Corban & Blair, has had myself and the Red Room fellows, inviting poets we have previously commissioned in part Red projects, to allow us use of their poems on these cards. As we had no funds to pay the participating poets to write a new poem or, at this stage, to pay them for a second use of their poem, poets had the opportunity to decline. So, in the case of these cards, Red Room is promoting the poets work out of a devotion to quality Australian poetry and a we have a commitment to providing poets with new audiences and new modes of publication.

Come and enjoy the beauty and power of signed poetry and experience its pleasure and visual impact with two of the most prominent sign language poets in Britain - both with International reputations. Interpreter Cathryn McShane will sign introductions. It will be fun and you do not have to know anything about sign language to enjoy their performance.

Thom starts talking. His voice is soft but clear. His words move like an impromptu dance. Liz and Kim (the Cathouse Creek Duo) play music behind him. He tells us, “Write down what you love.”

I write:

Trees. Song. Waterfalls. Andrew. Chocolate. POETRY! Home country. Birds. Purple. Red. Hot sauce.

He keeps talking. He passes out newspaper pages. "Find a word," he says. "Write it down." (That’s when I find “hot sauce”.) He hands round books, photos, CDs with evocative covers. “Respond!” he tells us, and, “We only have a short time together. Write while you’re listening.” We find that we can.

We write, he talks, we talk, the music plays, we read out what we’ve written, he recites a poem that responds to our words, he reads out poems by other people...

“Write about one of those things you wrote down, write about what you love.”

"I believe in a version of literary karma where the good you do for others somehow comes back to help you. There could be a practical explanation for this phenomenon, such as how increased exposure to poetry through editing can positively affect an editor’s own poetry, but I prefer the mystical version of it. I was drawn to editorial work not for the thrill of playing god, but for the potential the job has to make people happy. I also feel quite passionately about poems, and wanted the chance to advocate at length for a poem that struck me."

"It is very important in society who get to be the poets. Until about 1980 women poets were universally thought to be a bit odd. Edith Sitwell, Stevie Smith, Emily Dickinson were typical recluses or eccentrics who lived without men. Younger women who didnt grow up against that prejudiced background, have no idea how awful it was. We won't even start on the Ted and Sylvia myth but you can see how it fits."

Where will your imagination take you –
The North West Passage? North West Frontier? North-North-West?

Well, don’t get too carried away because what we’re after is: the North West of England.

And New York, of course.

Maximum 40 lines, preferably 4 by post with SAE. Or 2 via email: carolebaldock @ hotmail.com

"When I found out I would have a slot on the Plinth, I knew I wanted the hour to focus on the work of others. The One and Other Project was already (in my understanding) based on the idea of collaborative art: 2400 different ideas about how to 'use' an hour in a public space. Add to this my interest in digital poetry, and you'll get the technology connection. I knew early on that I wanted to do an Exquisite Corpse poem using the internet, but I was troubled by the technology failure possibilities. Even with a variety of contingency plans, I was terrified that I'd be standing there for an hour unable to communicate anything. And then the journalist from TIME called, and suddenly any potential failure seemed more consequential."

Where do we draw the line between what is poetry and what isn't poetry? Or, more specifically, what makes a poem a poem?