Swimming and Writing

You might be interested.....

2012-01-23T09:13:00.000Z

.....that I've started a new blog! With a theme of gardening.

Follow the link to take a peek!

Turn Moss Lake

2012-01-08T20:24:00.002Z

If you look on a map you won't find this lake but it's not a figment of my imagination. When the rain is heavy - as it's been of late - this lake appears on the meadows where I walk Dash. It was beautiful yesterday with the seagulls competing with the crows to make an almighty racket.

If you're a poet with some poems on the theme of water, you might be interested in this competition. It's only £5 to enter up to 3 poems, which seems quite reasonable as the cash prizes are good. The judges are John Burnside and WN Herbert, but the closing date is this coming Friday - so get your skates (or fins) on!

December Dip

2011-12-31T23:56:00.005Z

Rain, rain, rain will it ever stop?

You'd think I'd be used to it after all these years in Rainy City.

We gave up the battle to stay dry this afternoon and row - row - rowed our boat down to the Aquatic Centre to swim a mile.

Finish the year as you mean to start the next one - that's what I say!

So here's to a great year of swimming and writing in 2012!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR AND GOD BLESS US ONE AND ALL!!

A (Student) Poet's Life

2011-12-17T11:34:00.000Z

I've not dropped off the face of the earth in case you were wondering.

This term I've started studying for an MA in poetry at the Centre for New Writing at Manchester University, so there've been major new demands on my time and a steepish learning curve adjusting to the (part-time) student life...

This semester's module has been Writing Poems with John McAuliffe. I've already met John at Poetry School - as I've said before he's a knowledgeable and inspiring teacher.

The routine has been one poem a week, come rain or shine, submitted to the group by 12 noon Friday for critiquing. There's been a wealth of articles about poetry to read and digest, and guest workshops and readings by Sean O'Brien, Lavinia Greenlaw, John Glenday and Michael Schmidt.

There's also been a series of very inspiring presentations by the centre's new professor, Colm Toibin. In one of these he talked at some length about Elizabeth Bishop and her amazing poem The Moose. Colm is such an engaging speaker, after his talk I just wanted to go away and write - job done, I'd say, for a professor of writing!

So now, from my folder of ten workshopped poems I have to present a portfolio of six - the first draft, the final draft and a short commentary. This will be my assessment for this term's work, so they need to be the best possible as they'll be reviewed by three experienced readers. John also wants us to get them out into the world, so they'll be winging their way to poetry mags by the middle of January.....

But for now, a moment or two to get my breath back and catch up with life, maybe a bit more time for blogging - who knows?!!

Silver Birch

2011-11-11T08:57:00.000Z

Our neighbours have given us a Himalayan Birch as a silver wedding present - how lovely is that?! Last year under the weight of all the snow, our beautiful blue Ceanothus which we'd trained into a tree shape, split down the middle. So we'll probably plant the birch in that spot.

But I like where it's currently standing - in the hall, scraping the ceiling. It gives the place a woodland feel...

Birches

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust--
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
(Now am I free to be poetical?)
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Robert Frost

Silver Windermere

2011-10-25T22:08:00.003+01:00

We're in the Lakes at Low Wood for a little silver honeymoon and this is the view of Windermere from our room. We've swum in that very spot!

Pete gave me Penguin's Poems for Love and it's an incredible book which I'll be reading over the next few days - and beyond - up here in Wordsworth Country.

The poems are all truly wonderful, but here are three which take my breath away

Let me put it this way:
if you came to lay

your sleeping head
against my arm or sleeve,

and if my arm went dead,
or if I had to take my leave

at midnight, I should rather
cleave it from the joint or seam

than make a scene
or bring you round.

There,
how does that sound?

Simon Armitage

Wedding
From time to time our love is like a sail
and when the sail begins to alternate
from tack to tack, it's like a swallowtail
and when the swallow flies it's like a coat;
and if the coat is yours, it has a tear
like a wide mouth and when the mouth begins
to draw the wind, it's like a trumpeter
and when the trumpet blows, it blows like millions. . .
and this, my love, when millions come and go
beyond the need of us, is like a trick;
and when the trick begins, it's like a toe
tip-toeing on a rope, which is like luck;
and when the luck begins, it's like a wedding,
which is like love, which is like everything.

Alice Oswald

Scaffolding
Masons, when they start upon a building,
Are careful to test out the scaffolding;

Make sure that planks won't slip at busy points,
Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.

And yet all this comes down when the job's done
Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.

So if, my dear, there sometimes seem to be
Old bridges breaking between you and me

Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall
Confident that we have built our wall.

Seamus Heaney

Silver

2011-10-25T01:01:00.001+01:00

Today's our 25th Wedding Anniversary - 25 0n the 25th.

Silver

Thin. Hard. Cool. Of high

altitude. Of dark-eyed miners, coca

mountains scraped blue,

ozone and time. Precious,

but not that precious. Of money

the passing of money, the arts

of bright-fingered androgyns of love

and circuses. Handsome,

scored, nicked, the bewitching

smile of trickery mixing

with desire. Irretrievable. Irresistible.

Of long thumbs and slow hips

silver is not for wedding rings.

Carola Luther

from Walking the Animals (Carcanet)

Sun Goes Down On Salford

2011-10-01T11:33:00.000+01:00

Thursday was the last scheduled swim in Salford Docks for this season. Boating, kayaking and other activities will continue, but sadly no more swims till next spring. Boo hoo!

So, with the fantastic raised temperatures of this Indian Summer, we just had to go and have a final dip before hanging up our wetsuits for the winter. And, having said that, I'm not ruling out the possibility of a swim when we're up in the Lakes at the end of the month. Especially if this weather continues - who knows?

Raised air temperature is a tricky old thing, it lulls you into thinking the water will be balmy too. I considered going in without the wetsuit as it's such a nuisance. However, cowardliness prevailed and I took the plunge, suited up. At 15.3C, it was bracing, definite ice cream headache when I first put my head under, but that soon faded. We did two laps - half a mile - relishing the sunset and the clean, sweet water.
And I keep checking the Salford Watersports website, secretly hoping against hope that they'll relent and give us a stay of execution - a couple more chances to enjoy the weather and the water before calling time for 2011.

Twinkle Twinkle Seeing Stars

2011-09-20T22:39:00.000+01:00

Who'da thunk it? Two of my favourite things teaming up - Jodrell Bank and Simon Armitage - and right here in Kansas!

What is she on about, I hear you ask?

Goosfest.

Goostrey's annual arts festival in October and Simon's reading under the stars for only £12 per ticket - still some available - if you're quick!

Promises to be a sparkling evening.......!

Going Underground

2011-09-17T23:49:00.012+01:00

Last Saturday we whizzed into Manchester on the Metro and became tourists for the afternoon, joining a guided stroll through Manchester city centre. Except the main attraction of this tour wasn't the opportunity to appreciate amazing architecture and anecdotes about the city's history. Well, not history experienced at street level, at least.

This tour, Underground Manchester, examines what's occurring below the city streets - the defunct canals, the re-routed rivers: the Tib, Irk, Cornbrook, the £4 million atomic bunker (sadly, you don't get to visit). It concludes with a wander in the dark through the caverns that provided wartime shelter to Manchester's citizens.
Our guide turned out to be Ed Glinert, an old friend I've not seen for years. Ed has an incredible memory for quirky local history knowledge (of London as well as Manchester) which makes for a very entertaining couple of hours.
No swimming allowed in the stagnant stretch of canal under Granada Studios - such a disappointment.....(But if, like me, you like (the thought of) that kind of thing, see what you make of Silent UK ..... what a website...)
Down there in the dark you get a sense of the dire misery of air raids and how hellish life during the war must have been.
And this poem by UA Fanthorpe came to my mind.....the secret life of repressed rivers.....

Rising Damp

‘A river can sometimes be diverted but is a very hard thing to lose altogether.’

Paper to the Auctioneers’ Institute, 1907

At our feet they lie low,

The little fervent underground

Rivers of London

Effra, Graveney, Falcon, Quaggy,

Wandle, Walbrook, Tyburn, Fleet

Whose names are disfigured,

Frayed, effaced.

These are the Magogs that chewed the clay

To the basin that London nestles in.

These are the currents that chiselled the city,

That washed the clothes and turned the mills,

Where children drank and salmon swam

And wells were holy.

They have gone under.

Boxed, like the magician’s assistant.

Buried alive in earth.

Forgotten, like the dead.

They return spectrally after heavy rain,

Confounding suburban gardens. They infiltrate

Chronic bronchitis statistics. A silken

Slur haunts dwellings by shrouded

Watercourses, and is taken

For the footing of the dead.

Being of our world, they will return

(Westbourne, caged at Sloane Square,

will jack from his box),

Will deluge cellars, detonate manholes,

Plant effluent on our faces,

Sink the city.

Effra, Graveney, Falcon, Quaggy,

Wandle, Walbrook, Tyburn, Fleet

It is the other rivers that lie

Lower, that touch us only in dreams

That never surface.We feel their tug

As a dowser’s rod bends to the surface below

Phlegethon, Acheron, Lethe, Styx.

U. A. Fanthorpe

Starstruck

2011-09-10T10:07:00.006+01:00

Although I've lived in Manchester for almost 34 years - I came here as an eager young student in October 1977 - I'd never visited Jodrell Bank before this summer. Driving through the Cheshire countryside, I'd marvelled at it from a distance, or from the top floor of the carpark at the airport, but until earlier this year I never got up close to the mammoth radio telescope.

It started to pulse on my radar when I stumbled across a page on the internet about work placements there for school students. This seemed like a fantastic opportunity as Eddie, our son, has become really interested in astronomy and astrophysics, thanks partly to his excellent teachers at Chorlton High School, and partly to Professor Brian Cox and his winning ways on the BBC.

He just missed the closing date to apply this year unfortunately, but we went out to take a look for future reference anyway.

The site has recently opened a new visitors' centre with gardens and cafe and there's such a magical pull to the place we've been back 3 or 4 times with various family visitors over the summer. The telescope itself is awe-inspiring, I don't think that's too strong a description. On a couple of our visits it's been 'parked' for maintenance and painting

which is impressive enough, but when it's active and moving it actually tingles the hairs on the back of my neck.

The history of Sir Bernard Lovell's brainchild is brought to life in archive footage from the 50s and 60s which runs on a loop in the discovery centre. These films include a tour of the inside of the telescope - breathtaking camera work as they scale the metal ladders up into the filigree structure supporting the dish.
The technology, the words and language, the open space and nature, the coffee and cake - there's something for everyone!

Among the poets who've written their impressions of the place is Patric Dickinson.
Amazingly, this beautiful poem manages to distil so much into 16 short lines

Jodrell Bank

Who were they, what lonely men

Imposed on the fact of night

The fiction of constellations

And made commensurable

The distances between

Themselves, their loves, and their doubt

Of government and nations?

Who made the dark stable

When the light was not? Now

We receive the blind codes

Of spaces beyond the span

Of our myths, and a long dead star

May only echo how

There are no loves nor gods

Men can invent to explain

How lonely all men are.

Patric Dickinson

Remembering Linda

2011-09-02T23:55:00.002+01:00

I'm looking forward to a tribute to Linda Chase at the Manchester Literature Festival in October. Her poems old and new will be read by a selection of poets, and her final collection - Not Many Love Poems - will be launched.

I'm glad the Guardian are featuring her for this week's Saturday poem.

Belated Blog Birthday Bulletin

2011-08-29T10:25:00.001+01:00

And speaking of birthdays, this blog was two on 20 August!

We were away on holiday at the time, but I didn't want to let the anniversary pass by completely unmarked.

Water Baby

2011-08-28T09:45:00.001+01:00

Today our middle daughter is 21. Happy Birthday Evie!!

Eve's always been a keen swimmer, maybe it's because we used to go to the pool several times a week when she was little. Here she is with Jeanette, who looked after her when we were at work. Jeanette was also a big fan of swimming, probably still is.

In this photo three-year-old Eve is looking very pleased with herself because she's just passed her 25 metre badge! For some reason, a reporter from the local paper happened to be at the pool, so Jeanette dived in and set up a photo opportunity!

Many Happy Returns Eve!! Let the partying commence!

Bathing Belles

2011-08-09T12:29:00.003+01:00

Two weeks since I was in the pool, too many other things like decorating the kitchen occupying my time. Anyway, holiday soon, so hopefully I'll be in the sea or outdoor pool every day to get me back in the swim, as it were.

And this new costume - Speedo Claudezine Luxe* - will ease the transition back to water-based activity......There's so much more to a swimsuit than just a scrap of fabric......

Bathing is a sport

Enjoyed by great and small

In suits of any sort

Though better none at all

Anonymous, 19th Century

*modelled by model, not yours truly

Another Place

2011-07-28T22:29:00.006+01:00

Where have I been for the last month - zooming round Manchester on the Metro?

Well, today we had a little trip to the coast just north of Liverpool, starting at Southport, home turf of poet Jean Sprackland, whose poem The Birkdale Nightingale is set in the wild dunes outside the town.
Then on to Crosby beach to see Antony Gormley's installation that I've wanted to visit for ages.
Make no mistake (signage emphasises) this is not a swimming beach. Proceed at your own risk

So, suitably cautioned, we advanced, stepping over the usual beach objects...

and the incredibly large...

to the main attractions...

intriguing...

some customised by visitors...

compelling...

moving...

haunting...

Then on, for a prize-winning ice cream at Parkgate, Wirral, former seaside town where the tide went out

The Railway Is Coming To Cranford!!

2011-06-25T13:31:00.000+01:00

Oops, sorry! I mean the Metro is coming to Chorlton! I must've got carried away with excitement! Hooray!

End of June we've been told, and then the city centre will be only 5 minutes away on public transport. Today test trams went tooting along the tracks!

Looks like we'll soon be in business!

Great Swim Junkie

2011-06-20T08:39:00.003+01:00

Saturday was the Great North Swim, iconic swimming event, as it's billed, back in Windermere after last year's cancellation due to blue-green algae in the lake.

The whole day is so memorable, starting with Park and Sail from Bowness up to Ambleside and the first sightings from the boat of the course at Low Wood marina

Then the one-mile walk from Ambleside to Low Wood, with glimpses of the swimmers through the trees

then onto the lawn in front of the hotel - normally so sedate and quiet but today unrecognisable - thronged with swimmers in wetsuits and spectators

We were in the white wave at 4pm. This time I felt better prepared psychologically and physically but my time was the longest yet 1:7:39 - only a few seconds more than Salford but I'd hoped to manage the swim in under an hour.

Everyone we spoke to said they'd found it relatively hard. Even the elites' times were also a bit longer than usual. There was quite a swell and the water was fairly choppy in the first half. Then on the return leg, to me it felt like swimming in treacle, hard work. But the main thing is I enjoyed it.

And at the end, it's like being a child getting off a rollercoaster, after all the nerves and excitement, the immediate reaction is - again, again!

So now we're weighing up the Great Scottish Swim at Strathclyde on September 24th. Not just a mile, this time 2K down the middle of the loch. Hmmm, now there's a thought...

Poetry Sunday

2011-06-05T10:34:00.001+01:00

Horizontal Buoys

2011-05-28T15:45:00.000+01:00

The training continues - last Saturday morning, one circuit of the dock - 400m, 14.5C. This morning, two circuits, 800m, 13.8C. I'm acclimatising but it was very blooming cold - and I didn't wear socks!

And choppy - at one point the great big buoys that mark the corners of the course were flat on the surface of the water, the wind was so strong. But by then the swimming seemed to get easier, I was bouncing along doing breaststroke, ducking my head under each wave - I got a great rhythm going!

So apart from pool swimming during the week - 2K now in under an hour - I'll be in the dock for three circuits next Saturday morning, then four the week after. Hopefully the temperature might start to rise...... The following Saturday - 18 June - is the real thing in Windermere, but I feel ready for it now. The buzz after Saturday morning swims seems to power me through the rest of the day......

Waiting at traffic lights for a tram to pass on the way home afterwards, I had to snap this lovely little iron grille in the dock wall

Chorlton Arts Festival

2011-05-27T22:45:00.003+01:00

I love this exhibit, under the metal bridge across to Chorlton Meadows and the Mersey. Last time - two years ago? - it was just four bricks in the water

F L U X

We Are The Champions!

2011-05-15T22:54:00.003+01:00

Blowing my alias...what the hell...blame the adrenalin high!!

Self with warthog, gazelle and Eve's young man. Strange item between my legs is woolly hat. Too doolally still to put it on head.

What an afternoon! Traffic diversions (because of Manchester 10K ) so long-winded I thought we wouldn't get there in time. But we did.....

I was third last to come in at the end of the day, so I had a personal escort of kayakers - who were all totally lovely and encouraging - thank you so much guys and gals

Thrilled, but too worn out to say much this evening, so here are some pictures

next time, my goal is to build up the front crawl

from the canal into Ontario Basin and the final section

always time for a chat. This guy will be kayaking again at the Windermere swim in a month's time

Dock 9, Huron Basin, the starting area - just about dismantled

Imperial War Museum and The Lowry

Media City

view to a bridge

the BBC's new home

What a wonderful day despite grim weather and low temperatures. My time: 01:06:51. One month now to train towards shaving off some minutes at Windermere.

Sporting Heroes

2011-05-15T12:05:00.002+01:00

Just dropped Pete, Eddie and Eve (husband, son, daughter) in town as Pete and Eddie are running the Manchester 10K at 12.10 before doing the swim this afternoon. Gluttons for punishment! Eve is the communication link and support team.

Eddie is a lovely, lanky 16-year-old, so Pete said it would be like watching a warthog and a gazelle.

I think he's being just a bit hard on himself!

And now I'm watching the coverage on BBC2, they keep flashing across to Salford where the first wave has just completed the course.

The commentator is saying the water is absolutely freezing and he'd need two wetsuits to even consider it......

The participants all look quite cheery though.....oh my god, that's me in three hours twenty minutes.....

Getting in the Zone

2011-05-14T22:43:00.001+01:00

Where did all the hot weather go? The blazing sun that should have been warming up the water in Salford Docks this week?

Tomorrow is the Great Swim and we're in the last wave at 3.20. The cameras will be rolling, and broadcasting live on BBC 2. Ulp! No pressure then.....

This is my cap - you'll be able to spot me bringing up the rear and staggering over the finish line.

I swam 3/4 mile yesterday, and a mile on Thursday in 45 minutes - a great time for me. I'd be very impressed if I managed a time like that tomorrow.

Here's the all-important chip that'll keep track of me

and here's that great poem from Sharon Olds, that seems to sum it all up

The Swimming Race

Noon, Orinda Park Pool, three girls

in rubber caps sculpted with rubber

roses, and they had put our fathers

at the far end of our lanes. We curled

our toes over the edge, the gun went off -

they dove cleanly, as I jumped. By the time

I had surfaced, and started to dog-paddle, they had

finished the race, their fathers had drawn them up

dripping and were handing them sateen ribbons with

rosettes, a red and a cobalt blue,

I held up my head as he'd taught me, and swam

like a dog toward his end of the pool. The day

was temperate and cloudless, live-oaks

in a large cluster full of yellow-jackets to my left,

the lawn to my right, and there before me,

at the end of my lane - black lines

on the bottom of the pool, where the drowned would lie -

was my father. I paddled, I felt myself approach him,

I was grinning because of the prize I would win

for coming in third, a Big Hunk bar -

the milk and honey on the other side -

and because my father was getting bigger,

leaning toward me, his arms open.

He pulled me out, and held my hand

up by the wrist. My sister sneered, she said

Why did you lift Shary's fist

when she was last? and he smiled, a smile almost

without meanness, one of the last

times we saw him smile, he said

I thought she was winner of the next race, and his

face flushed with pleasure and the shade of the yardarm.

Sharon Olds

from The Wellspring, 1995

Oh bring on that yardarm!!

May The Eighth

2011-05-08T23:47:00.007+01:00

I'd forgotten that on my birthday last year we went to the City Art Gallery to look at the Emmeline Pankhurst picture, before going on to Wagamama for a birthday celebration meal. So it was nice to have a memory prompt on last year's blog post.

This year my birthday started as usual with presents in bed :@) Then a swim for Dash at 11am - he's getting very good at it! Coffee and chocolate brownie in the garden with my sister and family - Malachy and Aoife aged 2 and 1 are the darlingest little dotes and turn any visit into a party!

Then yesterday's Doctor Who on catch up, followed by a meal at Croma - Chorlton's finest! A glass of bubbly on our return. What more could a girl want?! Thanks everyone!

garden clogs

writing prompts kit

solar powered garden lamp

lemon bath stuff

tartan dressing gown

celebration tipple

Fantastic Mr Fox

2011-05-07T23:55:00.003+01:00

Rachel Levitas Urban Fox VIII

Yesterday, when I went in the garden the hens were out of their enclosure, digging holes, throwing soil everywhere, generally wrecking all the new planting, as they do.

I chased them back in and spotted how they'd escaped - a hole under the wire fence, and the unmistakable stink of fox.

Foxes are lovely animals but we'll have to be vigilant now. The menfolk are saving their urine to sprinkle round the perimeter of the hen run. Old wives' tale or reliable deterrent?
Who knows? We haven't seen a fox in the garden for a couple of years, but now we need to be on the lookout.

The Thought Fox

I imagine this midnight moment's forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock's loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow
A fox's nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

Ted Hughes, 1957

Fairweather Friend

2011-05-02T22:50:00.000+01:00

Great Salford Swim is on Sunday 15 May and Great North Swim is on Saturday 18 June, so time is of the essence and we need as much training as possible in the next two weeks.

Now that Salford is open for training 6.30 - 8.30 on Monday and Thursday evenings, and Saturday mornings 8 - 11 there is plenty of opportunity.

After two outdoor swims last week, I thought I was into the swing of it. However, after a weekend of brilliant sunshine but bitter winds I couldn't face getting into the cold water this evening. I went down to offer moral support to my husband and son but I had no regrets about my decision not to take the plunge.

There was a very strong wind so the water was extremely choppy, and I reckon at least couple of degrees colder than the advertised temperature of 13.2C.

They managed one uncomfortable circuit with the wind against them all the way round. I was completely nithered watching them (as my mum used to say) so they were chilled through when they hauled themselves out. Top marks for bravery, boys!

Now I'm praying that the wind will drop and the sun shine continually till Saturday to get the temp up before my next decision about whether to opt for the docks or the pool.....

Beltane 2011

2011-05-01T23:48:00.004+01:00

Welcome once again to May - my birthday month!

For all you Taureans out there here's our horoscope - courtesy of Shelley von Strunckel in Good Housekeeping:

May is all about conducting a clear-out of your old views, habits and even dreams. The resulting insights explain situations in which you've little control, enforced changes or what is blocking new ventures. Don't brood over these. Rather, examine with others both unfamiliar ideas and any setbacks, since they're likely to spot what you miss. All of this is clearing the way for a period of thrilling growth - both personal and in terms of your life and dreams - that begins when the expansive Jupiter moves into Taurus in early June for a year's stay.

Welcome to you Jupiter - bringer of Joy!!

The picture is of the Chillingham Cattle.

Thrills and Spills

2011-04-28T23:55:00.002+01:00

Not long back from Salford Quays where we swam two circuits of the 400m course. Their opening swim of the season! 13.5C - so a bit nippy to start, but tingling when we warmed up and fantastic to be back in the docks again.

Monday at Gaddings was also great, swam 750m, the last 10 minutes or so without a wetsuit, phew it certainly makes a difference.

And speaking of wetsuits.....I am just getting over the fact that my obliging husband cut it with his nail helping me on with it.....before it even touched the water.....my bad humour took till Wednesday to lift. In my fury I reminded him of this Jean Sprackland poem which I introduced him to after some similar outrage a while back

The Apprentice

I married a man with clumsy hands

whose touch left me fingerprinted with bruises.

I had to keep him from my bed

till he learned some delicacy.

I wanted him dextrous

so I trained him on nimble tasks. First time

hanging out washing, he snapped a dozen pegs,

let underwear fall in the wet grass.

Then I had him sowing lettuces,

pricking out the seedlings, growing them on.

He was close to tears with the smallness of the work.

I schooled him in needle and thread,

a hard apprenticeship in gentleness.

He fumbled the button, knocked the licked end of thread

against the stubborn eye of the needle,

stabbed his fingertip. Blood on his white shirt.

One night, after dinner, the final test:

unfastening my silver necklace.

When I felt those skilful fingers

lift my hair and charm the tiny clasp apart,

I stood astonished, sheened in desire. I turned

and took his hands, set them free.

Jean Sprackland

from Hard Water (Cape Poetry)

Harrumph. But a wonderful poem - and a great collection.

Busy Bees

2011-04-27T23:53:00.000+01:00

A swarm of bees flew over our garden this afternoon. I heard them quite a while before I could see them. Then they were gone.

A swarm of bees in May

is worth a load of hay.

A swarm of bees in June

is worth a silver spoon.

A swarm of bees in July

isn't worth a fly.

But what about April?

Anniversary

2011-04-27T00:00:00.003+01:00

I've been thinking about my Mum this week as 26th April is her anniversary.

She died four years ago but it seems like it could have been last week - time is a strange old thing.

On Easter Sunday I discovered Elizabeth Spires and among her poems I found Like Water which is painfully moving - so straightforward and what a powerful way to describe the grieving process.

Then a book arrived this morning that I ordered last week - Sparrow Tree by Gwyneth Lewis. Mslexia has invited submissions of reviews, this was on the list, so I thought I'd have a crack at it.

Over the last four years of my mother's life we gradually lost her, as a degenerative illness impaired both her physical abilities and thinking processes.

I flicked through what seems to be a great collection by Gwyneth Lewis and this poem called out

Field Guide to Dementia

To see you is egret,

No, red kite high

On a thermal,

Holding your hand

Is wagtail, comfort.

I think some cuckoo's laid

An egg of darkness in my head.

Words have migrated,

I forget their calls.

But I still point,

Look! Dowitcher, possibly

Lapwing. Quite.

Gwyneth Lewis

from Sparrow Tree (Bloodaxe)

Head for the Hills

2011-04-25T11:55:00.001+01:00

Yesterday the water temperature at Gaddings Dam was 15.4C - a veritable hot tub! - so that's where we're headed this afternoon to kick off the open water swimming season in these parts.

I got a new wetsuit when TriCentral had a clearance sale a few weeks ago, it will have its inaugural dip today - may God bless her and all who swim in her!

Important Disclaimer: This is the wetsuit but this is not me...

Egg Hunt

2011-04-24T11:42:00.003+01:00

Looking around for an egg-themed poem, I've just happened across Elizabeth Spires whose work I've not read before. Her poems are powerful and leave me wanting more.....which is nice.....!

Here's her poem Faberge's Egg.

I've also found out about Faberge eggs which I didn't know much about till today. So that's my little Easter egg to me, courtesy of the internet.

Now I'm off to make an omelette for breakfast.

It's A Dog's Life.....

2011-04-19T23:19:00.001+01:00

Five weeks post-op and Dash had his first swimming lesson at Soozoo on Monday.

He started with a shower and was buckled into a life jacket, then up the ramp and down another into the water.

He was nervous about the new experience but thanks to the reassuring manner of the trainers he was soon swimming around the pool and chasing toys which made the activity fun for him as well as being just what the doctor ordered.

Since his wound healed he's only been allowed to have 5-minute walks once or twice a day. No exercise off-lead until July, a gradual build-up until then. Even going into the garden has to be supervised as a sudden twist or turn chasing a cat or squirrel could destabilise the repair and make another operation necessary.

Swimming takes all pressure off the joint and apparently a minute in the pool is the equivalent of a mile walking! So after 30 minutes he was well and truly ready for a cup of bovril and a packet of crisps.

Just joking...a quick shampoo, a bit of a blow-dry then into the boot and home. Mmmm.....that lovely smell of damp dog.....

Swimming and Sorrow

2011-04-09T12:41:00.000+01:00

What to Do with Sorrow
Can I sing a short song to your sorrow?
I'll choose something with absolutely no sentiment
or, if you prefer, I'll just hum, or, I could tap
my fingers on the table in a light, lively rhythm
or, I could do just the middle-eight part of a folk song,
or something else bland. Really, a song might be nice.
Could I get it a coke, or a Ben and Jerry cone
or a cup of coffee or some taco chips?
Maybe just some water with ice?

I could take your sorrow out somewhere.
Maybe I could take it on a road trip with me,
if I could get a crash helmet to fit it.
I'd take it to the mountains on the back of my bike
and we could go camping, just for the weekend.
I've got a tent and we could drink cocoa
from tin mugs and tell each other stories,
really sad ones, by the campfire late at night.
I think your sorrow might like it a lot.
Sleeping in a tent and looking out through a flap
at the stars. Maybe even seeing a shooting star.
And I've got some of those self-inflating sleeping mats
which make all the difference. They really do.

Maybe I could take your sorrow out this afternoon.
I could take it swimming with me in the lake.
We could go on the bus so you wouldn't even need to drive us.
I could take my day pack with apples and soda and rope.
We could sun for a while and then make our way over the rocks
to the sandy part where we could splash near the shore.
Then we'd move out together and begin to swim laps.
Breast stroke and crawl, side stroke and back stroke,
and then go further out to the middle where the water's deep
and we'd smell the water while we swam.

Do you remember how the water smells?
a bit like mud and a bit like dying reeds
and plants and a bit like fallen petals of water lilies.
It smells like turtles and fish and water snakes
and bottoms of row boats and the wet wood of canoes
and it smells like the bugs that skate on it
and like everything that's rotting on the bottom.
You remember how the water smells.
Don't worry about us at all.
Your sorrow will be safe with me.
I don't think we'll be back early.
Go ahead and eat without us.

Linda Chase
from The Wedding Spy (Carcanet, 2001)

Go Well Linda And Adieu

2011-04-08T22:27:00.001+01:00

A poetry friend emailed me this afternoon to tell me that Linda Chase died this morning.

I've made a couple of false starts to write about her, but it's obviously not the right time, I just feel too sad. I've found her such an inspiration in the time I've known her, she will be missed by so many people.

Crock of Poetry Gold

2011-04-07T12:04:00.001+01:00

My copy of the latest - new look - Mslexia hasn't arrived yet, but I see from the Mslexia website that the poetry competition's been announced and Jo Shapcott's the judge. The cash first prize is now £2000. £7 entry fee lets you enter 3 poems. Closing date - 18 July.

Good luck girls!

A Poem A Day

2011-04-03T23:52:00.000+01:00

Better late than never. Just the challenge I need, and I can always carry on into May if I need to make up for a late start. Click on the logo to get to the website.

Dog Paddle

2011-04-02T22:29:00.000+01:00

Back in Whitley Bay for the weekend. Last time we were here, Dash had his escapade on the prom. We thought we'd escaped relatively lightly - he had to have four small teeth removed - but no bones broken.
However, at a follow-up check at the vet's a week later, the limp he'd developed indicated damage to the cruciate ligament in his back leg and required an operation.
Three weeks ago the ruptured ligament was removed and replaced by a band to stabilise the joint, as the tissue around it heals. The bad news is that he'll be unable to have proper walks until July. He can walk 100 yards five or six times a day, but he has to be on a lead in case he makes any sudden movements which could twist the joint. Building up the exercise will happen very slowly. Already this walkless regime is agony for us all.
Then suddenly I thought about hydrotherapy - if racehorses can have it, why not dogs? It would give him an outlet for his energy and at the same time help him to exercise without causing damage to the healing joint. The vet has confirmed canine hydrotherapy is a good idea and if we want he can start in a couple of weeks.
I'm looking into the possibilities on offer near us and who knows - maybe he'll get a taste for it and join us on the Great North Swim! Or turn into a mer-dog like these guys

School's Out

2011-03-26T11:57:00.001Z

Tuesday was my last Poetry School class with John McAuliffe, I can't believe ten weeks have flown by so quickly. This has been my most productive class to date, I've written a poem a week and received excellent feedback from John who's such a generous tutor. His comments have been really constructive and encouraging, his experience as an editor invaluable. I've redrafted four of the poems and got them ready to send off to Poetry London, so we'll see what Colette Bryce makes of them...

and now I feel quite bereft, what will I write about this week?...in Tuesday's class we looked at poems with a driving theme including one of my favourites, Seamus Heaney's Postscript. Somehow without the deadline of Tuesday's class I seem to have lost my mojo...maybe I just need a little rest and then get back in the saddle...

Aftermath of Moon Hype

2011-03-19T23:55:00.001Z

Beautiful but not spectacular.
Maybe I need a new camera. Anyway it gave the boys an excuse to how - oooool.

Lunar Perigee

2011-03-19T11:48:00.002Z

Tonight's full moon is going to be spectacular, it'll be closer to us on earth than it's been for 18 years. It should provide a chance for us to try out that trick which I wrote about last year.

By chance I found this poem - Facts About The Moon - by Dorianne Laux when I was reading the How A Poem Happens blog this morning. Serendipity, no?!

Saturday Morning Film Review

2011-03-12T09:04:00.002Z

If you get the chance to see Norwegian Wood - DON'T. Instead, buy a poetry book and a bottle of wine to share with your companion. I wish I had.

International Women's Day 2011

2011-03-08T23:47:00.002Z

It's been a while since I wrote about swimming, so for International Women's Day let's celebrate Gertrude Ederle (1905-2003) first woman to swim the English Channel in 1926.

And here's an atmospheric poem with a sea theme by Marion Lomax

Beyond Men

Through the shrunk boards

water strokes itself:

dives at the end of staves.

Her eyes are out to sea:

she's gardening the waves,

weeding out boats before

they can put down roots.

Off the beach, women

bob like seals in their

round red caps - climb out,

and dance with strangers.

Under the pier, where

the sea has slipped back,

the wet sand is coldest.

It sucks her shoulders,

makes her shiver.

Arms, legs, breasts, slip

under: she struggles

out of the strong embrace.

Sleek, salt tongues of weed

lick neck and nipples -

waves return her hair,

a tangle of black lace.

Dancers on the pier

drift home to their beds,

refusing late drinks

or a possessive caress.

Tonight the sea's moans

make women yearn

for something beyond

the love of men.

Marion Lomax

in Sixty Women Poets

ed. Linda France, Bloodaxe

Law Of The Jungle

2011-03-05T10:15:00.004Z

Disturbing start to the day as we went to see Animal Kingdom last night and it was the first thing I thought about when I woke up this morning. Someone - I think it was my brother - told me the mark of a good film is if you think of it at least three times the next day. By that criterion, Animal Kingdom is right up there.

I'm a fan of the novels of the Australian writer Tim Winton - Cloudstreet, Breath, Dirt Music to name but three. He is a genius at describing family dynamics and the dark side of Australia and Australian life. So imagine Winton at his darkest, then subdue the lighting, turn that dimmer switch to its lowest setting. As you adjust your vision, you'll begin to make out the shapes in Animal Kingdom...

We went to see the film at the Cornerhouse in Manchester. If it was an American film it would be in mainstream cinemas, who knows, maybe it will get there. But in the meantime, it is worth seeking out. Prepare yourself for some discomfort as you head out on safari.....

Black And White Dog, Black And White Toon

2011-02-26T21:17:00.009Z

Well, who'd have thought yesterday that this would be on the cards for today?! We bit the bullet and went back to the beach, no flashbacks (as far as I can tell) or nasty experiences. Phew! We didn't take a ball, but as Dash helped himself to someone else's, we reckon he's on the mend.

This afternoon the menfolk joined up with the Toon Army and went to the match. 1-1 draw against Bolton Wanderers. Much enjoyment had by all.

I started Early - Took my Dog -

I started Early - Took my Dog -
And visited the Sea -
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me -

And Frigates - in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands -
Presuming Me to be a Mouse -
Aground - upon the Sands -

But no Man moved Me - till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe -
And past my Apron - and my Belt -
And past my Bodice - too -

And made as He would eat me up -
As wholly as a Dew
Upon a Dandelion's Sleeve -
And then - I started - too -

And He - He followed - close behind -
I felt his Silver Heel
Upon my Ankle - Then my Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl -

Until We met the Solid Town -
No One He seemed to know -
And bowing - with a Mighty look -
At me - The Sea withdrew -

Emily Dickinson

Cutting A Dash

2011-02-25T23:13:00.005Z

With us a month now, Dash has been doing really well. He's full of energy and just can't get enough walks - racing to catch balls and any toys we throw for him. I had him weighed at the vet's on Tuesday and he's lost 2.2kg since he came to us, which is remarkable going. He's still got a bit to lose though.

As it's half term we're up in the Northeast for a couple of days. We went down to Tynemouth yesterday morning and he was thrilled to be on the beach, running and running, on the sand and in the sea.

At teatime we took him down to the beach at Whitley Bay and again, he had a whale of a time. The tide was coming in fast, so we went up to the promenade near a local landmark, the Rendezvous Cafe, to walk back to the car.

Dash trotted ahead of us then, to our complete horror, ran back at the low sea wall, and jumped it, oblivious of the twenty foot drop on the other side.

He landed on the rocks with a gut-wrenching thump and a yelp. Panic-stricken, we ran down to the beach and Pete carried him up to the car - no mean feat.

We took him to a great local vet's. They kept him in overnight for intravenous pain relief and observation, and booked him in to an equally great animal hospital to have his leg and jaw examined today. The concern was that the upper jaw was split and leg ligaments torn. None of us slept well last night as we were still in shock at what had happened.

After a day in hospital, undergoing general anaesthesia, CT scan and x-rays the good news is that he's home and only needed to have four broken incisors removed. Unbelievably, nothing more radical. We can't get our heads round how lucky we've been not to lose him - he's zonked out on the floor, sleeping off his awful ordeal. And thank God we'd decided to opt for insurance, praise be for Petplan...

Mammogram

2011-02-23T23:44:00.000Z

Within the remit of the NHS breast screening programme, women over 50 and under 70 who are registered with a GP are called for a mammogram every three years.

The first invitation arrives between the 50th and 53rd birthdays. My invitation arrived a couple of weeks ago and I went along today for the procedure which was straightforward and completely painless, I didn't even find it particularly uncomfortable. Going to the dentist's - for a check-up (!) is far worse in my opinion. I'll receive the results within two weeks and I hope it'll be a straightforward all-clear.

A number of women poets have written about their life-changing experiences of breast cancer. Here's one from Helen Farish, whose poems I find moving and very powerful.

Biopsy

I'm running away with my breasts

to Barcelona, the Canaries.

They've a fancy for some seafront life,

fishermen, local wine.

I'm leaving no more of them at the hospital.

I understand the lump now,

how the cells got together

in a crescent like a young moon,

a smooth-sea boat, a hammock.

All these symbols of longing:

if I had taken notice

they would not have taken shape.

Helen Farish

Intimates

Money Well Spent

2011-02-13T00:53:00.002Z

Four Poetry School classes this term and four poems in the can - I'm pleased to be on such a creative roll!
Week 1 was the deconstructed sonnet (Rilke). Week 2 inspired by a piece of 'bad' art (Elizabeth Bishop). Week 3 an interaction with a gallery (WH Auden) - mine was the Whitworth, above and below which, when I visited, featured a wonderful fairytale forest (fairytale in a scary Babes in the Wood way).
In week 4, after looking at some of William Carlos Williams' poems including The Hunters In The Snow (after Brueghel), we write our own about a Brueghel painting - in words of one syllable! Mine is done. I'm now engaged with the drafting, v. enjoyable as I can be fairly obsessive.

Spring Round The Corner (It's Official!)

2011-02-02T23:25:00.001Z

Today Punxsutawney Phil DID NOT see his shadow, so we have only two weeks more of winter. (By saying we I am aligning us with our cousins in the jolly old US of A).

Three cheers for the Groundhog and Groundhog Day!! (click on the clock!)

The Dashing (Black and) White Collie

2011-01-29T00:00:00.006Z

One of these flingers has been kicking around in our hall for several years, rarely used because our darling Benji, one of the Seven Great Dogs, wasn't really interested in charging about fetching tennis balls for humans. He was more of a sniffer, who liked to follow tracks, mark his territory, square up to bigger dogs and generally commune with other canines, wherever possible.
For the last few months I've visited Dogs Blog, grieving for Benji and working out when we'd be ready to let another dog romp into our lives. A couple of weeks ago I saw smiley, dashing Dash and thought he might well be the one.
We went to see him in the RSPCA kennels last Saturday, took him for a walk and decided to invite him to join our pack.

Just look at his lovely white eyelashes! And his twinkly eyes!
He moved in yesterday, so this morning I was back on Chorlton Meadows in the frost and sunshine.
Dash is a five-year-old Border Collie, the gentlest dog, just as sweet as he looks in his photos, but owing to his recent history, several kilos overweight. However, he is mad for ball games and today the ball flinger came into its own as I took him for three long walks. He ran and ran and ran, chasing the tennis ball, throwing it back to me to start all over again. For a big lad he is very agile! When the RSPCA took him in he was 30kg. Today at the vet's he weighed in at 26kg. With all the exercise we'll soon have him back in shape and with a bit of luck I might drop a dress size as well!

Back To (Poetry) School

2011-01-22T23:59:00.005Z

Some people sit down and poems seem to come to them, unbidden. I find courses help me to enlist the Muse's help - or is it self-belief? - and tap into my creativity.

After a fairly dry month poetry-wise, I started a Poetry School course with John McAuliffe last Tuesday evening. It's absolutely great to be back in the classroom! John is such a fun tutor - enthusiastic, energetic, knowledgeable - and how! But more importantly, supportive and encouraging. We took a look at Archaic Torso of Apollo by Rilke - a poem I love and which I've featured on this blog. Then Leda and the Swan by Yeats which was new to me. Our homework is to write a sonnet, but to deconstruct the form and make our own of it. Yikes! I left the class buzzing, but with no idea of what I would write. By the time I got home I knew what I wanted to write about and started as soon as I got in, aided by a couple of glasses of red wine, which I frequently find helpful! I woke early on Wednesday with more thoughts and by Wednesday night I had a first draft to work on. To me, this is always the start of the most exciting stage of making a poem. Now I've been through several drafts, my poem is looking in ok shape and I'm relieved to be back in the saddle.

Eurydice Restored

2011-01-18T23:05:00.000Z

I am thrilled to report that the wonderful poem by Sue Hubbard is to be restored in gold lettering in the Waterloo Underpass in London.

Eurydice.

All thanks to a Facebook campaign!

Power to the People!

Power to the Poetry!!!

Hip Hip Hurray!!!!!!!!

Sun Arise

2011-01-17T07:49:00.000Z

Here's yesterday's sunrise in Hull which I uploaded when I got back to Manchester last night.

And if you'd like, here's a musical accompaniment by Rolf Harris who, as well as being a talented artist and musician, was apparently also a champion swimmer in his youth!

Artist's Date

2011-01-16T13:57:00.003Z

The hotel windows face in a south south-easterly direction, so this morning I took a beautiful photo of the sun rising up out of the sea. Unfortunately I didn't pack the lead which lets me transfer photos from phone to laptop, so I'll put it on here when I'm back on the other side of the Pennines in the land of the setting sun. In the meantime, I found this stock photo of the Humber Bridge which is just a couple of miles away.

Left to my own devices I can happily while away hours on the internet. I give myself a hard time for this, saying I should be making the most of peaceful writing time. So how am I squaring that with myself today?

Well, in her book The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron writes about two practices which facilitate the creative process. The first of these is Morning Pages, the second, the Artist's Date.

Morning Pages involves getting up a bit earlier and writing three sides in an uncensored, 'free expression' way to get the creative juices flowing, to air gripes and grumbles, to see what the still-sleepy brain throws up before the watchful, organised side of the brain gets going. I'm coming round to doing this, but I'm still in hibernation mode, so can't quite take the plunge and get on with it yet.

The Artist's Date involves taking a weekly trip to some place or other which nurtures the inner artist, stimulates the Muse, generates ideas. So I'm treating today as a virtual Artist's Date.
I'm looking down at the river and reading what a dangerous stretch of water this is. This took me back to the Spurn Lightship which I mentioned yesterday.

In turn, this led me to this website about other lightships.
I'm always drawn to watery phenomena. A while back I was investigating bell buoys

and found this incredible film on youtube. I find it hypnotic, irresistible, scary. I come back to it on a regular basis. I know all this nautical stuff is fermenting a poem but it hasn't chosen to reveal itself yet.

Bridlington, another place I've never visited, is only 16 miles from Hull. Next time I'm here I'd like to drive across there and get to know that stretch of Yorkshire coastline.

As part of my wanderings on my virtual Artist's Date, I've found this beautiful poem - The Seashells of Bridlington North Beach by Jack Mapanje - read by the poet on the Poetry Archive. Truly inspirational.

To Hull In A Handcart

2011-01-15T14:41:00.003Z

This weekend my husband is working in Hull, so I decided to come along for the ride as I've never visited this neck of the woods before. Not that I'm intending to do any sightseeing. I'm still in the aftermath of the Xmas flu bug and I've got a knee injury, so I'm pleasantly holed up in the Premier Inn (just as good as Lenny Henry says in the adverts, and only £29 per night) - with a top floor view of the Humber as it courses along towards the estuary. I've got a pile of books and a newspaper to read, and two poems to work on so I am in seventh heaven. However, I've still not picked up my pencil yet, I'm such an excellent procrastinator.....

The wind is whipping up a storm outside and the river is phenomenal - so wild and wide, I could watch it all day

There are many interesting things to see in Hull, including -

the statue to Philip Larkin at Paragon railway station

the slavery museum in Wilberforce House

the house where Andrew Marvell spent part of his childhood

the Spurn Lightship

I'll be back to explore in May when the weather improves and my husband is working here again. Now I'll get on with those poems.....after I've checked on the river.....

Get Back In The Pool

2011-01-13T23:56:00.016Z

Yesterday entries opened for the Great North Swim - Windermere on 18/19 June 2011. Before I went to bed last night I looked at the pool timetable for the aquatic centre. This morning I had some work to do, but beforehand I packed my swimming bag and put it by the front door. 'Hmm,' I thought. 'It looks like I'm intending to go swimming.'

Sure enough, I did. First time since Sunday 26 September. I swam 16x50m lengths and came out buzzing, and buzzed for the rest of the day.

Although my swim bore no resemblance to this one described by Vicki Feaver, the title is just right.

Swimming in January
Because, like every new lover,
I want to enter the underworld
and take you with me, I lead you
into the sea in January - naked into a sea
that flows round our calves and knees
like green fire: deeper and deeper -
feet off the shingle now - gulping half air,
half salt-water, drifting almost to the edge
where there's no returning
before we strike back
to the beach - past windsurfers
sealed in rubber wet-suits, struggling
to lift orange sails, past wading birds
dipping yellow beaks into a film
of mirrored cloud - emerge,
white legs moving like sticks over
oil-blackened sand, at the breakwater
where we draped clothes and towels,
rubbing each other back to life.

Vicki Feaver
(ps. she didn't select any of my poems in Mslexia's competition in 2010, but I bear her no malice.)

Balancing The Books

2011-01-10T09:13:00.002Z

There are poems to be written, stories to be read, swims to be swum - a thousand and one interesting things to do but they are all off-limits until our accounts have been written up and put into the hands of the accountant. Every year we vow to do this laborious job month by month. Every year we find ourselves in this high-pressure January scramble to assemble receipts etc and get the whole thing logged in the big red book...

To compound the misery, the holiday is finally over. Empty-nest syndrome kicked in yesterday when our eldest daughter went back to London for the start of term. Our middle daughter's flat is only five minutes away, but the three of us left behind all notice how roomy the house feels when the girls are gone.

Now, back to the books...

To A Daughter Leaving Home

When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.

Linda Pastan

Twelfth Night *

2011-01-05T22:54:00.001Z

I took this picture in the dark but the flash lit it up and so doesn't really do the Christmas tree justice - it actually looked very magical. The tree comes down tomorrow I'm sad to say. I always get the decorations down by 6 January but I'm embarrassed to admit that sometimes they don't get put back in their boxes until June or July.
I discovered Jane Kenyon at the Poetry Foundation. Here's a fitting poem of hers from a collection which I've just ordered. An ex-library copy (my favourites!) from Amazon Marketplace. A bit of post-Christmas retail therapy (£1.91+p&p).

*Twelfth Night

Taking Down the Tree

BY JANE KENYON

"Give me some light!" cries Hamlet's

uncle midway through the murder

of Gonzago. "Light! Light!" cry scattering

courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,

it's dark at four, and even the moon

shines with only half a heart.

The ornaments go down into the box:

the silver spaniel, My Darling

on its collar, from Mother's childhood

in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack

my brother and I fought over,

pulling limb from limb. Mother

drew it together again with thread

while I watched, feeling depraved

at the age of ten.

With something more than caution

I handle them, and the lights, with their

tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along

from house to house, their pasteboard

toy suitcases increasingly flimsy.

Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop.

By suppertime all that remains is the scent

of balsam fir. If it's darkness

we're having, let it be extravagant.

Poetry Please!

2011-01-03T23:59:00.003Z

If you're anything like me you can't get enough poetry, so here are a couple of links which are just too good to keep to myself.

The first is the blog How A Poem Happens, in which poets discuss how they wrote one of their poems by answering questions about the creative process. I love hearing how other people go about making poems, so I relish this blog.

Ring Out The Old - Ring In The New!!

2010-12-31T23:56:00.013Z

Despite the cross daubed on my sister's door - her family's version of the plague is much worse than ours - we dropped by this morning to collect our tiny nephew and niece and take them for a walk so that their mum could put her feet up for a little while.

Both the snuffly tots snoozed in their buggy as we pushed through Chorlton Meadows. It's the first time we've been there since Benji died in September, so it was a nostalgic trundle as we remembered all the wonderful walks we've done across there thanks to him. No walks there since September, I've just not been able to face it without him.

I knew I wanted to go there today and reconnect with the life force in that beautiful place. No meadows walks - and also not a single swim since Salford. My mermaid tail has started to curl a little and I've put on one stone in weight! But maybe now I'm starting to come out of mourning.

As we pushed through all the familiar places I reflected how I've missed these walks as part of my poetry process. I've written a couple since Benji died, but now I realise how important to my writing the daily communing with Nature is.

And then this evening.....

My sister invited us over for a little New Year's Eve cup of cheer and I wanted to buy her a bunch of flowers so we popped to our local Morrisons.

As we stood in the checkout queue..... suddenly I saw a face I recognised.....

Would you Adam and Eve it!! - Martine from Silencing The Bell!!

She moved up to these parts in November with her family - I knew her from her picture on her blog - let's face it, she stood no chance of recognising me! - so I scooted over and introduced myself !

What a serendipitous end to the old year, auspicious start to the new!!

Happy New Year To You - To Us - One And All !!!

I Do Believe In Fairies, I Do, I Do

2010-12-29T22:46:00.002Z

Flu has hit this family, and my sister's, and we're all at different stages along the course of this horrible pestilence. So there's nothing for it but to sleep and do very little as Nature takes its uncomfortable course.....
There wasn't a dry eye in the house as we watched Peter Pan on ITV 2 - what a brilliant version - followed by the dvd of Up. Wonderful! What gluttons for punishment we are.

Wolcum Yule!

2010-12-25T01:55:00.002Z

I hope to be blogging regularly again soon, but in the meantime -

Season's Greetings!

Bless Me Father.....

2010-12-02T09:17:00.040Z

One of the features of blogging anonymously is that you can be whoever you want to be.....
A casual observer of this blog might have noticed a lack of activity here of late, seen mention in recent posts of nanowrimo and deduce that I am now sitting back recovering with a smile on my face and a 50,000 word first draft under my belt. Oh, I could flesh out that image and no-one would be any the wiser.....however.....
you can take the girl out of the confessional box but you can't ...etc etc.
I got off to an enthusiastic start with my novel-writing month and it was great to reconnect with my story. Then I turned my attention to my weekly homework from my poetry school class with Shamshad Khan and quickly realised that I had a Harry Hill type fight on my hands - poems versus the novel - if you get my drift. It didn't make sense to have signed up for Shamshad's class and then not have a poem to work on each week. I decided to come back to the novel between classes - which gives me five weeks when this course finishes and before I start my next one in the middle of January.
So what have I been up to? Well, my decision paid off and I've written several poems, one or two of which I'm very pleased with. I've also assembled a small collection for the Poetry Business pamphlet competition. That's now in the lap of the gods, well, Simon Armitage actually, so we'll see what happens.
Most exciting of all.....drum roll.....I've been asked to take part in a poetry reading in Liverpool next Wednesday! First gig! A poet I met a couple of years ago at a Poetry School class is setting up a new event and asked me to contribute a 15-minute spot. This weekend I'll be selecting a play list and weighing up my wardrobe.....
All in all, a firework-filled November!

(Now I must look at some of those Harry Hill fights I drew attention to earlier...)

Saturday Night Out

2010-11-14T22:09:00.004Z

When the Poet Laureate is giving a reading less than five minutes from where you live, really it would be churlish not to rock up there! And when the reading is to raise money for a hard-pushed charity whose funding has suffered brutal cuts, well, all the more reason to join in.

On Saturday evening we popped round the corner to a local church where Carol Ann Duffy was guesting at an event hosted by the Metropolitan Community Church of Manchester on behalf of the Greater Manchester Immigration Aid Unit.

The reading was small enough to feel very cosy, and was a sell-out with an audience of just under 200. Tony Warren, creator of Coronation Street and friend of Carol Ann for the past thirty years, welcomed her to the microphone. In the first half she read some old favourites, including a selection from The World's Wife. She also hinted at some surprise to be revealed in the Xmas Eve episode of the Street! After the interval she introduced new poems which will feature in her next collection, The Bees, due to be published next year. I'm looking forward to the new book. Over the past couple of years Carol Ann has read new poems at various gatherings and published them in newspapers. Poems such as John Barleycorn, Achilles, The Shirt, Premonition, The Human Bee - it will be exciting to see them as part of a wider, new collection.

I do believe everyone should have a Poet Laureate in their locality to read to them on a Saturday night....!

November Countdown

2010-11-01T22:42:00.000Z

The clock has started ticking, nearly one day of NaNoWriMo down, only 29 to go.

I read through my novel notes at the weekend and was quite impressed - what I've done so far is not bad! Very detailed background to the characters and some story, which I can rework. Nanowrimo forbids pasting old material into the new document, which is fine by me. Rewriting the plot will be good and will freshen it all up.

I say 'will be' because today has been very busy and my word count is only 147. Still, that's ok too, I will make up for this later in the week when I get on a roll. At least I've made a start.....

Finding Inspiration

2010-10-30T23:06:00.001+01:00

The Saturday poem in the Guardian today is Monte Baldo by Annie Freud. (Women - 12, Men - 27).

I like Annie Freud's poetry, it is sensuous and mysterious. I feel both unsettled and comforted by her direct style and rich poems which also inspire me to go away and write. Thanks, Annie.

Self doubt, writing, swimming...

2010-10-29T09:34:00.003+01:00

The last couple of nights I've had dreams about my novel, anxiety dreams which seem to be trying to convince me that this novel in a month lark is too silly for words and too difficult, so just pack it in...

To write 1700 words a day for 30 days I think I'll just (!) have to start getting up earlier, say at 6 o'clock, to get an hour in before the day gets going...

And I recognise that treacherous process - exactly the same as when I face some new stretch of cold water, anxiety and self doubt creep up...the only way through is to lower myself in and silence the voice by swimming...

Perils of the Modern World

2010-10-26T17:50:00.000+01:00

The last twenty-four hours have been a bit nightmarish as a spammer hacked my email account and sent a bogus email to everyone in my contact list. Concerned friends and family have rallied to my aid, many believing me to be mugged in Spain...

As we attempt to make things secure again, I've been trying to work out how they got me - was it because I registered with nanowrimo? Funny how everything takes on a sinister look.....Was my address selected at random? Whatever it was, it's a mess and very annoying. And it's knocked me off my stride for writing. But as my daughter said - 'Are you just looking for an excuse to get out of writing the novel in November, Mum?'

Hmmm maybe...

NaNoWriMo

2010-10-23T14:48:00.003+01:00

At the side of the blog in the little description of myself, I casually mention how I 'plan the novel'.

A couple of years ago I had what I consider to be a good idea for a novel. The working title was Yummy Mummy (now a bit out of date as a concept, I fear) and I'd worked out a fair bit of the plot and characterisation etc etc. Since starting the blog, my poetry (and swimming) have come on a treat, but the novel is languishing in an unvisited dungeon of my mac.

Reading Michael Farry's blog this morning I became aware of National Novel Writing Month. What a fantastic, mad idea!! One month to write a 50,000 word novel, where quantity and not quality is absolutely the name of the game! No time for editing, just bang out a draft and if it's done by midnight on 30 November, then you are a WINNER! All of the publicity for it is fun, fun, fun! To sign up, you have to be over 13!!! That alone makes me want to register, if a 13-year-old can do it, then why not me?

So, I've got 7 days to unlock the dungeon, dust off the document, generally limber up and make my way to the starting blocks for 1 November. Anyone else care to join in ?!!

The Present

2010-10-16T00:22:00.001+01:00

Here is Simon Armitage's Keats-Shelley prize-winning poem .

Season's End

2010-10-15T22:29:00.001+01:00

First thing next Saturday (23 October) Salford watersports centre runs the last open water swim of this season. Today the water temperature is 16.5 - 2 degrees warmer than when we swam there three weeks ago, so I think we'll nip down and do a couple of laps to bid farewell till April...which, sadly, seems a long way off, now that the days are getting shorter...

The session takes place in Ontario Basin. I found this beautiful poem that references the two great lakes that the other basins at Salford are named after. Up above is the bridge where one basin runs into the other.

The Huron

I swam the Huron of love, and am not ashamed,

It was many saw me do it, scoffing, scoffing,

They said it was foolish, winter and all,

But I dove in, greaselike, and swam,

And came up where Erie verges.

I would say for the expenditure of love,

And the atrophy of longing, there is no cure

So swift, so sleek, so fine, so draining

As a swim through the Huron in the wintertime.

Ruth Herschberger

from Women's Work: Modern Women Poets Writing In English ed. Eva Salzman & Amy Wack, Seren

Swoony Simon Strikes Again

2010-10-14T19:36:00.003+01:00

I've just read on the Guardian website that Simon Armitage has won the Keats-Shelley Poetry Prize. Congratulations and well done! The prize is awarded for a poem which is romantically inspired and has modern relevance. Simon's poem - The Present - will appear in the the Review section of the paper on Saturday. I'm looking forward to it!

Which brings me once again to my little research project - if this poem features as the Saturday Poem (likely), the running total for this year so far will be female poets 11, male poets 27. Which means that even if poems by women feature every week from next week till the end of the year (unlikely), the final total will be women 21, men 26. Hmm I think I'll open a book and start taking bets...

World Egg Day

2010-10-08T12:57:00.001+01:00

Still Life With Seven Eggs

Listening to Shaun Keaveny on 6Music this morning, I learnt that today is World Egg Day. What an important thing the egg is, what an iconic image!

We have seven hens and get a couple of eggs each day (see above!), they're delicious!

The girls don't look in top condition at the moment as we've had an ongoing problem with redmite. So serious, in fact, that last month we got rid of the cosy little wooden house that harboured the critters in all its nooks and crannies

and picked up a couple of secondhand eglus from ebay to replace it. I wish we'd had this type of accommodation from the start.
Hens and eggs get into our poetry consciousness right at the beginning:

Higgledy piggledy my black hen
She lays eggs for gentlemen
Gentlemen come every day
To see what my black hen doth lay
Sometimes nine and sometimes ten
Higgledy piggledy my black hen.

I found another poem by Michael Laskey, this time on the subject of eggs. He is such a good poet.

A Tray of Eggs
It's not the hens that matter,
scratching among the nettle
roots at the orchard's edge,
though much might be made of their red
foppish cockscombs, their speckled
feathers overlapping and the stutter
of their daft, deft pecking.

Nor is it the road pedalled
by heart to the farm, the known
fields never the same,
turning from a greenness to grain,
revolving, resolving into rows
of straight seedlings, stubble
burnt or interred under furrows.

Not even the ride shared
with my two-year-old child, astride
the crossbar, breathing the blown
scents he's making his own
unknowingly, being alive
to vibrations of place this admired
Ford tractor amplifies.

But what counts more than these small
pleasures are the eggs we bring home
in boxes and softly transpose
into the bevelled holes
in the cardboard tray, the domes
of these thirty shells
that will break like the days to come.

Michael Laskey
from Being Alive (ed. Neil Astley, Bloodaxe)

Poetry Workshop...again!

2010-10-07T23:52:00.005+01:00

Well, peeps - did you get one in to Colette Bryce's workshop about names? I did! (That is - I wrote one and sent it in - dunno if she's going to comment on it...)

And here's a new workshop challenge from Katharine Towers about FURNITURE.

Hmmm...this could be exciting......now where's my pencil.....down the side of this armchair? Oh, there's a thought....

Poems in by 17 October.