Clive James - last poem

Never been a huge fan of the TV legend growing up (I remember him most for Clive James on television growing up and hated it) but I have just found out he has terminal emphysema and this piece published in the New Yorker, it's being called James's last work. It's heartbreaking.... Have a read.. 



“Your death, near now, is of an easy sort.
So slow a fading out brings no real pain.
Breath growing short
Is just uncomfortable. You feel the drain
Of energy, but thought and sight remain:

Enhanced, in fact. When did you ever see
So much sweet beauty as when fine rain falls
On that small tree
And saturates your brick back garden walls,
So many Amber Rooms and mirror halls?

Ever more lavish as the dusk descends
This glistening illuminates the air.
It never ends.
Whenever the rain comes it will be there,
Beyond my time, but now I take my share.

My daughter’s choice, the maple tree is new.
Come autumn and its leaves will turn to flame.
What I must do
Is live to see that. That will end the game
For me, though life continues all the same:

Filling the double doors to bathe my eyes,
A final flood of colours will live on
As my mind dies,
Burned by my vision of a world that shone
So brightly at the last, and then was gone.”

Poetry Book giveaway

Yes. A poetry book giveaway.

As I am a in generous mood today and walked into Cathy's living room before
and saw the opportunity to take this picture of two cats which previously were
not on the best of terms shall we say, I thought I would share it and offer a copy
of one of my books (I will doublecheck with the winner what they have) to the
person who offers the best caption to go with this.

Email your answer to me on aen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk (Make sure you make it
caption for book competition in the subject to ensure I don't miss it).

Closing date - one week tomorrow 28 September 2014. 

Good luck.

Stephen James - A series of poems about, inspired by and written in Manchester and London (Review)

Kind summed up the black humour in this all too short collection by new Manchester writer, Stephen James when autographing this collection instead of signing it in his name, he autographed it ‘all the best, Charles Bukowski’ as reading a lot of his stuff when I was younger, I definitely read somewhere Bukowski up to me when he would sign other names into his book sometimes just to confuse people.

This doesn’t mean of course that Stephen wrote this in a fit of drunken stupdour like Bukowski, although the wit is still the same where on for the first page he starts off with             ‘I’m a poet from Manchester

            ‘I’m sure youcan tell

            These rhymes and this rhythm’

Before then doing a P.S. to the piece on the same page

            ‘I lied, I’m  poet form Wilmslow

             I hope you cn’t tell

            My dad a drives a Jaguar

            And I’m going to hell’

Although the Bukowski influence is there certainly in pieces like All the things I didn’t do yesterday where on the first stanza where he talks about a baby crying through the doors of the lift, it has a realism which perhaps not as stark as Bukowski has a subtle charm or humour if you will, where considering rolling a joint he considers waiting to watch a duckling call for her duckling before eventually giving totally up and moving on.

What is also impressive is the lack of generic titles in pieces like ‘The Perks’of having a relationship that you genuinely want to work and having your life descend into cliché’ where in the first three lines alone, the detail could easily descend into a novel where he starts off with

‘My life is a bad coming of age novel

the post not quite a break up and now we’ve not quite

made up scene in the trendy coffee shop’

What I particularly like about Stephen’s work within this booklet is apart from the ideas which make him stand out as a writer to watch is the way he mixes the mudane into his work with extreme technical cleverly almost turning reality upside down in some places, requiring re-reading in-between chuckles, making me realise like Bukowsi at his best that rewrites are needed frequently just so you can pick up further elements with re-reading.

Excellent.

Samples of Stephen’s work can be read at his blog http://folknwords.tumblr.com/

Copies can be bought for £5 plus P & P from folknwords@yahoo.com

For Stefan Kiszko (New Poem)

And always the silent smell
Of music follows
Each time his name is mentioned
Never justice,

Covered in ignored pleadings
With pinpointed accuracy
Constantly kicking
The ladder away
From his freedom

Evidence suppressed and misplaced
For 16 years
In cross currents
Of ignored medical reports

Miscarrying justice
And innocence
Constantly brushed
Under the carpets

Drawn back on curtains
Across hospitals
And your bedroom upon release
Which eventually killed you

A terrible crime
With two victims.

(This poem is in memory off Stefan Ivan Kiszko (24 March 1952 – 23 December 1993), who served 16 years in prison after he was wrongly convicted of assault and murder of Lesley Molseed. His ordeal was described by one MP as "the worst miscarriage of justice of all time” Kiszko was released in 1992 after forensic evidence showed that he could not have committed the murder. He tragically died in December 1993 shortly afterwards)

The End of Summer

Summer is ending guys.

These pictures beneath prove it. These two young ladies don't normally get on this well.

Quite a surprise at 6.30am on Friday morning.

Special writing workshop for writers of the third kind at the Bankswood Inspire Festival Saturday 23 August 2014

A press release about a free poetry writing workshop myself and members of Writers of the third kind shall be doing shortly for the Bankswood Inspire Festival. 

In addition to performing at this year’s Inspire Bankswood Festival  on the 23rd August 2014, (http://www.bankswoodinspirefestival.co.uk/) with his combined spoken word / music band A Means to an End ‘(http://ameanstoanend.yolasite.com/), from 4pm to 5pm on the Inspire Festival, earlier on published writer (and author of one solo book ‘Return to Kemptown’ and two split books ‘Europa’ with Nick Armbrister and ‘A Means to an End’ with Jeff Dawson’, Andy N who runs regular writing workshops under the name of Writers of the third kind will be running a special poetry writing workshop for beginners and more experienced writers from 2pm to 3pm in the workshop marquee.

Andy N is an experienced writing workshop co-ordinator, running Writers of the third kind in Bolton since 2011, and prior to that Trio Writers from 2008 to 2011 in the Bolton and has conducted poetry-writing workshops throughout the North West of England and also Southern Ireland 

His official website is http://www.andyn.org.uk 

More information about Writers of the third Kind can be read here.. http://www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/writersofthethirdkind

More details can be found through his email address which is aen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk 

Wilfred Owen Montage (A kind of new poem)

After the blast of lightning from the east
A dismal fog hoarse siren howled at dawn
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks
Whispering in my hearth
Sojourning through a southern realm
Halted against the shade of a lost hill
Charged with beauty as a cloud
With bright darkling glows. 

(A Poem made up of lines from various Wilfred Own
poems, mostly just first lines and published just
a day or two before Britain declared war on Germany
on 4 August 1914 in tribute to Wilfred Owen,
one of the greatest First World War Poets)