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Episode 4

Poetry Workshop, Series 1 Episode 4 of 4

Duration:
30 minutes
First broadcast:
Sunday 04 March 2012

Ruth Padel's landmark series exploring the pleasures of writing and reading poems comes this time from The Dylan Thomas Centre in Swansea, where Ruth leads a workshop with the Junkbox poetry group.

To warm up their poetry muscles, the group try out some writing exercises. These will be available on the website for anyone who wants to give them a go. Then they work on developing and refining poems from two members of the group; acting (as Heaney describes it) as "the reader over my shoulder." The poems are Milking Time by Becky Lowe and Still Life with Wine Glasses by Alan Kellerman. Both have a sense of loss or longing. The group discuss line endings, alliteration and adjectives, and the effectiveness of their use in the two poems. They also enjoy and respond to a poem by Gwyneth Lewis that evokes that peculiarly Welsh phenomenon 'hiraeth'.

Producer: Sarah Langan.

  • Swansea

    Swansea

  • Swansea

    Swansea

  • Swansea

    Swansea

  • Swansea

    Swansea

  • Swansea

    Swansea

  • Swansea

    Swansea

  • Poetry Exercise - The Messenger

    Lu Ji’s wonderful book in verse about writing poetry, The Art of Writing (China, 3rd c AD) talks of inspiration ‘hiding like fire in coal/ then flaring to a shout’, but also about feeling totally blank:, ‘When emotions are stagnant/… Mind gets darker and darker,/ you pull ideas like silk from their cocoon./… I stroke my empty chest and sigh,/ what blocks and what opens this road?’ Exercises can pull silk from the cocoon: what comes at first won’t be a poem but might turn into one. I’ve seen a lot of good poems begin as an exercise.

    ‘THE MESSENGER’ - Seven-Line Exercise in Two Voices

    Use the words below in inverted commas, adding your own instead of my xxxxs. It doesn’t have to be only seven lines but it gives you a tight structure, with drama and dialogue, to use your imagination and surprise us. The more economical, the more room for implication. You can be funny, poignant, dark, silly; whatever.

    VOICE ONE
    1. “I am your xxxxxxx”
    2. “I came to tell you (or ‘I’m here to tell you’) xxxxxx”
    3. Give a command (eg “You must xxxx”)
    4. Make a personal remark (eg “I see that you xxxx”)
    5. Ask a question (eg “Are you xxxx?”)
    6 “Is there any message?”

    VOICE TWO
    7. “Yes. Tell them xxxxx”

  • Notes from Milking Time

    We are all on the side of the poem! To revise you need a fresh perspective: that’s what a workshop provides. There’s a good chapter on revision, and getting new perspectives, in Stephen Dobyns Next Word, Better Word: The Craft of Writing Poetry, Palgrave Macmillan 2011 p, 171.

    • In the first line, grammatically, Bucket in hand ought to refer to the subject of the verb, I. If the poet wants us to think the mother is carrying it she could say I watch my mother leave, bucket in hand, but this does highlight the speaker’s I and one member of the group felt she could drop i altogether; that the speaker gets in the way of this mysterious night-milking scene.
    • On the other hand, is the poem perhaps really about the relation of I to mother?
    • Maybe, when the mother comes indoors, we could be reminded of the speaker’s presence. There’a confusion here anyway: mother switches on a light: has the speaker been watching in the dark? How has she managed to see all the interesting things happening outside? Might the mother switch on another light?
    • Rhythm and implication: does silhouetted like a sentinel help the poem? The rhythm is very different, ok, that might be useful, but what does the sentinel image add? It evokes an expectation of outside danger: is that necessary for this poem?
    • Accuracy: if the bucket is for milk, what is icy water doing in it? Becky was so used to this scene she hadn’t explained there was another bucket for water but it’s confusing for a reader, which makes us not completely trust the description.
    • Do streaks ‘bathe’ a scene? Bathing sounds nice, but perhaos too nice (Simenon said his first task in revising was to get rid of anything that sounded too beautiful), but is it the right verb with dappled streaks?
    • Adjectives: are there too many? They nudge readers towards specific feelings, rather than inviting individual responses. I’d get rid of several. Especially cosy, which tells readers what to feel rather than revealing the scene. Less is more.

  • Milking Time by Becky Lowe

    Bucket in hand, I watch my mother leave…
    The door swings behind her, the cosy carpet warmth slams shut
    To a world of stars and moonlight, scattered frost,
    Compacted earth, layer upon layer of leaves.

    The goats’ bodies press close to her;
    The steady beat of their hearts, warm, hungry, familiar,
    The clouded breath hangs in the hay-strewn air
    And melts the icy water over the buckets.

    Between her pale fingers, the milk comes quickly,
    A long white stream, like silk, sharp and clean
    Frothing forth into the buckets; she gathers it up, steaming
    Beneath the shivering sky.

    Her task completed, she pads, bootless, indoors,
    And switches on the light of the kitchen
    Bathing the garden in dappled streaks of gold

    The shadows, shut out for another evening,
    Dissolve slowly away into nothing.
    Beyond, the darkened stable stands, silhouetted like a sentinel,
    And the moon and the stars, suspended like hay dust
    Empty themselves into the night.

  • Still Life with Wine Glasses by Alan Kellerman

    We hung at the bar twisting, a little
    too hard, the stems of our wine glasses.

    Eight years it's been, and even cancer
    couldn't have you. So I knew I'd never

    have been strong enough. I haven't
    scrubbed out the scuffmarks you circled

    with your heel; ground out a full-
    stop to a short sentence. On new

    year's doorstep, you gift me snapshots
    from a life I'll never see again: lofted beds

    on rickety splints, a barroom reeking
    of piss, a dodgy condom (dodged a bullet).

    So much has changed, you say. We've begun
    filling the space between us with clichés,

    bridging the void with emptier words. We wear
    adulthood like battle decorations: I've sheared

    off, made home a continent away. Even
    my accent is different now. And you – who

    always wanted her mother's apron – feel good,
    as you imagined, with each tug on those strings.

    It's enough. An hour gone of the new
    year, glass empty, your embrace,

    warm, reserved for an old friend. You still
    smell the same, you whisper, and are gone

    again. My glass empty; too little left to fill it.

  • Notes from Still Life with Wine Glasses

    • The ‘less is more’ principle: does the poem need the last line? Is it stronger ending on gone? Plus bridging the void with emptier words repeats the point of the previous sentence. Should one at least go, to make the other stronger?
    • But does the poem need any of the lines from so much has changed you say to I’ve sheared / off? The poem makes its point - the unease of meeting, for a New Year drink, a lover from eight years ago - strongly. Do these lines add or detract from the power of that?
    • The ex-lover’s survival of a life–threatening disease appears in the second couplet. Does the clever-cute idea and tone in battle decorations of adulthood let down the seriousness?
    • The same goes for dodgy condom and dodged a bullet: does the tone of this let the poem down?
    • Line endings: the fourth and eleventh couplet both split adjective from noun on new You need to have a strong reason to split adjective from joun, especially over a stanza break: you can argue that this poem is about a split, so you can get away with one, but are two too much, especially on the same adjective?

  • More exercises (not featured in the programme)

    Warm-Up Exercise: POETRY TUNES or BLACK SOCKS:
    Going round the group, everyone suggests alternately a noun and adjective. One-syllable words are best. You agree on two eg “black socks”. We chose (God knows why) “dour frog.”

    a) For Alliteration. In 10 minutes, everyone writes a three-line poem in which each word begins with one of the letters which begin those words. B and S for ‘black socks’ or we had D and F for our dour frog. The original phrase can appear in it once. Read them out, decide which is the most vivid and why.

    b) For Assonance. (Much harder). In ten minutes, everyone write a three- line poem, making sense if possible, using only those vowel sounds. The template phrase (eg “black socks” or dour frog) can appear in it once.
    Read them out, decide which is the most tuneful – and why.

    This exercise concentrates mind and ear on vowels, which make the music, and often the subliminal emotion, of a poem.

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