The Cheaper Man

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Robert Bridges – a pointless Pointless answer. Nice beard, shame about the poetry.

I spent a strange night, in which I participated in an Australian reality TV show (which proved very disappointing and badly organised). I then went home, where I appeared to live in a version of our current bungalow, but in a network of cupboards instead of rooms, hiding from visitors. I do try to hide from visitors as much as possible, as I’m not very sociable and most of them want money, but I don’t live in cupboards. The walls in modern houses are not wide enough to accommodate passageways and cupboards anyway, so it was a very impractical dream.

This week I have had two acceptances and a strange refusal. The two acceptances were from editors who sometimes reject my work, so that was good. The rejection was from a members’ anthology, which traditionally accepts something from every member. This was, I admit, a bit of a surprise.

Looking at the numbers for this year I will end up with about the same number of acceptances as last year and about twice as many rejections. It’s all part of my process of pushing boundaries and toughening up in my responses to rejection.

Philip Larkin – Looks like Eric Morecambe, had a few faults, turned down the chance to be Poet Laureate

I’m also trying to stop rattling on about rejections and such stuff as it’s of limited interest to most people. However, my poetry-based general knowledge did get me a couple of pointless answers on Pointless recently. It was about Poets Laureate. I got two pointless answers. My third answer (Day-Lewis) didn’t count because they wanted ones who had been in office ten years or more and he dies after just four years. The father and son team who answered, didn’t get any. Amongst others, they selected Philip Larkin (who turned the offer down) and Simon Armitage. These days they are only nominated for 10 years so Armitage, who is still in post, failed on the 10 year point. I can’t remember who else they nominated, it may have been Hughes, but he scored points and you need to be pointless to win the money.

Simon Armitage – seems a decent bloke but clearly disconnects when sitting in a barber’s chair

I tell you this because the son had been accepted by Oxford University. I love being able to answer questions that defeat Oxbridge students. They are generally better than me on subjects like Chinese cities, quantum physics and classical music but I love to find chinks in their armour. I am a natural descendent of the archers of Agincourt, bringing down the flower of French chivalry on a muddy field before seeing them off with with a precisely placed dagger.

For a poetic version try Kipling’s Arithmetic on the Frontier. I have added the link so you don’t need to search through a load of clutter about handbags. Handbags. What is the world coming to?

No proposition Euclid wrote
No formulae the text-books know,
Will turn the bullet from your coat,
Or ward the tulwar’s downward blow.
Strike hard who cares—shoot straight who can—
The odds are on the cheaper man.

Kipling – first British Nobel Prize winner (1907), turned down a knighthood and the offer to be Poet Laureate. Not always politically correct but wrote some great poetry, even if it hasn’t all aged gracefully.

 

The Girl With the Monet Fixation

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It rained several times last night. It was only gentle rain, but after weeks of nothing, it was probably just as well to start gently. Ten minutes later, it is done. I would have liked more, but at least it is a start.

The photo above is our two rusty steel hares – Julia bought it last year and I see from WP that I mentioned it exactly a year ago. The somewhat abstract photo used above (she took it on her camera then cropped it) is a picture of a sunbeam that lit them up during last week’s eclipse.

The next picture is The Girl With the Monet Fixation. I am trying to persuade her to get a Monet tattoo as it would make a good title for a poem.

The picture from the immersive Monet Exhibition/Experience she went to with my sister (who took the photograph).

The second time it rained, the drops were heavier but only lasted for about a minute.

I’m not sure what happened while I was sleeping, but there was a slightly fresher feeling in the air and some evidence of water on the floor. There were damp seams to part of the brick paving ans water shone on a couple of drain covers on the other side of the road. Unfortunately, as the heat builds up (it isn’t even 8.45 yet!) it is becoming humid.

It was another easy journey to wood turning today because the kids are still off school. Give it a couple of weeks and I won’t even be home by this time.

 

Some Thoughts on Poetry and Editors

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I’m still working on the Gladstone story, just not very fast. However, I am writing plenty of poetry. If I were a scientist I would probably put forward the theory that freeing myself from the shackles of WP and numismatic writing, has made me feel more relaxed and has released my ability to write poetry.

However, other variables include lower temperatures, better sleep and reading a book on how to write better poetry. And coincidence. I have always written in a way I could compare to peaks and troughs. However, it used to take me longer to descend from a peak and the troughs just represented a lower level of output. Now I seem to drop off the peaks much more quickly and the troughs are deeper, and are often accompanied by a period of struggle to write.

A lot of the problem, I think, goes back a few years to the times when I had some serious infections. Each one stopped me writing for a week or so, then slowed me down, sometimes for months. Before the infections I used to submit my work on the first day a submission window opened. I like to have things ready. As I slowed down I slipped back until I was struggling to have enough poetry to submit. I often had to resort to submitting things written on the day of submission, and sending submissions to the USA after my midnight, because the time difference worked in my favour.  Sometimes, of course, I came unstuck.

And before you ask, yes, various people declare that you should leave poetry in a drawer for a month, or even a year, before sending it to an editor. I agree. It’s always better when you give yourself time, as early drafts can contain clunkiness, and even downright gibberish.  However, I can confirm that it’s possible to write a poem, send it off the same day and still have it accepted. It’s not a good working practice, but if that’s the only choice you have, you have to work with it.

I also believe that getting in first gives you an advantage. If you write well, someone has to write even better to displace you in the selection process. If two poems are submitted on the same subject, the first one is in a better position for selection. It’s not scientific, and it may not accurately reflect the actual way that editors select, but I always think any possible advantage is worth having.

I’m currently in a position to make five submissions now, instead of waiting until the end of the month. I will do that in the next couple of days and start work on next month’s submissions. Next month is a strenuous month and it will be good to approach it well prepared. I often say that of course, but this time I really feel I can mange it.

Another benefit, (and one I am sure about) is that if you submit early you can get early rejections, and they can be recycled. It’s possible, doing that, to submit the same piece twice in the same submission period. Very efficient and when, as sometimes happens, it is accepted second time around, a useful reminder that all editors have different opinions.

 

A “disingenuous grifter”

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Owl Sculpture – Harlow Carr

I started writing a post about the Gladstone family yesterday, but as usual I became bogged down with diversions, wikiperigrinations (yes, I just made it up, though it wasn’t difficult)) and trying to trace a lost reference. It’s in my head but I can’t retrace it on the internet – I should have made a note at the time. It will involve upper class privilege, grave robbing and the end of Empire. Hopefully, I will have it done in the next couple of days and keep it down to 500 words. That of course, is the problem, it takes a lot longer to write 500 words on the subject than it does to ramble on for 2,000.

This reminded me of Mr Gladstone and the “tax on knowledge“. Gladstone, who passed a number of measures to help the working man, believed that an educated working class was better able to vote and to help themselves without government intervention.

How very different to events in the USA where Mr Trump is involved in a battle to steal truth and keep voters in ignorance.

We have the same here. We have just had a by-election where Nigel Farage, a political charlatan of the highest order, faced off against a comedian dressed as a waste bin. Farage claims the victory, which is true, because in the absence of any other major party he polled the most votes. He uses this to back his claim that voters support him as the anti-establishment candidate who really doesn’t deserve to be investigated for trousering £5 million donated by a crypto-currency billionaire who lives in Thailand.

However, a lot of people, over 9,000 voted for Count Binface. He’s a joke candidate, but a substantial number of people preferred him to the snake oil salesman.

It’s not really a resounding slap down for Farage, but, of course, the enquiry will go ahead again. It makes you wonder if the election stunt was to allow things to be tidied up behind the scenes.

This week’s political question is which word from “crypto-currency”, “billionaire” and “Thailand” is the most helpful one in establishing the confidence of you as a voter.

And just for the record, Nigel Farage, the anti-establishment candidate was educated at a top private school, worked as a commodities broker in the City and had a bank account at Coutt’s bank. These are not generally regarded as marks of a man who is not part of the Establishment, though many, including a member of the Coutt’s Board, consider Farage to be a “disingenuous grifter”. That’s pretty strong for a banker.

And just to show that I’m not biased, here are some poll results quoted on his (lengthy) Wiki page –

“YouGov found that overall, 73% believe he is “very” or “fairly sleazy”, the highest figure among party leaders (51% for Keir Starmer, 42% for Zack Polanski, 36% for Andy Burnham and 34% for Kemi Badenoch). Even among recent Reform UK voters, 40% believed that Farage was sleazy.”

Sorry about the politics, it just happened . . .

Owl carving – Sherwood Forest

I added the owls to inject a bit of wisdom into the post.

 

 

A Writer’s Guide to Non-Writing Things You Need To Do

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I’ve just caught up on several days worth of posts I hadn’t read. I’ve also allowed myself to divert into the shadowy byways of Wikipedia. One of those was necessary, the other occupies an anomalous position – it’s top level procrastination, but it’s also a source of inspiration (or so I tell myself).

Several of the posts I have read are poetry blogs, which is always useful. I like seeing what proper poets are doing.

I had a bit of research to do on a poem I was writing, so I ordered a book from World of Books on Amazon. It wasn’t expensive, just under £5 with P&P, but it was described as Used- Very Good. When it arrived, with bumped corners, mild staining, yellowed pages and an old sticky label, it looked more like Shabby would have been a better description. I was not pleased but will suck it up as it had the information I required. I’ll be looking at other companies in future. It’s not the first time they have over-claimed on a book’s condition.

I’ve now had the first of the emails about July Submissions. It’s an acceptance for a Haibun, albeit a frustrating one.

They liked all three but could only select one, which seems to be increasingly common. They went for one above the others because it covers current events. In due course i will let you know when it is published.

Meanwhile, I have been sorting out my poems. Everytime a deadline comes round for haiku, it becomes clear that I have some poems i could probably send, if only I had a better system of filing them. Actually, it applies to all my poems, but is worse with haiku. 

I have sorted a couple of years of haiku submissions and estimate I have thirty or forty I could retrieve from the rejected poems. That’s the frustration of the system where you send ten in to get one selected. Admittedly 5/10 are poor and better being deleted, but there is still usable material in the rejects.

It took most of a day, and there is a lot left to sort through. I’d better get going . . .

 

Quail Eggs Descending Rapidly into Bad Taste

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A Bear in a Tree

You can’t buy quail eggs from TESCO, but you can get them from Sainsbury’s. I’m sure this is not a surprise for those of you acquainted with the nuances of British supermarkets, but I thought it made for a good opening sentence.

I have had them, because a shop in Southwell used to sell them. Again, no surprise there, for those of you who know the place. The only mystery is why people eat quail eggs. I suppose they make a good sized snack for a teddy bear’s picnic. but apart from that they are a bit of a waste of space. We had them twice, we had them hard-boiled with salad. It was fun, but the faff of peeling an egg the size of a marble tended to spoil the fun.

You can make them into Scotch eggs, but as I’ve rarely felt the need to make my own. Even when I have felt the need, I have resisted it. The trick of making your own is, it seems, to leave the yolk runny. I can’t think why, because runny yolks are one of those childhood aversions that has left me.

Bear with seed packet from Kew

I was once loading chickens onto a transporter when the man loading the top tier asked me a question. As I looked up and opened my mouth to reply, a defecating chicken scored a direct hit. A veritable, virtually unrepeatable, hols in one. Oh, the amusement I caused as an entire loading crew double up in laughter. I’d rather do that again than eat a Scotch egg with a runny middle. I’ve never been able to do that trick where you flick up a peanut and catch it in your mouth. Part of the problem, apart from diabolically bad coordination,  is that every time I try I have a flashback to that night . . .

Even that isn’t the worst story I know about such things. However, there are limits to what I want to write on WordPress.

I have been thinking about them because, when my mind was drifting recently, I started to wonder about pickled quail’s eggs. The only problem, as mentioned before, is peeling them. When I pickle a dozen hen’s eggs it seems like hard labour by the sixth one. I’d hate to have to do a couple of dozen quail eggs.

Bear in the Garden

Straw Bale Bowie Bear

Time to Write a List

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Wild flowers

Today, after all the normal impedimenta of life had been cleared and Julia had been waved off to her afternoon in the tearoom, I started work in earnest.

First – the list, specifically the poetry list.

I need around 20 haiku for various things and have about six which are currently suitable. Some of them are needed for the end of the week. Last week was not a good writing week and I needed some discipline. I put it on my list and I now have 21 to sort through. It’s not enough, as there are always some that fail to make the grade, but it’s a start.

I need a variety of other poems, but I have until the end of the month to finish them. It’s not an ideal timescale but it’s more relaxed than last month.

Pigs and flowers

It’s not an ideal system, because it is probably best characterised as the triumph of quantity over quality. On the other hand, it’s unavoidable that the doctrine of practice makes perfect also takes a hand and the more I write, the better I get. There was a drop back in quality a year or so ago but as I had sepsis twice, and as it’s usually accompanied by the words “life threatening” when you see it described in newspapers, I’m going to cut myself some slack there.

I’m feeling a lot better now that’s settled, and all it took was a list to set me going. I notes and prompts but until I made a list, nothing happened.  By tomorrow the effect of the list will have worn off, but I’m going to be happy this afternoon.

However, Julia will be back in an hour and I’d like to get more done so I will leave it now. The more of this month’s writing that I do now, the more of next month’s I can get a head start on.

Flowers

A note on modern retail – they don’t do the cheap flowers at TESCO now, you have to buy from an affiliate. The difference is that flowers at £3.99-£5.99 are something you can add on a whim and delivery, with the groceries, is easy. They are now much nicer flowers, but they cost £24.99 and come at inconvenient times. I’m going to re-examine my flower buying habits.

 

 

Thursday Morning 7.29

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Did it really take an hour and seven minutes to write the previous post? Well, yea and no.

It certainly took that length of time from stating to finishing, but in that time I also attended to a couple of comments, read my emails and searched for photographs that were badly labelled. Or, in truth, not labelled at all. I developed lazy habits early on in my blogging career and regularly waste time as a result.

I also searched for a couple of links and read the review on my poem, rejected a couple of ideas for things to say and rewrote a couple of paragraphs.

Here, halfway through my second blog post of the day, I note that I’m about halfway through and it has only taken six minutes.

My conclusion is that I can still write reasonably quickly, but waste time with all the peripheral activity.

Nella Last with Clifford, the son who went on to be a sculptor

 

Nella Last, or Housewife, 49, of whom I have written more than once, wrote 12 million words in her diaries, including 2 million during the war. If she wrote at 20 words a minute, as I have just (approximately) done, it would have taken her 417 days.

Of course, I doubt that she wrote as fast as that. You don’t do you? There’s thinking time and musing time and simply staring into space time. I’m doing a bit of that now.

I’m on 224 words and have taken sixteen minutes. Several of those have just been spent wondering how to finish this off with a point.

There is no point, simply a reflection on how much “writing time” is spent on things that aren’t really writing. And that’s before you start to consider the endless writing and rewriting involved in writing something decent.

Julia is up now and it’s 7.48. Probably a good time to put the kettle on. But first I have to add tags and photos. At least I don’t need to find a witty title.

 

After doing the links etc it’s now 8.03 and it’s becoming clearer where my day goes. Fifteen minutes just disappeared as I looked for a link to Clifford Last.

Thursday Morning 6.22

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It’s actually 6.23 now, but if I go back and correct the title more time will leak away. It’s rare, but I actually wrote the title first today.

August is here and the year seems to be rushing by. I’ve often felt like this – it’s just what seems to happen. The longest day is behind us, the year hovers for a while, like a cartoon boat on the brink of a waterfall, and August arrives. I think of autumn, shorter days and mortality. It’s one of those months (April being the other) when the progress of the year seems to reach a point of no return. In April I realise that the new year is properly under way and four months later . . .

I’m struggling. After being selected for a Distinctive Scribble award in Eucalypt magazine, I have to select a poem for the next edition and write something intelligent about it. The selection of the poems was simple enough. I read them all twice then started going through them again slowly. My short list took shape and I ended up with a list of about a quarter of the poems in the issue. It would have been longer but as you go through yuo can discard a number as you know they aren’t going to make the cut. Then you can go back and cut some of the early choices.

O

I’m left with eleven. A day later I’m left with three. But have so far failed to say anything sensible. The trouble is that so many poets have multiple degrees. I don’t. The review of my poem includes the words “concluding spondee”. A spondee is a metrical foot consisting of two long syllables. It’s one of those poetic things I zoned out when we did it at school. I am incapable of writing anything like that  My only hope is that I can get through the experience without making myself look like a total idiot. The gist of my comments (which look like they should be about 500 words long), is that I picked the winner because I liked it more than the others. The problem is that I now have to explain, in 490 words, why I liked it.

So – select the best poem out of 80 good poems. Let 79 poets down gently. Avoid sounding like an idiot.

What could possibly go wrong?

Here’s my poem, by the way. You may recognise the story of the shed.

  we had several
half tins of assorted paint
and a subdued shed
now we have neither
—bright stripes

 

I can only find one of the shed photos, the rest are flowers from the gardens at roughly the time of the shed painting.

Kintsugi – Broken Pots and Gold Paint

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Kintsugi is the ancient Japanese art of repairing broken pots.

It’s fine to start with – it’s about mending broken pots, embracing the imperfections, adding to the history of the object and making it more beautiful. It can be extended to include personal qualities like working with your faults and bouncing back from adversity.  Broken items are put back together and the repairs are highlighted in gold.

In Japan it is an ancient art form.

In the hands of the west it has become a handicraft, the philosophy has been cheapened and it is now possible to do courses and buy kits. I checked with one of the courses. Step One of the course is to break a pot, which does not seem true to the original intention (though there were accusations of collectors doing this in Japan in previous centuries). It is also possible to buy kits, one of which gave me a moment of amusement. The feedback indicated that one of the tea bowls in the kit had arrived broken, but went on to point out that this saved a job. Probably the only time an item broken in transport has been well received.

I’m not knocking it, because it can still produce a lovely and artistic piece of work, but I am pointing out that if you are happy with that, don’t dress it up. And if you want to be true to the spirit of kintsugi, don’t break a pot on purpose. Meanwhile, I got a poem out of it. I may get another. Released from the tyranny of submissions deadlines I find I can, once again, write. Definitely time for a rethink.

This is a haibun which mentions kintsugi, though only in  small way. More of it is about Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera and being married. And, of course, specifically about being married to a woman who stabbed herself in the jugular vein with a piece of broken plant pot because she wouldn’t ask for help. I originally posted a link to it from this post so if you remember it, sorry for being repetitive.

Self Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird (1940)

 

A Necklace of Thorns

Despite their fame, their paintings and their place in history, Diego and Frida (we are on first name terms in my imagination) still had to chat about the weather, and bicker about who forgot to buy more milk for breakfast. I imagine the weather was mostly sunny, and that it was Diego who forgot the milk. With his affairs and all those frescoes, it must have been difficult to fit the shopping in.

My wife’s throat, spiked with black sutures, is less inflamed today. I check each morning, trying not to let my worries show. Across the toast crumbs, she reminds me that we need more bread today, and I have to paint the garage doors this spring. For a moment my mind flits to a glorious picture of doors featuring Leon Trotsky and Emiliano Zapata against a backdrop of moustachioed revolutionaries. My wife suggests we stick with green.

today
she has her stitches out
I joke I will buy
gold paint to mend the scar
shared history

First Published cho 22.1 (2026)

Zapata and Trotsky seemed to disappear when I wanted them.