Tag Archives: poetry

A Lost Week!

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Golden key (actually silver-gilt, used by Sir Arthur Blake KBE at the opening of the Nottingham savings Bank branch on St Ann’s Well Road, Nottingham, November 23, 1926

I just looked at the date on my last post and received a shock. I knew it had been a while, but was amazed to find it was a whole seven days. So, what have I been doing?

Not much.

From the point of view of colour rendition this shows I stll have a lot to learn. Taken only seconds apart under the same light

I have become addicted to writing articles about junk. I have now done four for the research page of the Peterborough Military History Group, a couple more for the newsletter and nineteen posts for the Numismatic Society of Nottinghamshire Facebook page. I’m never sure if these really count as “acceptances” as they are short and they are submitted to people I know.  On the other hand, poems are short too. I became obsessed with “The Golden Key” as I started writing it. I’ve had it about 30 years and never really got on with it, so it was about time. I can’t set a link directly to it but it’s currently at the top if yo use the link above.

Even better if you can leave a “Like”. It’s part of my crusade to strike back against traditional coins. There’s a place for kings and stuff in numismatics, but for every King there are thousands of commoners and they all have stories too.

Sir Arthur Blake KBE JP – a photograph taken later in life – courtesy of the national portrait gallery.

Talking about acceptances – I had a rejection this morning. It means that my record for April is 100% rejections. Not one single acceptance. It’s a strange month, as there was only one journal open for submissions, and that was only open until 15th April, which is why I can tell you, by the 24th, that I have a 100% rejection record. I’m sure I’ll get over it.

That’s it for now. I will have some cracking photos for you over the next few days as we have been going through some old boxes. However, for now,

 

Persistence Pays Off

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If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

Marcus Tullius Cicero

I found that quote yesterday when replying to a comment, so if you saw it then, I apologise for the repetition. I was actually looking for another quote, but I thought that one would do just as well. It is also good enough to bear repetition.

Robin, Arnot Hill Park

For some reason my thoughts of writing always centre round this time of year. I am sitting in a book-lined room, with busts of historical figures on my shelves. It is pleasantly warm, bees are buzzing the lavender, the scent of lilacs drifts in through the open glass doors and I smile as I put my fountain pen down and look at another finished manuscript.

Reality is always a little different. I have no glass doors, my writing room is lined with chaos and the scent of toast fills the air.  I have two small busts on my shelves – Cromwell and Dickens. I chose Cromwell because I like Cromwell and I chose Dickens on account of the quality of his beard. I have tried to enthuse myself to read Dickens again but I’m failing.

Tulip

On the other hand, re-writing Wilkins Micawber as an amateur detective has a certain attraction. Pea souper fogs, opium dens and mysterious, gaunt, black-clad figures do all the work for you. All you need is talent and time . . .

Meanwhile, back at the poetry, which requires little time and, let’s be honest. only a smattering of talent, I have had some more acceptances. last week I had three accepted by one editor – a haibun, a tank and a haiku. They have never accepted a haiku off me before. Then this week I have had a haiku accepted by a magazine which has been resisting me for some years. They used to accept things, then the new editor stopped. Now, with a new editorial team, they have accepted one again. It just goes to show the power of hard work and persistence. I haven’t really improved as a poet, but I am getting more published, so it has to be the work rate and the persistence, though I suppose there are talented poets out there who would take issue with me about my approach.

Feeder with Greenfinch

 

 

 

 

 

An Old Poem is Found, Repeated and Recalculated

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Stone on the Floor – warning of poetry ahead

I’ve just spent much of the last two days sorting out files on my computer. Things had become so chaotic that when I wanted to start making submissions at the end of last month, I couldn’t actually find a lot of things I needed. Clearly something needed doing, and I have therefore done something.  It’s not quite fixed the problem but it has made it more manageable. Everything is now contained in a dozen files, and each file has a title that reflects the contents and isn’t confusingly close to the title of any other file. Of course, below that level, chaos still reigns, but it is slightly more orderly than it was, and I’m in with a fighting chance of getting on top of it.

The thing that really strikes home about the poem, apart from the obvious fact that it could be improved, is the fact that only seven years ago you could develop a thought and report a mental journey. You didn’t need all the drama and excitement a lot of editors seem to be seeking these days.

Thirdly, it strikes me that this was published 225 weeks ago. I no longer have the 999 weeks of which I wrote (given average longevity and a following wind). I now have 775 weeks, and that doesn’t sound anything like as good.

Snowy Detail

Seven Thousand Mornings

I knew today wasn’t a morning I was going to enjoy because the tip of my nose was cold and there was a sliver of grey showing round the edge of the curtains. Summer had ended.

This thought made me pause, and in that pause I let my mind run free. I had been watching a TV programme on life expectancies the night before and it suddenly struck me that if I took my current age from my life expectancy and multiplied it by 365 I would know roughly how long I was going to live.

It wasn’t until I finished that I realised I didn’t really want to know.

It’s about 7,000 days.

That’s approximate. I forgot the exact life expectancy, and I multiplied by 360 because it’s easier. I also like all the wrong sorts of food and avoid exercise, which is the wrong way ’round for longevity.

This makes the calculation even less exact.

If it is 7,000 days that’s only a thousand weeks.

Next week it will only be 999 weeks.

I might have to think about getting up earlier and working harder in the time I have left.

Or, I might just give up mental arithmetic.

in the rustling leaves
squirrels seek acorns
two paths diverge

First published Haibun Today 12.4 (December 2018)

Squirrel at Rufford

 

Meeting Ruth Pitter

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George Orwell at Southwold

The Artist – Charlie Uzzel-Edwards

Who? Yes, until five minutes ago I would have said the same. I was searching “autodidact” on Google when I came upon a list of famous autodidacts. This included William Blake, John  Clare and George Orwell. George Orwell, didn’t he go to Public School? (Note to overseas readers – a Public School is one that the public is most definitely excluded from by means of high fees and snobbery. A Minor Public School is much the same, but they are looked down on by the Public Schools, despite still being exclusive. There’s a layer of private schooling below that, and then you come down to the schools that most of the public go to. Confused? Me too.)

Anyway, back to George Orwell. He went to Eton. Current Fees at Eton are £21,099.60 including VAT. That is for a “Half”. There are three halves in a year at Eton. I’m suspecting that they don’t teach a lot of maths in Public Schools. Then there are music lessons and “extras”, registration fees and uniforms. It soon mounts up. However, they do say that bursaries are available and no parent should feel that the cannot send their kid to Eton on account of the cost. This may be true, but I can’t help feeling that class and snobbery may make life difficult if you come from a working class home. Twenty Prime Ministers have gone to Eton, about a third. It’s not a place for the poor, the modest or the lower class.

So there you go – George Orwell, the man who is reputed to have educated himself, went to a school where it would currently cost you the thick end of £70,000 to send one of your children. Now, I know I can come across as having a bit of a chip on my shoulder regarding private education, but if I was paying £70,000 a year I’d not expect my kids to have to educate themselves.

But back to Ruth Pitter. She helped Orwell in his writing by advising him to give up writing poetry. I’ve only seen one of his poems. Believe me, she did us all a favour. She also helped C S Lewis. I am, as you know, a fan of the Narnia books. Having dipped into his other work I prefer to think of Lewis as the author of the Narnia books. Well, the first six, I find The Last Battle eternally dispiriting and tend to avoid it when rereading the series.

She was also the first woman to win the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry and a very interesting person. It’s amazing that after 66 years I am still finding such gaps in my knowledge. I could write more but it would only be regurgitating what is behind the link, so I will leave you to study privately.

Beach Huts – Southwold

The Sons of Apathy

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I did 300 words on a mythical motorcycle gang earlier today, based on this one. We would, I decided pass our time hanging round on electric mobility scooters annoying teenagers and lecturing the police on how young they look when chastised for geriatric anti-social behaviour. Then I started to wonder if I really could start such a group and go round raising funds for local charities. I often have such ideas. They usually come to nothing, and this will be one of those doomed ideas. I no longer have the energy to do such things. Blame LA, it was one of her comments that started my train of thought. Anyway, by the time I’d finished, I realised I had better things to write about. That really sums me up doesn’t it? I was going to write about “The Sons of Apathy” but I couldn’t be bothered.

Meanwhile, I had the provisional acceptance confirmed (after a discussion of the correct spelling of Breughel). That’s the correct one for all the family apart from Pieter Breugel the Elder, who dropped the “h” in 1559. As this was the man I was writing about, it meant I was wrong, or even worse, sloppy with my research.

The eighth and final editor replied today. I have been trying to get one of my haibun into his magazine since I started writing haibun. It’s probably six or seven years – time flies. I wrote to him to make up the numbers and didn’t expect much, but he has finally accepted one! Not only that, it is one that has been submitted to something like five other editors. Admittedly it’s been tightened up over the years, but it just goes to show the value of persistence and the way that different editors view submissions. So, the final figures for January – nine submissions, eight acceptances. It’s a good start but it’s obviously too good to last.

Finally, we had long-tailed tits in the garden this afternoon and as the light faded the parakeets flew over to their roost in the country park. One day, I hope, one will drop in for a snack.

 

 

The Cormorant Tree

Catching Up

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I think my last report was nine submissions, one rejection and one acceptance. It’s now one rejection, four acceptances and one where I have made the alterations the editor asked for, so, with luck, that should be another acceptance. Not a bad start to the year. It just goes to show there’s a very narrow psychological line between success and failure. One patronising rejection was, I admit, enough to make me rethink my writing life. A few acceptances by editors I like restored some balance, and the one today was the icing on the cake. It was from an editor with a prolific high quality output and an acceptance from him always feels like a validation.

Yesterday I used my new slow cooker to produce a vegetable stew. It’s new to me, given by one of our old neighbours. We used to have one, and used it quite a lot until it melted. We were always short of space in the old kitchen and I used to stand it on the hob. This worked well until the day that Julia, thinking of other things, turned the hob on without noticing the slow cooker standing there.

I doubt I’ll use it to produce vegetable stew again as it’s just as easy to do it in a pan on the hob, The pan/hob method is quicker, doesn’t need preparing in advance and only needs cooking for thirty minutes, not 4-6 hours. I will, however, try some other recipes, as I know I liked using it before. My memory is just too bad to recall any of the recipes, apart from pulled pork. But as I always found pulled pork to be disappointing, I doubt I’ll try that again. Somehow, the idea is always better than the reality.

There seem to be plenty of other slow cooker stew recipes so a few weeks of experimentation seem called for. I still have gingerbread men to make. Julia bought me a kit and the ingredients for Christmas, but we had, as usual, so many biscuits given us, that we have only just finished them.  I also want to make peppermint creams for Valentine’s Day, and am already telling Julia that a handmade present is worth so much more than one bought from a shop. She seems suspicious . . .

So much to do – so many excuses!

Photos are more of the squirrelbatics – we added spice to the seed. It put the squirrels off for almost two days. Not enough? Not strong enough? Or are they just not as bothered as the internet suggests?

I’m going to have my own feeder built by an agricultural engi9neer, I think. If I just hang the feeders a few inches further away that should do the trick.

10 Years

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According to WP it is ten years since I registered. They just sent me a message to tell me. It took a few weeks for me to get into the swing of things so my first post was not until the 8th of October. I’ve just had a look at that first month – there are few photos and a tendency to forget titles. Some things don’t change. That month, we went to The Lakes to celebrate our 25th Wedding anniversary.

Guinea Fowl sheltering from the rain under a picnic table.

A lot has happened in the last ten years, but I expect you have noticed that. A lot has happened to us all.

Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately, depending on your point of view, I still can’t find much to say. House purchasing has driven it all out of my head. Solicitors, taxation and bills don’t leave much room for other thoughts. I’m just glad that we are doing it now. My parents left their final move until they were nearly 80 and it took a lot out of them. I’m not sure they ever really bounced back from it.

Fortunately I did manage to sneak some time to send submissions out. Life feels a lot better when I have submissions out, even if they eventually get returned. It’s hard to think of myself as a writer when I’m not actually submitting work.

A colourful salad – borage, nasturtium leaves and fat hen.

Bearing in mind some of the things I’d been saying about planning, and trying harder, I sent a submission to a magazine I have a patchy record with. They have already accepted something, so it paid off. That’s really the difference between positive and negative thinking. I could have sat here, avoided submitting and carried on thinking that they “never” accept anything. Or I could, as I did, send a submission and get a surprise acceptance. maybe I’m getting better. Or just luckier.

Yes, soup is a constant thread in this blog. I made Tomato, Pepper and Lentil soup today.

Photos are from October 2014. The cake was for our 25th Wedding Anniversary.

My Theory of Timing Submissions

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REsettling the plough

As it turned out, yesterday’s grand plan ground to a halt. With just sixteen days until the end of the month I need to start looking at haibun and tanka prose. I have, as usual, plenty of prose sections, but finding the right words for the haiku and tanka can be tricky. I have just about got enough for four submissions but |I need to get on with it as the final few short lines can end up taking a long time.

Just as I thought it was all coming back the hard facts indicate that I don’t have enough poems, and the ones I have, aren’t far enough advanced. There was a time when I used to have all my submissions queued up at the end of a month, waiting like caged greyhounds to hit the ground running as the new month  My theory was that if I was borderline but got in first, the later poems would have to be better than me to displace me and just being equally good would not be enough. Better, I thought, to be the first poem about getting old than the second, third or fourth. Poets are notorious for churning over the same few subjects, so if you can’t be original, or best, try being first.

Detail of the mouse

Now, as my energy declines, I find it hard enough just to scrape a few poems together by the end of the month. There is an advantage to this – the decisions seem to be faster and you have the rejects back in time to use them again in a timely manner. Using this system I have sometimes had a decision within hours, and the poems have been out again in a similar time span. I once had a poem that was rejected, submitted elsewhere and accepted within a space of days.

However, as things stand, I need twelve poems of usable quality. Time moves on, and those twelve are now my priority. The great recycling project will have to wait. editors often remark on the number of submissions they receive, but it’s also true that there are more editors out there than I can submit to. I just can’t write fast enough. October is a month with no haibun submissions planned, so the recycling can start then, as can the production of the next batch of haibun.

Two sizes of wheatsheaf loaf

Pictures are from September 2016 this time.

The Great Poetry Recycling Plan

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Apple Pressing Equipment – scratter mounted on top of the press

I’ve already discovered a snag. Some of the poems have been out three or four times, which isn’t  great problem, but the magazines I intended to send them to to have, in many cases, already seen them. I need a bigger list and some new poems.

So far this year I have had my work cut out just coping with haibun and tanka prose submissions. Talking of which, I also need to get them sorted for the end of the month, which is approaching fast.

The second snag is that on re-reading after six months, some of the poems are not very good. And that’s being kind. Depressing, self-indulgent and cliched might be  better way of putting it. However, some aren’t bad and some can be dismantled and used in other poems. It’s just a case of finding the time.  A lot of my time sinks without trace as I sit down with Julia on her return from work and spend the next three hours chatting, watching TV and cooking. There are worse ways to spend time. Unfortunately, by the time I see her I have already had a busy day of procrastination, displacement activity and false starts.

 

Apple Juice

There is also the question of research and manners. You should, I feel, always buy a magazine for research and to help their finances along. Editors often say that if everyone who submitted poetry also bought an issue, financing wouldn’t be an issue. It’s a strange model to work to – toiling away to produce poetry then buying a copy of the magazine you have helped to fill. On the other hand, vanity has a price, and as I am vain enough to crave publication I must pay the price. It’s not a snag, but all these magazines need paying for. Then I have to explain to Julia why I need an even higher stack of magazines . . .

To be honest, I wish they’d go online so I could avoid building up such a stack of glossy paper. It seems a waste. I’m going to see if our local dojo wants to broaden its view on Japanese aesthetics, but I suspect they will end up in an unappreciative charity shop, and from there to a skip.

So, it started with one plan to recycle, moved on to self-awareness and ended up back on a different sort of recycling. If I’m not careful people will start to think I’m planning these posts instead of what actually happens – type word 1, type word 2, repeat 250+ times and chuck some photos in.

The photos are from September 2015 when my life was much more interesting.

Plum jam

Moving On

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The last post I published was really Monday’s post. this one is today’s post, though as it is 23.45 according to my computer clock that state of affairs will only last another 15 minutes.

Today, for the first time in ages I am free from the tyranny of my need to write a presentation for the Numismatic Society of Nottinghamshire. It was a tyranny I wore lightly, in fact I managed to ignore it for most of the ten months leading up to the five days of panic that marked the run up to the meeting.

Chilwell Factory Check

When I finish this I am going to sort of a dozen old poems, edit them and send them off to different magazines. I’ve just had a spreadsheet from Robin Houghton with the latest details of poetry magazines.. You can find the sign up page here if you are interested. It is quicker than trying to find all the information yourself, and contains many magazines I’ve never heard of.

After that I am going to write a new piece for the Numismatic Society Facebook page – which will be my 10th, I note. I will probably use a piece from my old talk on Peace Medals. I was talking to someone about that recently – how it’s possible to build a body of work by recycling old articles. I used to buy books on local aspects of the Civil War – it was a noticeable feature of the small scale publications associated with it that a number of keen authors were doing a lot of recycling. It’s also known as “sweating your assets” in business jargon, which always makes me feel more relaxed about my lack of business success. What with running things up flagpoles and blue sky thinking, sweating my assets would have been a step too far.

Admiral Vernon & Commodore Brown

However, I need a reasonably early night tonight, so I’d better stop this and get to bed. Poetry can wait.

Photos are from my posts on Numismatic Society’s FB page, though I recycled them for use on WP too, which is where the links go.