Sally Evans lived in Edinburgh for many years where she developed Poetry Scotland broadsheet . Sally and Ian now live in Callander and continue to publish diehard poetry books. Sally's new book is a long poem, The Bees, and she is delighted to read from it in her old stamping ground, at the Great Grog .
Hares in Camp (from The Great North Road)
The dandelion clocks are closed.
A stir of wind will open them
and April showers will weigh them down
to wet flock, their pink hollow stems
oozing white stain like setting glue
that blackens children's hands.
Hares' bold paws bounce.
They are bound by spring
to race round acres in a ring,
to box and feint and frighten horses,
to impress their cousins, trump their mates
with poetry performances
we cannot emulate
as we lean on the wooden fence
beside our footpath, watching them
in their arena shared with gods
and Romans, this field still marked out
a playing-card game for their courses.
You can read another poem of Sally’s, That Moment, in Juliet Wilson’s Bolts of Silk blogzine.
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Introducing the May 2008 Readers - 2. Barbara Smith
Barbara Smith lives in Louth, Ireland with her partner, dividing her time between raising six children, teaching Creative Writing and completing an MA in CW at Queen’s University, Belfast. Her debut collection, Kairos, was published in 2007 by Doghouse Books.
Famous Nude by Picasso
Today, I point two firm melons
at you. You latch on, voraciously,
pike-baited.
..............Later, I let you begin,
fine-tuning looking for your
favourite signal coming through.
But then, wanton takes over,
turns us about, directs things awhile -
furious porphry almost wholly
out of grasp.
Then we go home
and have a nice cup of tea.
(First published nthposition, July 2004)
Famous Nude by Picasso
Today, I point two firm melons
at you. You latch on, voraciously,
pike-baited.
..............Later, I let you begin,
fine-tuning looking for your
favourite signal coming through.
But then, wanton takes over,
turns us about, directs things awhile -
furious porphry almost wholly
out of grasp.
Then we go home
and have a nice cup of tea.
(First published nthposition, July 2004)
Monday, 28 April 2008
Introducing the May 2008 Readers: 1. Claire Askew
Here’s a brief bio and poem from Claire Askew, one of four poets reading at the Great Grog on Sunday May 11th.
Claire Askew’s work has appeared in Brittle Star, Pomegranate and the Glasgow Herald, and is forthcoming in the Edinburgh Review, Textualities and Snakeskin. She is the Editor in Chief of the 'Read This,' a magazine which encourages submissions from new and young writers. Claire was awarded the Grierson Verse Prize 2008 and the Lewis Edwards Award for Poetry 2008, and was also joint-winner of the Sloan Prize for a short story in Lowland Scots.
Built in
I am still in here, despite the siege. Still here,
behind the maze of scaffolding and duckboards -
business almost as usual, though I daren't leave.
I watch the men through the drawn blind like TV,
as they paint over the rotting windowframes,
drink tea from flasks, sandblast, dig up pipes outside.
I keep the windows locked, just in case - paranoid,
I hide the jewellery box . On cold days, they slither
about on the slats, four floors up - a precarious ballet.
Some nights, I like to haul myself through
the wet window with a steaming cup, and sway
on the scaffold, scaring myself. I can choose -
to look out over the rainy slates, streetlights, the stretch
of council yards, or plunge. (Cobbles wink in the alley
below, its discarded mattress a festering fall-breaker.)
But it will be gone soon, this crows' nest, climbing-frame
for drunks, this cage. They will come in the morning,
wake me early, and pack it away, whistling.
Claire Askew’s work has appeared in Brittle Star, Pomegranate and the Glasgow Herald, and is forthcoming in the Edinburgh Review, Textualities and Snakeskin. She is the Editor in Chief of the 'Read This,' a magazine which encourages submissions from new and young writers. Claire was awarded the Grierson Verse Prize 2008 and the Lewis Edwards Award for Poetry 2008, and was also joint-winner of the Sloan Prize for a short story in Lowland Scots.
Built in
I am still in here, despite the siege. Still here,
behind the maze of scaffolding and duckboards -
business almost as usual, though I daren't leave.
I watch the men through the drawn blind like TV,
as they paint over the rotting windowframes,
drink tea from flasks, sandblast, dig up pipes outside.
I keep the windows locked, just in case - paranoid,
I hide the jewellery box . On cold days, they slither
about on the slats, four floors up - a precarious ballet.
Some nights, I like to haul myself through
the wet window with a steaming cup, and sway
on the scaffold, scaring myself. I can choose -
to look out over the rainy slates, streetlights, the stretch
of council yards, or plunge. (Cobbles wink in the alley
below, its discarded mattress a festering fall-breaker.)
But it will be gone soon, this crows' nest, climbing-frame
for drunks, this cage. They will come in the morning,
wake me early, and pack it away, whistling.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
Great Grog: May 2008 Line-Up
I had originally planned to bypass May at the Great Grog, skipping straight to the 8th June. However, there now will be a Great Grog gig in May!
The date will be Sunday 11th May from 8pm. And the programme is excellent so far:
Alan Gillis (his latest collection, 'Hawks and Doves', was nominated for this year's TS Eliot Prize)
Sally Evans (editor of Poetry Scotland and author of several collections, including her latest, "The Bees," just out)
Barbara Smith (debut collection, 'Kairos', was published by Doghouse Press last year)
There will be one other reader, still to be arranged. Looks good already though! More information e.g. bios, poems etc will arrive here over the next couple of weeks.
The date will be Sunday 11th May from 8pm. And the programme is excellent so far:
Alan Gillis (his latest collection, 'Hawks and Doves', was nominated for this year's TS Eliot Prize)
Sally Evans (editor of Poetry Scotland and author of several collections, including her latest, "The Bees," just out)
Barbara Smith (debut collection, 'Kairos', was published by Doghouse Press last year)
There will be one other reader, still to be arranged. Looks good already though! More information e.g. bios, poems etc will arrive here over the next couple of weeks.
Tuesday, 22 April 2008
Reviews and a New Date
Its been good to read blog reactions to the last gig at the Great Grog, particularly as they have been so positive. It was a superb evening and, if you missed it, you can read reports from Andrew Philip, Colin Will, and my inevitable fluff on Surroundings.
The next gig was going to be on Sunday 8th June, and that is still on. However, I can now reveal that there will be an extra date, on Sunday 11th May 2008! The line-up? Well, I’m still working on that, but I hope to have everything finalised very soon…
The next gig was going to be on Sunday 8th June, and that is still on. However, I can now reveal that there will be an extra date, on Sunday 11th May 2008! The line-up? Well, I’m still working on that, but I hope to have everything finalised very soon…
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Introducing the April 2008 Readers - 4. Joy Hendry
Joy Hendry edits Chapman - Scotland's Quality Literary Magazine and is also a poet, playwright, critic and broadcaster, appearing regularly particularly on radio and has given lectures on various cultural subjects all over the world. Over the years, she has become involved in many cultural movements - the campaign for a Scottish Parliament, the National Theatre, the Scots Language movement and generally agititates for anything she believes beneficial to Scotland and her cultural wellbeing.
For this compulsive activity and meddling, she was given an Honorary D Litt by Edinburgh University in 2005. Though her activities have recently been restricted due to chronic fatigue syndrome, which she has been fighting for 10 years, she is now anxious to get back much more into the public arena.
Waving and . . .
(PEN Conference, Dubrovnik, 1993)
What of poetry, of writers?
What of hopeful waving
from war-struck friends who hope so much of us?
In Dubrovnik of the shattered roofs
the fight remains.
We are there to listen,
and tell the world
by power of pen
the everyday tales of war.
Tinny transistors blare
like in every Scottish shop
for footabll cup finals.
But here the news
is not of goals, but new bombs
and victims
in Zadar.
We listen.
And everybody knows
the barbed frontiers of despair,
the black edge of drunkenness,
or abandonment, or hysteria,
or the access of conscience.
We listen. Maybe we will write,
or say, something?
In the midst of all this death
we hold hands, kissing, as if tenderness
were the only way to hold the world together.
And part,
as if, like the world,
we know nothing about how
to solve
this awful
war.
For this compulsive activity and meddling, she was given an Honorary D Litt by Edinburgh University in 2005. Though her activities have recently been restricted due to chronic fatigue syndrome, which she has been fighting for 10 years, she is now anxious to get back much more into the public arena.
Waving and . . .
(PEN Conference, Dubrovnik, 1993)
What of poetry, of writers?
What of hopeful waving
from war-struck friends who hope so much of us?
In Dubrovnik of the shattered roofs
the fight remains.
We are there to listen,
and tell the world
by power of pen
the everyday tales of war.
Tinny transistors blare
like in every Scottish shop
for footabll cup finals.
But here the news
is not of goals, but new bombs
and victims
in Zadar.
We listen.
And everybody knows
the barbed frontiers of despair,
the black edge of drunkenness,
or abandonment, or hysteria,
or the access of conscience.
We listen. Maybe we will write,
or say, something?
In the midst of all this death
we hold hands, kissing, as if tenderness
were the only way to hold the world together.
And part,
as if, like the world,
we know nothing about how
to solve
this awful
war.
Saturday, 5 April 2008
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Introducing the April 2008 Readers - 3. Margaret Christie
The third poet reading at the Great Grog Bar on 13th April is Margaret Christie. Her bio and poem is below:
Margaret Christie’s first collection, The Oboist’s Bedside Book, was published by HappenStance in 2007. Margaret lives in Edinburgh and is a member of Pomegranate Women’s Writing Group.
blackness
inside the grass, the hill
considers
blackness
inside the bark, the tree
considers
blackness
out of blackness, the tree
gives birth
to greenness
inside the grass, the hill
embraces
blackness
inside the sun, whiteness
is
unbearable
inside the earth
blackness
embraces
life
Margaret Christie’s first collection, The Oboist’s Bedside Book, was published by HappenStance in 2007. Margaret lives in Edinburgh and is a member of Pomegranate Women’s Writing Group.
blackness
inside the grass, the hill
considers
blackness
inside the bark, the tree
considers
blackness
out of blackness, the tree
gives birth
to greenness
inside the grass, the hill
embraces
blackness
inside the sun, whiteness
is
unbearable
inside the earth
blackness
embraces
life
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Introducing the April 2008 Readers - 2. Elizabeth Gold
Second up in this introduction to those reading at the Great Grog Bar on 13th April is Elizabeth Gold. Below is a brief bio and poem:
Elizabeth Gold is the author of Brief Intervals of Horrible Sanity, which was published by Penguin USA. Her poems have appeared in many American literary journals and her essays and reviews in papers ranging from The New York Times to The Glasgow Herald. She was born in New York City, and lives in Edinburgh.
MUSIC OF CHOPIN
Our food is as good, as music of Chopin.
-menu from Polish coffee shop
Mazurka, little fragment
of the dance, press
of the palm upon the waist,
a lock of hair slipped
in an envelope.
The food we serve is as good
as this. Can you hear it, or aren't you
listening? The doors pried
apart, crackle
of crinolines, all those girls
whispering as the music starts.
It’s got to go somewhere,
it can’t just vanish, leaving
no aftertaste. Say
this is a ballroom,
and the waiters like lovesick
swains are whirling round
the bigos, kielbasa,
borscht, blush dark as
violets. It’s in you now:
the first vibrato of
the piano, the curtsey,
the bow, shiver
of a bow upon the strings.
Elizabeth Gold is the author of Brief Intervals of Horrible Sanity, which was published by Penguin USA. Her poems have appeared in many American literary journals and her essays and reviews in papers ranging from The New York Times to The Glasgow Herald. She was born in New York City, and lives in Edinburgh.
MUSIC OF CHOPIN
Our food is as good, as music of Chopin.
-menu from Polish coffee shop
Mazurka, little fragment
of the dance, press
of the palm upon the waist,
a lock of hair slipped
in an envelope.
The food we serve is as good
as this. Can you hear it, or aren't you
listening? The doors pried
apart, crackle
of crinolines, all those girls
whispering as the music starts.
It’s got to go somewhere,
it can’t just vanish, leaving
no aftertaste. Say
this is a ballroom,
and the waiters like lovesick
swains are whirling round
the bigos, kielbasa,
borscht, blush dark as
violets. It’s in you now:
the first vibrato of
the piano, the curtsey,
the bow, shiver
of a bow upon the strings.
Monday, 17 March 2008
Introducing the April 2008 Readers: 1. Tom Pow
To whet your appetite for the next set of readings at the Great Grog on Sunday 13th April, I thought I’d ask the readers to contribute a brief bio and a representative poem for this site. I’ll post these at semi-regular intervals over the next few weeks.
First up is Tom Pow:
Tom Pow is the author of five full collections of poetry, the most
recent of which is Dear Alice – Narratives of Madness (Salt). In 2007 he
won a Creative Scotland Award. He teaches Creative Writing and
Storytelling at Glasgow University's Crichton Campus in Dumfries.
APPETITE
A man, believing himself to be dead,
stopped eating. The world became a plaything
of shadows. Spectres haunted him daily.
But Death, he discovered, was thin gruel –
there was no nourishment to be found there.
In for the long haul, he took to his bed.
Dying, however, remained active long after
he’d thought it disarmed. Nothing for it
but to soldier on till the cupboard
of memory was bare. A few of his friends
disguised themselves. They whitened
their faces then shrouded themselves
in loose fitting black gowns. They entered
his room, set up a table before him
and brought to it a spread of bread, meat,
cheese, chocolate and wine. They ate and drank
then replenished the feast. He stared at them
from out of the hollows of his fading eyes.
But why they asked him did he stay in bed?
Didn’t he realise dead people eat as much
as the living ever did? They helped him
up and they ate together through the night.
As dawn broke, they rejoiced at his rebirth –
the colour that flooded his cheeks; the energy
with which he cracked a chicken wing apart.
Yet they wondered, as they rose from the table,
how he’d lit the hunger in their bellies,
that drew them back to these leftover bones.
First up is Tom Pow:
Tom Pow is the author of five full collections of poetry, the most
recent of which is Dear Alice – Narratives of Madness (Salt). In 2007 he
won a Creative Scotland Award. He teaches Creative Writing and
Storytelling at Glasgow University's Crichton Campus in Dumfries.
APPETITE
A man, believing himself to be dead,
stopped eating. The world became a plaything
of shadows. Spectres haunted him daily.
But Death, he discovered, was thin gruel –
there was no nourishment to be found there.
In for the long haul, he took to his bed.
Dying, however, remained active long after
he’d thought it disarmed. Nothing for it
but to soldier on till the cupboard
of memory was bare. A few of his friends
disguised themselves. They whitened
their faces then shrouded themselves
in loose fitting black gowns. They entered
his room, set up a table before him
and brought to it a spread of bread, meat,
cheese, chocolate and wine. They ate and drank
then replenished the feast. He stared at them
from out of the hollows of his fading eyes.
But why they asked him did he stay in bed?
Didn’t he realise dead people eat as much
as the living ever did? They helped him
up and they ate together through the night.
As dawn broke, they rejoiced at his rebirth –
the colour that flooded his cheeks; the energy
with which he cracked a chicken wing apart.
Yet they wondered, as they rose from the table,
how he’d lit the hunger in their bellies,
that drew them back to these leftover bones.
Saturday, 8 March 2008
Photos on Facebook
I’ve added two photos of the 10th February event to the Poetry at the Great Grog Facebook page. At least everyone looks happy!
Thursday, 28 February 2008
2008 Programme
Here's a programme for the Great Grog poetry readings in Edinburgh from now until February 2009. The 'and one other' entries don't represent a vacant space. I'm just waiting for confirmation from a couple of people. Some brilliant evenings of live poetry lie ahead, as you can no doubt see. I'll give more information on the individual poets in due time, but you can google most of them.
I hope that some readers of this blog will make it along to these events. I'm always pleased to hear from people who would like to read, by the way - email me if you're interested. I'm going to form a small committee to make the decisions on who reads after February (other than those few who have already been booked of course).
I've given links to the April 2008 poets. Tom Pow's home web page, Joy Hendry's Chapman web page (she is editor of Chapman, Scotland's top literary magazine), Margaret Christie's chapbook at HappenStance Press, and an astonishing interview with Elizabeth Gold from 2003, following her brief experience of teaching in a high school.
Sunday 13th April, 2008
Tom Pow
Joy Hendry
Margaret Christie
Elizabeth Gold
Sunday 8th June, 2008
Kapka Kassabova
Mike Stocks
Eleanor Livingstone
Jim Carruth
Sunday 14th September, 2008
Michael Schmidt
Helena Nelson
Dorothy Baird
Charlotte Runcie
Sunday 12th October, 2008
Kei Miller
Hamish Whyte
Rob A. Mackenzie
Alice Howlett
Sunday 9th November, 2008
A.B. Jackson
Colin Will
Patricia Ace
James W. Wood
Sunday 8th February 2009
Tim Turnbull
Andrew Philip
Andrew Shields
(+ one other)
***
And previously at the Great Grog:
Sunday 10th February 2008
Cheryl Follon
Hazel Frew
Alexander Hutchison
Christie Williamson
Sunday 4th November 2007
Roddy Lumsden
AB Jackson
Andrew Philip
Rob A Mackenzie
I hope that some readers of this blog will make it along to these events. I'm always pleased to hear from people who would like to read, by the way - email me if you're interested. I'm going to form a small committee to make the decisions on who reads after February (other than those few who have already been booked of course).
I've given links to the April 2008 poets. Tom Pow's home web page, Joy Hendry's Chapman web page (she is editor of Chapman, Scotland's top literary magazine), Margaret Christie's chapbook at HappenStance Press, and an astonishing interview with Elizabeth Gold from 2003, following her brief experience of teaching in a high school.
Sunday 13th April, 2008
Tom Pow
Joy Hendry
Margaret Christie
Elizabeth Gold
Sunday 8th June, 2008
Kapka Kassabova
Mike Stocks
Eleanor Livingstone
Jim Carruth
Sunday 14th September, 2008
Michael Schmidt
Helena Nelson
Dorothy Baird
Charlotte Runcie
Sunday 12th October, 2008
Kei Miller
Hamish Whyte
Rob A. Mackenzie
Alice Howlett
Sunday 9th November, 2008
A.B. Jackson
Colin Will
Patricia Ace
James W. Wood
Sunday 8th February 2009
Tim Turnbull
Andrew Philip
Andrew Shields
(+ one other)
***
And previously at the Great Grog:
Sunday 10th February 2008
Cheryl Follon
Hazel Frew
Alexander Hutchison
Christie Williamson
Sunday 4th November 2007
Roddy Lumsden
AB Jackson
Andrew Philip
Rob A Mackenzie
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Report on 10 February Readings
After a beautiful sunny day in Edinburgh, the haar (sea-mist) fell over Edinburgh about 3.30pm on 10 February and immediately the temperature dropped, the air dampened, and the whole city was shrouded in cloud. The audience was smaller for the reading than I had hoped, but perhaps some people are still wandering about in the fog trying to find the bar, trying to find any bar.
It didn’t affect the readers who were all terrific. One good thing about them is their lack of ego. No one cared who went on first, last or in between, but the order they read in worked really well. They each write very different poems and are excellent readers. The result yesterday evening was predictably superb, but quality was the only predictable thing.
First was Cheryl Follon whose poems are packed full of sonic explosions and breathless rhythms – it’s hard to imagine a more dynamic start to a poetry reading. Second was Christie Williamson. I had met Christie a few times but had never heard him read and knew his work less than any of the others, but he was simply a revelation: funny, pointed, and well crafted poems, both in English and in Shetlandic dialect. Third was Hazel Frew. Hazel’s poems set a meditative tone, the diction precise and illuminating. Really strong work. Finally, Sandy Hutchison, whose range is as wide as any poet writing today, gave a reading that was witty, surprising and uncategorisable. He sang too, between poems.
So another cracking night at the Grog. Everyone I spoke to in the audience was blown away by the performances. The haar hasn’t yet lifted but for a few hours last night it was summer again.
It didn’t affect the readers who were all terrific. One good thing about them is their lack of ego. No one cared who went on first, last or in between, but the order they read in worked really well. They each write very different poems and are excellent readers. The result yesterday evening was predictably superb, but quality was the only predictable thing.
First was Cheryl Follon whose poems are packed full of sonic explosions and breathless rhythms – it’s hard to imagine a more dynamic start to a poetry reading. Second was Christie Williamson. I had met Christie a few times but had never heard him read and knew his work less than any of the others, but he was simply a revelation: funny, pointed, and well crafted poems, both in English and in Shetlandic dialect. Third was Hazel Frew. Hazel’s poems set a meditative tone, the diction precise and illuminating. Really strong work. Finally, Sandy Hutchison, whose range is as wide as any poet writing today, gave a reading that was witty, surprising and uncategorisable. He sang too, between poems.
So another cracking night at the Grog. Everyone I spoke to in the audience was blown away by the performances. The haar hasn’t yet lifted but for a few hours last night it was summer again.
Christie Williamson Poem
Christie Williamson read at the Great Grog Bar on February 10th. I’m very pleased to feature one of his poems, written in Shetland dialect, which was commended in the Wigtown Poetry Competition 2007. It’s a very good poem and I hope you enjoy it.
Some readers might feel immediately daunted by the dialect, but once you get going, it’s not too difficult, and well worth engaging with. Du = you, de/da = the, aa = all, laek = like, hit = it. Just to start you off.
I'd be interested in comments on how anyone unfamiliar with Shetlandic dialect (I guess that means most of us) found reading this poem.
Parasites
Whit does du tink hit means
wi de faunsy wirds
an de slack smile,
been wi aabuidy
gyaan naewhaar
laek da mapmakker
draain da hert o Shanghai
gittin lost
atween Dim Sum
an fresh lychees;
laek da accoontant
blaain aa his credit
an losin his cheenge
atween livin free
an deein aald;
laek da merchant
grown fat
on shakkin his heid
wirkin aathin oot
keepin aathin in;
laek da kind voice
hearin ay hoo it’s wrang
seein ay hoo it’s richt
keepin ay oot a sicht;
laek da queek tongue
firin verbal bullets
at conceptual targets
troo a funnellin telescopic gless;
laek da ivy
feelin hit’s wye
ee step faurder itae da wid
ivvery day
no keenin whit threatens hit
ony whit keeps hit alive.
.......... - Christie Williamson, 2007
Some readers might feel immediately daunted by the dialect, but once you get going, it’s not too difficult, and well worth engaging with. Du = you, de/da = the, aa = all, laek = like, hit = it. Just to start you off.
I'd be interested in comments on how anyone unfamiliar with Shetlandic dialect (I guess that means most of us) found reading this poem.
Parasites
Whit does du tink hit means
wi de faunsy wirds
an de slack smile,
been wi aabuidy
gyaan naewhaar
laek da mapmakker
draain da hert o Shanghai
gittin lost
atween Dim Sum
an fresh lychees;
laek da accoontant
blaain aa his credit
an losin his cheenge
atween livin free
an deein aald;
laek da merchant
grown fat
on shakkin his heid
wirkin aathin oot
keepin aathin in;
laek da kind voice
hearin ay hoo it’s wrang
seein ay hoo it’s richt
keepin ay oot a sicht;
laek da queek tongue
firin verbal bullets
at conceptual targets
troo a funnellin telescopic gless;
laek da ivy
feelin hit’s wye
ee step faurder itae da wid
ivvery day
no keenin whit threatens hit
ony whit keeps hit alive.
.......... - Christie Williamson, 2007
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