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Issue #1
Kintsugi - Kat Savage (Read More)
"We thrive in the cracks of society, We, the Artists. We have never quite fit in to anywhere ‘solid’ really- schools, churches, nine to fives- we are too restless you see, too electric." Kevin Tole reviews David Markson's Wittgenstein's Mistress in the style of the book.
Plus poetry from Susan Taylor, Barbara Anna Gaiardoni, Stephan Delbos, and Marieta Maglas.
Use the categories tab on the right hand side (bottom of the page on a smart device) to navigate to specific content including our amazing poetry submissions. |
Sarah Mayo in the spotlight discussing being an 'insider-outsider'.
Feature column from Kenwood Blenderhand 'The Age of the Screen', plus more special content released throughout the month of April.
Photograph 'Do Not Hang' by Thom Boulton |
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Spotlight - Sarah Mayo I’ve realised that as a poet I seek a more accurate understanding of myself and my connections to others; furthermore, through writing I have started to emerge from my shell in unexpected forms, releasing colours hidden within. From insecurity has come a strength I didn’t expect to find. A Starting Point: ‘An Insider-Outsider’ I was struck by this description of Aberdare poet Alun Lewis by the critic Daniel Hughes, thinking ‘Yes, that’s me too’. I created the three poems I explore in this essay with a sage love for the Valleys, my birthplace and home – even when this theme is the least explicit in the final poem. Nevertheless, I have been troubled by the self-critical belief that I am a Valleys outsider (a weak accent, time away, lost connections, a relatively isolated childhood). And yet I’ve never strayed that far, and in recent years I’ve returned, living, and working in the Valleys again. Thus, these poems were birthed on train journeys from Pontypridd to Aberdare, as I squeezed in writing time before ‘the rain and pavement blow the whistle’ (the final line of ‘Penrhiwceiber Peaks’). The act of writing in response to my environmental stimulus has offered the possibility of repairing a fractured inner sense of belonging, strengthened further with the bind of becoming part of the local creative community. The Peregrine Falcon Wings it to Asda The dai cap poet puffs partaking in the beer garden chat. ‘They wanna find tha’ fire startin’ fiend settin' alight the Mohican quiff of trees up on the rock where the serpent’s tongue runs red with the boiling blood of mothers tampin’ coz tea’s ready, but the fella’s half- cut down the pub’. High on the molehill masquerading as a mountain, the shrooms serenade the smatter of autumn rain tempting teenage traders to tramp fields to tender trips to friends. The green growing in the hill farm’s shade for street corner meet & greets & living room exchanges. Boy racers buzzing with death denying kicks.. We wander wonky over platitudes on pavestones, sick scattering near suntan salons & chippies. Our peripheral vision glimpses poets & composers’ inscriptions, followed by apocryphal stories pouring from two for one cocktail lips. Open mic psyched .. I was, they were.. everyone saw, knew the score.. sorry sir slur. Sloshed slammed slumped. Clink fist bump. Ding ding ding. Last orders. Hit the door. I’ve seen this.. dreamed it.. sun seeking sheep.. sowing the seams.. the stream careens.. the scene seems ..in this rain.. the same (First published in ‘Valleys’ Imaginings’, 2024.) This was inspired by gazing at the low-lying mountains before me and imagining what tales they might tell, and as memories swooped round my mind like birds of prey hunting for food. I thought of characters I know in the local Spoons and a narrative voice soon emerged; I began to write a kind of free verse narrative poem where the characters are ‘extraordinary’ only in that their wet, booze-soaked anecdotes and pub crawls lead to a grasping towards mean making, a search for the profound amongst the mundane which has a pathetic nobility to it. ‘I was / they were / everyone saw’ – our efforts to be someone even for a flash is worth it. So, without being explicitly political, this poem centres working class voices, and as the poet witness, I also attribute meaning to my own existence. Penrhiwceiber Peaks my waking wondering sleep with her train station sign snapping my in the moment consciousness to action. Words whir between my ears like skaters set astir by the engine’s onwards rush, this kinetic pressure to hit deadlines, fulfil schedules, squeeze creativity into time & motion caffeine craving bundles before the rain and pavement blow the whistle. This is one of a series of ‘train’ poems I have been writing, exploring the mental / physical journeys I undertake on the train (symbol of the industrial revolution started in South Wales), and as I bridge the world of poet-time and the demands of work and responsibility. Aside from its alliterative quality, the title alludes to the poetic tradition of spotlighting (now former) mining communities, a nod to Idris Davies, although this would be where the comparison ends. I write on my phone, recording snippets of inspiration as my brain pulses into writer mode, and the title is an allusion to the typical moment this arrives – about a third of the way into my journey, ‘with her train station sign snapping / my in the moment consciousness to action’. As I write, my mind tries to imagine merging with the motion of the train, its slowing down and speeding up, and I strive to echo this rhythm and pace. ‘Words whir between my ears / like skaters set astir by the engine’s/ onward rush..’ Composing the poem represents my preparation for the finish line when I must switch back into ‘doing rather than thinking’, back to action rather than pursuing my passion, whilst the poem itself anticipates the energy demanded by work, as it consumes your mental resources outside of the boundaries of the workday. The Rhythm of Living She m e a n d e r s to the pace of her heart’s slow tempo struts with its rising drumbeat gallops through mind space dimensions raving, roaring, speed of thought g n i r a o s s l o w i n g as she savours his gift, wraps her tongue around his flowing fauna leaping time to kindle fire flowers from lips to fingertips pumping a second heart, conducting the march of her ink pressed steps his verse imbuing the air she breathes. Here this preoccupation with speed and pace transitions to a focus inward towards noticing the body – and specifically heart rate - as a guide to the mercurial moods of the subject. Although a very different poem to the two above, ‘The Rhythm of Living’ is thematically linked, although this is not obvious. Informed by the insight of Mindfulness Cognitive Behavioural Therapy about the importance of listening to the body to better manage mood disorders, it is an experimental poem which attempts to use form and layout to mimic the changing energy levels it describes.
The poem’s subject is written in the third person to create distance – a possible safety seeking strategy- as if by writing it in the first person instead, I would risk exposing myself, somehow (even though a first-person poem does not necessarily imply that the poet herself is the actual voice). It is an oblique way of addressing – in a subjective, poetic manner – a hint of the ‘ups and downs’ of a person living with bipolar disorder, as manifested in the action verbs – ‘meanders’,’ struts’, and ‘gallops’, and then: raving / roaring, speed of thought g n i r a o s The consequences of such moods are not made explicit; the reader may infer them. And yet, this poem also relishes the creative energy and heightened sensitivity also associated with bipolar, building towards the solace found in finding a connection with a great writer, slowing its pace again: ‘As she savours his gift, wraps her tongue around his flowing fauna leaping time to kindle fire flowers from lips to fingertips’ The ‘gift’ belongs to Alun Lewis, of course, (now transformed into muse) and thus I can thematically connect the three poems as they are driven by a powerful yearning to achieve a sense of belonging to the South Wales Valleys. In the final poem this desire is channelled in an oblique tribute to one of the Valleys’ most significant literary figures. All three poems are different approaches to understanding my place within this specific range of mountains and hills I call my birthplace and home. I am but one of many Valleys’ creatives who live and have lived, worked, struggled, thrived, and survived in this small but beautiful spot on this planet of ours and I’m grateful that I have reached this point of self-knowledge. The future will show its way.
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Spotlight - R.C. Thomas
A cast iron fireplace coughs out a lick of flame, recedes, and the fire burns cosily. On second glance, the fire isn’t flame. Fireflies dance in the firebox, glow worms deck the hearth. I sit across from R.C. Thomas, who recently published Faunistics: a Collection of Wild Haiku and Illustrations. Lounging in a dark green leather armchair in the corner of the living room, he wears nothing but his own clothes. Between us, a pool of water is ripe with the gleam of nemerteans—the bobbing heads of seals. A porcupine pricks my feet. An oilbird perches on my shoulder. The antlers of a spirit moose loom over my head. On R.C. Thomas’ lap, a platypus dozes. I scan the room. Choiseul pigeons sing happily beneath ficus trees. A lemming jumps from a desk. Hanging from the arm of my chair, a slow loris. We begin. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER You’re not long back from your around-the-world trip and you’ve written a book… R.C. THOMAS AS SELF A book of wild haiku and illustrations. I visited so many countries, across all continents, and what stood out to me more than the people was the wildlife. All these underrepresented creatures that I wanted to give a voice to. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER You have two collections of longer poems, The Strangest Thankyou, and Zygote Poems. Why a book of haiku? R.C. THOMAS AS SELF I originally got into haiku about fifteen years ago. I wrote a haiku collection and showed the manuscript to Alan Summers, who knows his stuff. He gave me some tips on how to write better haiku, truer to the artform. I immediately stopped writing in 5-7-5. In brief, I learned the 5-7-5 thing is an urban myth. The Japanese don’t count syllables like we do in the West—they count sound units which have a different measure. When westerners discovered haiku, we replicated it as best as we could understand, resulting in the 5-7-5 formula. Having a total of seventeen syllables isn’t important. As per Alan’s advice, I now aim for twelve syllables. Sometimes I end up with more, sometimes less. You can read more about that here: https://www.nahaiwrimo.com/why-no-5-7-5 R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER And then you had mastered haiku. R.C. THOMAS AS SELF Not quite. I had to learn about kireji—the cutting word. For a haiku to work, it should be made up of two words, separated by the kireji. The two parts should both stand alone and feed into each other, eliciting an ‘a-ha’ moment. For more traditional haiku, there is also the kigo—the seasonal reference. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER And then you had a polished, ready-to-be-published manuscript on your hands. R.C. THOMAS AS SELF Then I went back to my longer poems. Apart from the odd spat here and there, I didn’t pick up haiku properly again until about twelve years later when I had hit a creative wall. I didn’t like anything I was writing. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER Was haiku the remedy? R.C. THOMAS AS SELF Well, I was clearing a drain and a spider came out in my hand with the gunk. I wrote a haiku in my head. I can’t remember it now but it wasn’t very good. However, it inspired me to dig out that old manuscript. Looking through those poems, the majority featured wildlife, so I began rewriting with fauna as the focus. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER Was there a lot of rewriting to do? R.C. THOMAS AS SELF Yes. I rewrote all but the whole collection. I committed myself fully to haiku to see what would come of it. I joined the British Haiku Society and the Haiku Society of America; joined various Facebook groups; connected with other haiku poets (haijin). All of this helped me learn and better my haikai writing. I entered some contests too, and got lucky with this one: silver lining-- what the storm takes from the magpie's fable (Joint First Place, Sharpening the Green Pencil Haiku Contest 2022; shortlisted for the Touchstone Best Individual Poem Award 2022) R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER In Faunistics, you’ve grouped all the fauna by continent. Each continent has its own chapter, so to speak. R.C. THOMAS AS SELF Given that I really did take an around-the-world trip—I’m still suffering from the jet lag-- it seemed natural to replicate that. So, the book follows my very real journey from continent to continent. Starting in Europe as, of course, I boarded my flight at Heathrow, and ending in Antarctica. Technically, it’s not quite an around-the-world-trip for the reader, as I leave them in Antarctica. But it’s easy enough to get back. Just close the book, start again. It was at this point in our interview that the platypus awoke, sliding from R.C. Thomas’ lap, waddling out of the room, diving into the river in the hallway. R.C. Thomas continued: I tried to pinpoint each creature down to its habitual country. When I saw the opossum playing dead in Mexico, for example, Mexico is where it’s located in the book. This one is a monoku. A one-line haiku. Its meaning depends on where you place the punctuation in your mind’s eye: opossum’s faint visions of wild dogs playing dead (Five Fleas [Itchy Poetry], 21st August 2022) R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER So, three lines does not a haiku make? R.C. THOMAS AS SELF Is that bygone or broken English you’ve spoken there? Anyway, generally haiku are written in three lines, but they can be written in one, two, four lines and other variations. The haiku spirit is what’s important. I wrote a few like this too: passing through the dark cassowary plum seed tree (Die Leere Mitte, Issue 16) R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER If you don’t mind me asking… R.C. THOMAS AS SELF I don’t. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER Well, tell me about the illustrations in the book. R.C. THOMAS AS SELF I like doodling. I created all these bespoke black and white illustrations of the creatures’ environments and paw prints to go with the poems. At the end of each continent, the reader is then met with a full-page colour montage. Within which, each creature of that continent appears for the reader to spot. It’s just a bit of fun. R.C. THOMAS AS INTERVIEWER That does sound like fun. Thanks for taking the time to chat. Our interview ended there as a kangaroo tucked R.C. Thomas into its pouch and bounced off with him out into the garden. You can buy a copy of Faunistics from R.C. Thomas’s website, which includes a free bookmark with a haiku that didn’t make the book: www.rcthomasthings.com It is also available from Amazon UK: https://tinyurl.com/23zpx2d6 and Amazon US: https://tinyurl.com/3m9njzwa and all other Amazon stores. Follow him on Instagram, Facebook, Threads, and X: @rcthomasthings |
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