Welcome to Seeds and Fuses

Welcome to Seeds and Fuses

 – the poetry and other makings of Anne Enith Cooper

This is the Seeds and Fuses blog. Here I share news of current projects, writing and performance. I also share writing by others, writing prompts, writers on writing, quotes that have moved me and musings on subjects close to my heart. Plus the odd photo and image of my matter poetry.

See the Poetry, Photography and Community & Education pages on this site for a bit of background and my body of work. Enjoy!

Find my bio here https://seedsandfuses.wordpress.com/about/

Contact me here https://seedsandfuses.wordpress.com/contact/

Writing Prompt: Scientists discover gigantic ocean 700 km beneath the Earth’s surface

Writing Prompt: Scientists discover gigantic ocean 700 km beneath the Earth’s surface

When we talk of saving the planet, which still sounds to me like a bad line in a B movie —but yeah I guess that’s where we’re at— I think we tend to forget two thirds of the surface of this blue, green, golden planet are ocean. That makes this discovery all the more fascinating. 

Scientists discover gigantic ocean 700 km beneath the Earth’s surface

(Photo : Photo by Jonathan Borba on Unsplash)

https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/travel/travel-news/scientists-discover-gigantic-ocean-700-km-beneath-the-earths-surface/articleshow/108999227.cms

My first thought was what lives down there? Life is nothing if not tenacious. Since we don’t know I figure you can take it anywhere. Use this consideration or the headline or the article itself, as a writing prompt and free write. Go deep. 

Rules of the Freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones 

Set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes, stick to whichever you choose and just write. 

  • Keep your hand moving, don’t stop or cross out
  • Don’t worry about spelling or grammar. 
  • Don’t think, just write
  • Go for the Jugular.
  • Follow the words, just see what comes.

When you have finished consider what you have just made. Is it is enough as an exercise or does it feel it needs development? Does it welcome a form? 

If you feel drawn to it rework your draft. Play with your words, have fun, find a form of words that satisfies you. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

Find my bio here

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Diary: April 2024

Diary: April 2024

By way of intro I head back to London in a few days, notes on a publication out soon, events coming up and a suggestion for nurturing your practice follow. So back to the good old “Smoke.” The first thing I noticed about the air here in Agadir, in comparison with the U.K., well London in particular, was how clean, fresh and lacking in that deadening humidity it is, even when it rained.

Last week I took at a tour to Paradise Valley in the Atlas Mountains. Legend has it that it was named as such by Jimi Hendrix, described as a “beautiful natural park situated around 35 kilometres from the city of Agadir dotted with rivers, palm trees and rocks…. famous for its natural pools of translucent water…” 


The road runs parallel to the river that has carved this extensive valley. The river appears to have run dry for the most part and at a casual look on arrival it seemed the water levels were low in comparison to the glossy pics in Trip Adviser et al. Here a Facebook post from 2021 notes, “Paradise Valley in Agadir is coming back to life again after a severe and prolonged drought.” But for how long? 

Our guide mentioned a German company wanted to buy the rights to the water source. Shudder! If drought continues it will not just be the tourist attractions effected as this report suggests, “As the country enters its sixth straight year of drought, a new report singles out Morocco as an area of “severe concern;” the water crisis threatens economic and food security with no end in sight.”

So often, it feels to me, that in an attempt to create a better world; a fairer world with sustainability, justice and equality, we are doing no more than just holding the line. We are reactive and defensive, we call ourselves “the resistance” we are often anti rather than pro. 

In that context I read the following with interest. “Calls for international criminal court to end ‘impunity’ for environmental crimes.” This strikes me as a positive move. A note of optimism, a sense of getting ahead of the problems.

OUT NOW

A Darker Way by Grahame Davies 

Publication date: April 15th 2024

Publisher Seren Books writes, “Grahame Davies’s  A Darker Way is a second volume after a well-received debut. The collection of poems and songs which traces a hard-won but redemptive path between idealism and irony, failure and faith. Davies is a poet in the bardic tradition who speaks to and for the community, exploring what it is to be human. 

“A Darker Way  also includes work arising from Davies’s Welsh roots. For example, ‘Wrth Ddŵr a Thân’ (‘By Water and Fire’) was commissioned by the Senedd for its 2016 opening and references the Pierhead Building’s mural ‘Wrth Ddŵr a Thân’, commemorating the country’s coal, steel and maritime industries.   

“The spiritual, even the supernatural, is never far from the surface in these poems, but Davies never settles for the simplistic. Belief and unbelief are held in a creative tension, as the poet faces ‘a mystery all the greater for the answer / a darkness all the deeper for the star.’ “

COMING UP

Monday 8th April, 6.30 – 10.00pm BST

An open Mike event By Gobjaw Poetry Collective who write, 

Welcome, Poets. The Gobjaw Poetry Collective is bringing another Open mic poetry night . Come join us for a night of expression at The George Tavern! Whether you’re a seasoned poet or a newbie looking to share your work, our open mic event is the perfect place to share your inner world. Grab a drink, grab the mic, and let your words flow in front of a supportive audience. Meet fellow poetry enthusiasts, snap your fingers in appreciation, and soak in some poetry. Don’t miss out on this opportunity to be part of the Gobjaw Poetry Collective community and immerse yourself in the power of spoken word. See you there! Xoxo Goblin Gurl”


Tickets are free, book here https://www.eventbrite.com/e/gobjaw-poetry-collective-open-mic-poetry-night-tickets-869883423737

Sunday April 14th 2.00- 3.00pm GMT

One for parents and kids from Children’s Laureate Joseph Coelho, a poetry performance that shows us that poems are made to be read OUT LOUD!

“Joseph will lead an interactive and engaging reading from his ‘Out Loud’ poetry series before penning a new poem with the help of the audience. Have fun guessing riddles, powering up your poetry skills, and discovering all sorts of clever ways to perform poetry!


The event will be followed by a book signing. Doors will open from 1:30pm. Please note that children must be accompanied by an adult (reserve a free accompanying adult ticket) for the duration of the event.” 

More info here https://www.eventbrite.com/e/poetry-out-loud-with-joseph-coelho-tickets-863924951787?aff=ebdssbdestsearch&keep_tld=1

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE 

Saturday April 20th 2:30 – 5:30pm GMT

Tell Me A Tale 2024 – Autobiographical Epic Poetry with Yomi Sode

TELL ME A TALE is a course for any person who is interested in developing their skills in telling stories live.  Storytellers will work with Olivier nominated director and theatremaker , Tristan Fynn-Aiduenu and a number of special guests, will lead you through eight fun, energetic and revelatory sessions that will teach you how to use energy, intention, comprehension and imagination to become a better storyteller.


More info here https://www.eventbrite.com/e/tell-me-a-tale-2024-autobiographical-epic-poetry-with-yomi-sode-tickets-863388537357?aff=ebdssbdestsearch&keep_tld=1

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

Find my bio here

Contact me here

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Comment: The Cost of Living et al

Comment: The Cost of Living et al

So we’ve had the budget in the U.K. and, who would have thought, more retrogressive tax cuts rolled out; that is to say tax cuts that benefit the well paid more than the less well paid. This is not unexpected. What is bugging me is a consensus which seems to be growing in both major parties that says Taxation Baad! Spending Baaad! What is the purpose of government if not to tax and spend? If not to oversee where funding is required and supply it?

We’ve had nearly 50 years now of the neoliberal experiment that purports the market will provide and ensure prosperity and income inequality is soaring and anyone who works in or uses the NHS, schools, social services, local councils in general, prisons, courts, transport could tell you how desperate these services are for funding. So that’s got to be pretty much all of us isn’t it? In one way or another. The public sector has been cut to the bone, and now one in five councils face bankruptcy, the very decaying carcasses being carved up.

At the same time, in the hailed remedy for all ills, the good old free market, the major oil and gas companies are making record profits while people shiver in their homes and the earth burns.


My energy supplier British Gas made a staggering ten fold increase in profit last year, “Centrica released figures on Thursday showing that British Gas, which supplies energy to UK households and businesses, showed its profits jumped to £751m in 2023, up from £72m a year earlier.” And there was I patting myself on the back for saving the planet a smidge, while simultaneously saving a quite a few hundred quid, by keeping my thermostat at 18 degrees! U Switch here I come! 

While government subsidies introduced in response to the cost of living crisis, what happened to them? Payments to were wound up last month. Let’s face it we’re all doing so well aren’t we? Especially the low paid, the precarious workers, those too old or sick or disabled to work. There’s no food banks, there’s no homelessness, no housing crisis, oh please ignor my caustic tone!

Couldn’t help but laugh hearing the U.K. has been deemed the second most unhappy country in the world just below Uzbekistan. I’m somewhat bemused though by this, after all we don’t have to put up with Berlusconi, Putin or Trump. Perhaps it’s the “inclement” weather, ULEZ or the fact certain elected representatives are veering so far to the right they might as well join Reform U.K. Oh too late one of them has! While the Home Secretary, former Home Secretary and the Prime Minister haven’t quite said, “Rivers of blood,” yet use words just as caustic, just as dangerous. The latter in a piece of pure theatre, rolling out the lectern outside Number 10, as the light faded, to speak of “protecting democracy” and the danger of extremism read: Palestine protesters calling for a ceasefire.


The other day I got down to Streatham to get my bloods done. Blood test not transfusion or anything tricky like that. Lithium level, kidney and liver function. It’s the deal I have with the NHS since the mid 90’s; I take the meds and they give me the blood tests to see they’re not damaging my organs. The best thing about this quarterly trip is the clinic is like literally (soz for the Americanism) five minutes from Poundland and the Streatham Poundland is immense. 

It’s like a day out! I guess it’s a case of you can take the girl out of Stevenage but you can’t take Stevenage out of the girl. Not that we had Poundland back then but we did have Woolworths and oh how I lament the demise of that. Mind you when I stood in the queue I overheard a women on her phone saying, “‘E’s at this stage where it’s all want, want, want, an’ ‘e don’t get we just don’t ‘av it.” An echo of, “It’s all want, want, want and money doesn’t grow on trees you know, “ as I, as a child, stared wistfully at the apple tree in the back garden, through the kitchen window, wondering why I’m being told the blatantly obvious. And back then in the 1970’s there really were no food banks, homelessness, no housing crisis.

Later at the bus stop overhear another women on the phone saying to a child, I assumed, “There’s a tenner on the card, it is working! Just stick it in, give a good shove.” A tenner on the card, how long is that going to last? At this point I just felt like a tourist in poverty porn land or had just tuned into some poverty porn reality TV. Not that there hasn’t been times I had the electric on a card, would go to three shops just to get 5p off the price of a can of baked beans. A time too ill to be working really, on reflection, with a recent diagnosis of bipolar, a recent MA, struggling as a self employed tutor/workshop facilitator wondering if I’d be better off going back to cleaning and life modelling, flirting with the idea of table dancing. 

There was almost an incident in the queue in Poundland between a European Deliveroo worker and two women, probably black British from the accents. The queue stretched right back up the isle. The Deliveroo guy appeared to be either unaware of queuing protocol or unwilling to queue and was hovering at the front of the queue, it was getting very heated. Arms flying, voices raised. At one point I heard one of the women say, “If you don’t speak English I ain’t talking to you.” Then she crossed her arms and turned her back. It was becoming apparent he didn’t or wouldn’t.  

I heard him say, while gesturing to the women to go ahead of him, “Sigue, sigue!” The Portuguese for follow/proceed, but he was still resolutely refusing to move. At this point I called out, “Hablas espanol?” “Do you speak Spanish?”using the familiar form of the verb. He looked round, saw me, turned away again. Then I added, “Usted?” The polite form of “you,” he turned back, approached. I then tried to say, “The end of the queue is there,“ but couldn’t remember the word for queue! 

Embarrassingly it came out as, “The end, there.” Which sounded more like an order than a helpful suggestion. I think he got my drift, replied with something completely unintelligible in an air of irritation and stomped off back to his spot, hovering near the front of the queue to the annoyance of other customers. I know it all might seem a storm in a tea cup, apologies for that cliche, but I couldn’t help thinking: Well here we are in cost of living crisis Britain; people on zero hours contracts, battling mothers wondering how to get through the Easter break without treats, feeling lucky if they can keep the lecky on, for a space in the queue. 


I do like Streatham High Street though. Still a few independent shops and cafes, old fashioned pubs, among the charity shops and pawnbroker. Apart from the air quality that is. It has benches along the side of the road. Never noticed them before. Though I imagine sitting there too long might take of a few years of your life. If it’s anything like Brixton High Street which exceeds annual emission levels in the first five days of the year.

I got a weeks worth of fruit and veg for a fiver from a stall on the corner of the street. The guy that served me looked so cold and so unhappy, he may have been Mediterranean or perhaps Middle Eastern. The blossom on trees at the side of the road was saying Spring, the cutting wind saying Winter. So I said, “Hello! Chilly isn’t it?” He said, “Eh?” I said, “Nippy…” Blank look. “Cold!” I say rubbing my arms, “Ah,” he replied.

It’s such a nexus, culturally and transport wise. I only had five minutes to wait for the little 201, it was number 10 on the screen when I arrived at the bus stop. The guy sitting next to me was talking to his mate on the phone in English while urging his rather unattractive bull terrier to, “Sientate! Sientate!” Spanish for “Sit down. Sit down.” For some reason this immensely amused me. 

A bit of an aside though it leads back in. Getting on the bus, an oldish white guy, about my age, stepped back making way for me, bags swinging, saying, “After you,“ in a soft Irish accent. I was thinking that’s an old punk if I ever saw one. It wasn’t his appearance or attitude, more a feeling. I sat down my the middle doors. When he moved to get off he was standing right in front of me. I don’t know what came over me but I felt to say to him, “Excuse me, I was looking at you wondering if you used to be a punk, am I right?” 

He smiled, perhaps noticing the safely pin holding my coat together, said, “Aye, you’re right enough,” paused, took a deep breath and added, “So long ago.” And I said, “Yes, but doesn’t that time back then stretch out in the memory.” He touched my hand resting on the bus rail as he prepared to leave. Kissed my hand and said, “Love and peace.” And I, smiling, replied, “Love and peace.” And he got off. 

Later still I remember the cover a Clash single with the words, “Hate and War,” which I’m sure he was obliquely referencing. And how we understood only too well those words reflected not our desires or intentions but were a statement of what we were living through back then. “Hate and war/ The only things we got today/ And if I close my eyes/ It will not go away/ You have to deal with it/ It is the currency”. Remembering how The Clash railed against poverty and oppression. 


And yet here we are forty years on with poverty, energy insecurity and malnutrition the currency for so many. I reflect on how Gandhi referring to underdeveloped countries, said, “Poverty is the worst form of violence.” And yes it is because it limits, it grinds you down. And now we’re living through hate and war again, poverty has become globalised like everything else and “telling it like it is” is no longer enough. I reckon we need also to articulate what could be. 

Let’s forget the cost of living for a few moments and consider the value of living, of life. It’s an opportunity to “know thyself” as Socrates advised us. An opportunity to “be here now” as Ram Dass put it. An opportunity to learn and grow and change within and without. And as many spiritual traditions suggest, “to accept reality as it is and change it.” Is that a contradiction? I don’t think so. It means to me to not deny the existence of climate change, the housing crisis, poverty, inequality, racism, misogyny, transphobia, homophobia. And they are all connected.

Only by accepting what is can we even begin to change these things. Some pay a very high price to change what is. Some give their life or freedom. Some spend their whole lives in the struggle. Arguably it’s very hard when you’re struggling to make ends meet to engage in activism and yet while hardship leads some to lash out or draw in, it does invite others to question, build solidarity, strengthen connections.

Surely the nature of this system is becoming clearer every day, when you can’t afford to heat your home and the energy supplier and energy companies are raking it with record profits subsided by a government promoting more oil rigs and coal mines, flying in the face of internationally agreed targets to prevent further climate change. A government threatening to try and find wriggle room in order to break international contracts with the EU, a government desperately seeking a scapegoat. Look out! First they came for the people on “small boats…”

It’s time to consider not only that another world is possible, but to embody, live and proclaim its values, birth them into being; justice, equality, empathy, compassion, dignity, respect, love and peace. And that is already happening. I’ve witnessed “dignity, respect” on the banners of the Independistas in Barcelona and precarious workers outside the Ministry of Justice in London, the words “empathy, beauty, compassion” on banners on XR rebellions, and “peace, love” on banners and placards on the Palestine Solidarity protests. 

While we all call for justice and equality, in the name of George Floyd, Sarah Everard, Breonna Taylor, Chris Kaba and the names of the countless unnamed subjected to violence and oppression, because, to use an old trade union slogan, “an injury to one is an injury to all.”


Our movements, which are evolving into “a movement of movements”are organically linked, connected, co-creating the new world within the old and emblazoning the streets with its values. And this, this is priceless. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: March 2024

Diary: March 2024

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news and poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity. 

As February drifts into March I find myself thinking winter has passed swifter than I imagined, but has it? I recall last Spring was the most dark and miserable I think I can ever remember since my mum died, and the summer was not much better and as a sun seeker, a sun worshipper, however zen I try to be about the seasons I have to confess winter is something I endure rather than enjoy. 

I’ll be heading off at the end of the month for a break beneath the Atlas Mountains, above the Western Sahara, to a small city kissing the ocean. One where days and nights are almost of equal length, a permanent equinox at that latitude.

Since I’m going alone it is my intention to spend the mornings reading, a poetry collection per day is the plan, and spend afternoons and evenings exploring and relaxing and might pop in to the local hamman. 

I may write. How can I not write something, as Barthes once said, the writer on holiday is a myth. From the widely available Mythologies by Roland Barthes. I recommend it’s highly entertaining and thought provoking.

So where is the light in our poetry world as the days lengthen and the nights get shorter? 

OUT NOW

The Moon That Turns You Back by Hala Alyan 


Release date: March 12th from Ecco Press

Hala Alyan is a Palestinian-American writer, poet, and clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma, addiction, and cross-cultural behavior. Her writing covers aspects of identity and the effects of displacement, particularly within the Palestinian diaspora. She is the author of The Arsonists’ City and The Twenty-Ninth Year. Published by Harper Collins. The author describes the book as follows, 

“This new collection of poetry that traces the fragmentation of memory, archive, and family-past, present, future-in the face of displacement and war.

A diaspora of memories runs through this poetry collection–a multiplicity of voices, bodies, and houses hold archival material for one another, tracing paths between Brooklyn, Beirut, and Jerusalem. Boundaries and borders blur between space and time and poetic form–small banal moments of daily life live within geopolitical brutalities and, vice versa, the desire for stability lives in familiarity with displacement.

These poems take stock of who and what can displace you from home and from your own body–and, conversely, the kind of resilience, tenacity, and love that can bring you back into yourself and into the context of past and future generations. Hala Alyan asks, What stops you from transforming into someone or something else? When you have lived a life in flux, how do you find rest?”

Available for preorder now

https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-moon-that-turns-you-back-poems-hala-alyan/20165263

Soul Feast: a new anthology 


Release date: March 21st from Bloodaxe Books who write 

“Soul Feast is a companion anthology to Soul Food, offering up a further feast of thoughtful poems to stir the mind and feed the spirit, bringing hope and light in dark, uncertain times.

This book’s inspiration – Soul Food – achieved its wide popularity by word of mouth. For many thousands of readers feeling adrift in the early years of the 21st century, the poems in that book offered support and sustenance. What followed has been even more destructive and disorientating: wars, pandemic, oppression, persecution of peoples and minorities, mass migration, dishonest government, financial meltdown, and looming environmental catastrophe.

There are even more voices of hope and healing, of love and tolerance, kindness and compassion, sanity and solace, to be heard and felt in the poems of Soul Feast. This new compilation shows how poetry can help sustain our search for meaning in times of spiritual starvation. All these poems are universal illuminations of the meaning of life, speaking to readers of all faiths as well as to seekers and non-believers.

Drawn from many traditions, Soul Feast includes work by poets ranging from Lal Ded and Tukaram to Pessoa, Borges, Cummings and Langston Hughes, as well as poems by celebrated contemporary poets such as Ellen Bass, Imtiaz Dharker, Jane Hirshfield and Naomi Shihab Nye. This is a book to keep by the bedside or to keep with you when travelling.”

Available for preorder now. 

COMING UP

The first weekend of March sees Glyn Maxwell’s play Boatman Town, A new version of Everyman, directed by Helen Eastman open in the U.K. 

“Creation Theatre presents the world premiere of Glyn Maxwell’s Boatman Town. It is set in an English pub, so we are touring the production to the pubs of Oxfordshire and beyond. Pick from a variety of different locations, times and venues, and join us for a unique hour of theatre. If you can’t make it to the show in person, then you can book a ticket to watch a filmed version, which will be available for three days in March.”

Dates

Saturday 2 March, The Bar in The Barn Theatre, Welwyn Garden City, 8pm BOOK TICKETS

Sunday 3 March, The Bedford, Balham, London, 2pm BOOK TICKETS
Monday 4 March, The Bedford, Balham, London, 8pm BOOK TICKETS
Tuesday 5 March, The Bedford, Balham, London, 8pm BOOK TICKETS

Friday 8 March, James Street Tavern, Oxford, 7pm BOOK TICKETS
Saturday 9 March, James Street Tavern, Oxford, 2pm BOOK TICKETS & 6pm BOOK TICKETS
Sunday 10 March, James Street Tavern, Oxford, 2pm BOOK TICKETS & 6pm BOOK TICKETS

Live Canon write, “We are proud to have published Glyn Maxwell’s new play ‘Boatman Town, after Everyman’ and copies are now on sale here (£7): https://www.livecanon.co.uk/store/product/boatman-town-by-glyn-maxwell-after-the-summoning-of-everyman

You can read Glyn’s foreword to the play on our blog here

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE

From Nine Arches Press 

Poetry Spa at Nuneaton Museum & Art Gallery – enjoy an inspiring day with poet Olga Dermott-Bond alongside regular Poetry Spa host, Roz Goddard.

A copy of Frieze by Olga Dermott-Bond is part of the ticket price and prepare for friendly discussion, absorption in poetry and a creative writing workshop.

The day starts with gently reading. Then a small group of other book lovers people to experience the benefits of focused reading in Nuneaton Museum & Art Gallery (the venue is an 12 minute walk from Nuneaton station and has nearby car parking in Riversley Park or on Clinic Road).

Whatever you get up to this month, do what you love and love what you do. We can find happiness and contentment in the time of climate emergency and multiple crises. Enjoy!

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Poetry by Others: Mosab Abu Toha

Poetry by Others: Mosab Abu Toha

As a poet or writer, at any moment, one grasps for words, grasps is actually the wrong word entirely, suggesting a certain desperation, let’s say the mind reaches out for the precise word or words that convey or attempt to convey the jumbled mass of thought and feeling.

Sometimes words come unbidden in a sluce or stream then once down on the white space of the page we reach for the syntax/ register/ diction/ metrics/ rhythm that will suggest something beyond words as music does.

In the face of such atrocities that are unfolding in Gaza all words can seem inadequate yet many in the front line of do find words and I share this in the spirit of solidarity. Poetry is about image and sometimes it is the small details that open the heart. I found this poem today in twitter posted by Caroline Bird in November 2023 

Mosab Abu Toha was kidnapped by the IDF, on his way to Rafah with his family. He was imprisoned, beaten and miraculously returned to his family after detention.


“Last year, Abu Toha published his debut book of poetry, Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear. It won an American Book Award, Palestine Book Award, and Arrowsmith Press’s 2023 Derek Walcott Poetry Prize, and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award.”

More poetry by Mosab Abu Toha  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/155508/my-grandfather-and-home

On his arrest and the situation in Gaza in his own words https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/palestinian-poet-mosab-abu-toha-on-all-hes-lost-in-gaza-and-hopes-for-his-homeland

Follow in X/Twitter @MosabAbuToha and instagram @mosab_abutoha


A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

Find my bio here

Contact me here

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Diary: February 2024

Diary: February 2024

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news and poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity. 

Some suggestions of publications out soon, events coming up and opportunities to nurture your practice follow. Here is some self reflection on last term as I go back to school. If you wanna skip this scroll down to OUT NOW.

I reflect on my time keeping and process and conclude that there is a part of my brain that can make plans, schedule activities and record deadlines in the diary and yet a part of me that seems uber reluctant to follow the plans and schedules. 

Whilst it does adhere to deadlines on the whole it’s often a last minute scramble. Not so much with the last assessment which was conducted like a military regime though in the last 30 minutes there was a scramble to acquire free pdf software as the one installed took this opportunity to not cooperate. 

At the weekend I create a document called, “REQUIREMENTS” a week by week detailed record of tasks I need to undertake for the course on a weekly basis for this second term. I did this last term and didn’t even look back at the document until week eight. This was despite printing it out  storing it at the back of my diary. Realise I could write a note each Monday saying, “CONSULT REQUIREMENTS.” That might do it. 

I wonder where this reluctance lies. The reluctance to follow the plan? Is it a bipolar/ADHD symptom or some wayward part? A child part perhaps that just wants to run through the meadows, pick daisies, make a daisy chain and find shapes in the clouds. Or throw my head back and catch rain drops in my mouth, get naked in the rain and roll down the hill, probably not, but dance in the rain, yes. 

Or as Baudelaire says here, “It is time to be drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.” https://poets.org/poem/be-drunk Perhaps it’s a part as Baudelaire puts it, that wants to be permanently drunk. That might have worked for him but I figure I’m drunk enough already. 

We are expected on the course to carry out self reflection on our learning. This feeds into the assessments. This morning I revisited the assessment submitted. This is new, usually when I submit work, which is rare, there’s an impulse to immediately go back to the document and with cringing agony notice further edits required or the worst typos! 

Observing the essay, think, not bad, that paragraph is in the wrong place, ooops a closed bracket fell out. And reflect on the poems. The poems took leaps under the pressure of the deadline and though that meant an order > chaos > greater order process.  Alarming, with the deadline swooping towards me I found myself in the “chaos” phase, yet it suggests to me a certain pressure is what made the leaps possible, maybe a few commas were misplaced. 

So I’m thinking “Be drunk” when you write, be sober when you edit. The other day it came to me like this, “Write fast, edit slowly, deliberately.” I wonder if this has application for living in general. I figure if you’re gonna be drunk on anything be drunk on love. If you’re gonna self reflect be gentle with yourself. If you gonna plan and schedule be flexible because you are only human not a machine. Know sometimes less is more. 

When I studied for my A levels I created a nine hour a day plan, three hours per subject, six days a week. Occasionally mother would ask if I was “getting on with it,” I didn’t show her the schedule, guess she didn’t ask. We were learning to trust each other. Perhaps she might have urged me to be more realistic. 

I remember lying in the back garden wondering if there was ANY POINT AT ALL given our government was suggesting we take measures to “Protect and Survive” a nuclear war. Yet still I plowed on I can only assume the thought of parental wrath out bid the threat of nuclear destruction. Suffice it to say I didn’t do well in those exams. 

Writing at this time of a climate emergency and multiple crises rather that making me think, ‘is there any point’ actually spurs me on though I get frustrated sometimes how long it takes to resolve a poem, though that’s nothing new. What is new perhaps is a renewed commitment, made during the pandemic, is to go gently. 

Like walking the Camino de Santiago, used as a metaphor in my essay, there is so much beauty on the path and sometimes it make sense to linger longer at certain places. And a reminder it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey, always, in all endeavours. 

OUT NOW

From Seren Books, Cormorant by Elizabeth Parker publication date, February 26, 2024 info: https://www.serenbooks.com/book/cormorant/

“Elizabeth Parker’s second collection explores its titular bird from all angles: from diving cormorants to cormorants in flight, cormorants in motion and also in stillness. The bird itself is always untameable and irreducible to human impressions, but is bound through poetry with a family history, legacy, and losses.


Family is a key focus of this collection. Parker traces the journeys of her ancestors from Ireland to Liverpool docks and from The Midlands, the bloodlines meeting in London, the family then moving to The Forest of Dean and, finally, the poet starting her own family in Bristol. Parker plays close attention to the city and its inhabitants, human or more-than-human. There is a powerful depth to place here, which is full of carefully observed details about an independent natural world and how humans interact with it.

Through examinations of nature and the human, of shared losses and histories, Parker shows us how to regard the world compassionately. As she considers the miracle of the cormorant, she reminds us of the importance of wonder, offering an uplifting antidote to difficult times.”

This Is the Honey : An Anthology of Contemporary Black Poets edited by Kwame Alexander Publication date, 24th February 2024 info:

“In this comprehensive and vibrant poetry anthology, bestselling author and poet Kwame Alexander curates a collection of anthems for our time, at turns tender and piercing, and deeply inspiring throughout. Featuring work from well-loved poets such as Claudia Rankine, Ross Gay, Jericho Brown, Warsan Shire, Amanda Gorman, Terrance Hayes, and Nikki Giovanni, This is the Honey is a rich and abundant offering of language from the poets giving voice to generations of resilient joy. This essential collection, in the tradition of Dudley Randall’s The Black Poets and E.


Ethelbert Miller’s In Search of Color Everywhere, contains poems exploring joy, love, origin, resistance, and praise. Jacqueline A.Trimble likens “Black woman joy” with indigo, tassels, foxes, and peacock plumes. Tyree Day, Nate Marshall, and Elizabeth Acevedo reflect on the meaning of “home” through food, from Cuban rice and beans to fried chicken gizzards.

Clint Smith, Rachel Long, and Cameron Awkward-Rich enfold us in their intimate musings on love and devotion. From “jewels in the hand” (Patricia Spears Jones) to “butter melting in small pools in the hearts” (Elizabeth Alexander), This is the Honey drips with poignant and delightful imagery, music and raised fists. Marilyn Nelson puts it this way in “How I Discovered Poetry:” “It was like soul-kissing, the way the words / filled my mouth.” This is the Honey is definitive, fresh, and deeply moving, a must-have for any lover of language and a gift for our time.”

COMING UP

Wednesday 7th Feb, 8.00pm National Poetry Library, Level 5, Blue Side, Royal Festival Hall Lierature & poetry £7.00

Spoken Word London at the National Poetry Library, in this special appearance SWL will be looking back at its Anti-Hate Anthology with readings and more.

Hosted by Patrick Cash, Hannah Gordon and Jamal Hassan, the event features performances from poets featured in the anthology and some regulars from the SWL community.

Spoken Word London was a popular open mic night held at Dalston’s legendary queer venue VFD, has given a platform to more than 4,000 artists over a ten-year period. More info here

Thursday 22nd February 7.30pm, Omnibus Theatre, Clapham North Side London SW4 OLH, £6.00

Off the Chest: Poetry Open Mic Night

“Hosted by poets Ella Dorman-Gajic and Iftikhar Latif, Off The Chest is an inclusive poetry night celebrating original voices and poetry that makes a statement.

Their open mic segment offers the opportunity to poets of all backgrounds, stages and ages to take to the stage. You will be able to sign up for the open mic on the night, with a limited number of spots up for grabs. Names will be pulled out of a hat.

This night will also feature sets from two acclaimed poets, including Elle Dillon-Reams (as featured on the Guardian and BBC Radio 6, alongside Arlo Parks and Tim Key). The second feature act will be announced very soon.

Funded by Arts Council England, Off The Chest was founded in 2019, and has since produced multiple poetry nights to sell-out audiences, across London and further afield. Don’t miss their third return to Omnibus Theatre.” More info here

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE 

Poetry as “Creative Reception” 6-Week Zoom Workshop, Starts Wednesday, February 21st, 2024 Enrolling now

The tutor

“Born to a Mexican mother and Jewish father, Rosebud Ben-Oni is the author of several collections of poetry, including If This Is the Age We End Discovery (March 2021), which won the Alice James Award and was a Finalist for the National Jewish Book Award. In 2023, she received a Café Royal Cultural Foundation grant to write The Atomic Sonnets, a full-length poetry collection based on her chapbook 20 Atomic Sonnets (Black Warrior Review, 2020). Her work appears in POETRY, The American Poetry Review, Academy of American Poets, Tin House, Guernica, Electric Literature, among others. Her poem Dancing with Kiko on the Moon was recently featured in Tracy K. Smith’s The Slowdown. Learn more about Rosebud in the Meet the Teaching Artist series.

How can science and technology shape poetry and unfold the poetic self? In this workshop, we will examine the possibilities of poetry as a science of “creative reception”— that is, how we are (re)defining our connections to reality, each other, artificial intelligence and life outside our planet— and how this kind of imaginative openness can generate new languages that translates our experiences in the 21st century.”

So happy writing to all! If you find your mood low or creativity sluggish at this cold time of low light try taking a walk in nature even if it’s just your back garden or a local park. Note to self: do the same!

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Poetry by me: Apocalypse

Poetry by me: Apocalypse

This poem kinda popped out in October or November. It’s had some revision. I’m not sure it’s finished as am aware the first part “tells not shows” while the second part does, I hope, successfully “show not tell.” I feel for the first part to do likewise might entail an epic work the length of Dante’s Inferno…

I’m sharing it here as it’s has received welcome feedback from my MA cohort and gone down well with poets and non poets alike and having posted it publicly in Facebook figure I’ve nothing to lose posting it here. Sharing as an image as WordPress would seriously mess with the formatting.



I can’t help thinking that right now the world seems like a dark place. As I write the slaughter in Gaza continues, yesterday a global day of action took place while a two day hearing brought by South Africa took place at The Hague last week accused the Israeli State of Genocide. There is the light! And figure we need to continue to shed the light on this and other atrocities, shine a light on our own darkness with in and be the light of the world.

Image: London 11/11/2023 Palestine Solidarity Protest

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: January 2024

Diary: January 2024

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity including features on what’s out now, upcoming and nurturing your practice. 

Some news of poetry events and opportunities in January follow. First a personal reflection. When the calendar year comes to a close I guess it’s usual to look forward and to look back. Last year was difficult, a bug from hell in November not unlike the one when I returned from Fuertaventura in January (neither covid at least), six weeks on crutches in that cold spring and the long haul to write my MA personal statement, the mountain ranges of self doubt I had to cross to get that done!

It felt in May things were turning around when I met someone that moved me so deeply I could hardly keep my feet on the ground, started working with the XR Rebel Library and finally, after a delay due to a backlog, got the email from Newcastle University saying I’d been offered a place on the MA in Writing Poetry administered by the Poetry School.

The love thing felt equally heartbreaking and mindbending. My head and heart are presently at war which is an uncomfortable place to be though in truth I think it was triggering deep loss, insecurities, trust issues, so much so I’d have to write an essay and there has been learning and growth (on my part at least, no clue about the other who has not been particularly forthcoming.)

I recognise my part in the misunderstandings that took place, I recognise now how much I am still damaged by the emotional motorway pile up that took place in the 90’s. I’m still working to heal and clear the past though every time I think I’ve got there it seems there’s another hill to climb. A friend sent me this poem the other day I kinda relate 

Long Exposure 

Even after letting go 

Of the last bird 

I hesitate 

There is something

In this empty cage

That never gets released

Garous Abdolmalekian

Meanwhile the genocide in Gaza grinds on, all the more reason to surround yourself with loving friends, kindness, empathy and compassion. My good friends have been an amazing support these past few weeks when a deep well of hurt and pain overflowed and threatened to drown me. Eventually I imagine I’ll be able to see this for what it is, a healing crisis but right now it’s hard to have that lofty perspective.

Despite all this I guess the high points of the year were getting my MA place, the XR Rebel Library zoom launch, a writing retreat at Ty Newydd Writing Centre in Wales (though I was exhausted the entire time!) and a yoga break in Corfu with kayaking, visits to the capital and small villages, new writing entitled The Absence: As Barthes Once Said the Writer on Holiday is a Myth (because you don’t leave sorrow behind) and a bit of climate research on attitudes to the recent wildfires.

I never really know what’s on the horizon as I don’t plan too far ahead and can never quite imagine what a new year will bring. Even trips away I rarely decide until a week or two ahead. So who knows what this year will bring. 

When I was away at Agios Gordios the first time I attempted to walk down — I should say staggered — since by the time I arrived was shattered quite frankly, to the cafe/beach/ yoga studio I was told, “Easy, follow the pink line.” And this is an image of what I found. It seems to sum up my life in general, actually no that’s unfair, guidance is never far away if I remain present. So easy to say. So hard to do.


COMING UP

Looking forward to January there’s a few things coming up most notably the TS Eliots, Sunday 14th 7.00pm GMT at the Royal Festival Hall and later in the month from the Poetry Society an invitation to attend a video discussion between Kabila Kapoor and Kyra Pollitt on the future of sign language poetry Looks like it’s live now. 

Also you can book for the launch readings of the Winter Poetry Review (free event) on 25th January at 7.00pm GMT FREE, featuring a great line-up of poets aracelis girmay, Jess Murrain, Oluwaseun Olayiwola and Rachael Allen.


OUT NOW

Something from me. Just posted a new visual poem/collage/montage in my insta  @anne_enith see more of these there. 12 images (collage/montage) entitled – Out of The Matrix – All twelve images, found and original, comprise the poem.


Accompanying text reads: We truly live in a world of illusion. The Buddha said it first so I’m not saying anything new. Actually he said, “We live in illusion and the appearance of things. There is a reality. We are that reality. When you understand this, you see that you are nothing, and being nothing, you are everything.”

Though I believe the veils of illusion are falling. We’re told we have democracy, freedom, plenty we can see how lacking is that. We do technically live in a world of plenty but as the seminal near future dystopia author William Gibson astutely noted, “The future is already here – it’s just not very evenly distributed.“ Goes without saying, nor is the present. 

The worst kind of illusion or delusion is our lack of seeing clearly. I know this only too well. Our meditation teacher would put it like this, “Who is in the drinking seat when one perceives, speaks, acts?” The person you have become or ego? A wounded inner child? A wounded adult child? Fear? Anxiety? Insecurity?  We carry some degree of these inside us.

How do the traumatised, and we’re all traumatised some way; war babies or children of war babies, while the legacy of slavery abides in the blood of so many, etched into last names. How can we make it out of the Matrix and co-create a new world? When war stalks the world? In a #climateemergency? 

It’s five years since the IPCC report that suggested we had ten years to avoid breaching the 1.5 limit in global warming. And already it’s breached. There’s no route map, no blueprint, perhaps this visual poem, can suggest a destination, a future with love, light, peace, kindness and return to the awe and wonder of nature.

NURTURING YOUR PROCESS

You might want to check this out from The Literary Consultancy 

On January 31, 2024 @ 8:00 am – 5:00 pm

“Welcome to our January member-only events, for members of TLC’s platform, Being A Writer. Being A Writer has been running since 2020 and offers writers a safe space to be creative, and to find support. The aim of Being A Writer is to create a community of happier, healthier writers: our focus is on helping writers to cultivate creativity, and boost wellbeing and resilience. All Being A Writer events are co-created, meaning that we programme in direct response to our members’ feedback and needs. Not yet a member? Sign up for a free 30-day trial today and join the writing community with a difference.”

Wishing you all in this year to come; joy, grace, adventures, kindness and comfort, love and light, courage and wisdom, good mental health and peace of mind. Here’s my new year gift to you 

Shawprint GOD GRANT ME SERENITY RETRO METAL TIN FRIDGE MAGNET, 100mm x 75mm, Novelty Gift


God grant me the serenity 

to accept the things I cannot change

the courage to change the things I can

and wisdom to know the difference. 

Reinhold Niebuhr 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: On Poets, Poetry and Palestine 

Comment: On Poets, Poetry and Palestine 

As I write the temporary ceasefire in Israel and Palestine is over. The U.S. and U.K. respectfully vetoed and abstained on a vote at the UN Securing Council to uphold a permanent ceasefire. Meanwhile the United Nations General Assembly voted overwhelmingly yesterday in favour of a resolution calling for a humanitarian ceasefire in Gaza, yet the atrocities continue.

News that I allow to filter through to my consciousness horrifies me. Images of captured Palestinians surrounded by Israeli soldiers, stripped to their underwear, kneeling in the dirt, arms tied behind their back. An image of a child in Gaza laying in the rubble hugging a cat. 

I’ll be honest in the first few days in October I was in a numbed state of shock and if I’m really honest I feel again a grinding sense of loss at times.  Back then I feel into a kind of existential despair and wondering how it is that for so long people across the world, have demanded justice, peace, equality and now this… that led to “what the point?” Which is what I guess despair sounds like, and what is the point of poetry at a time like this. Then came the sorrow, grief and rage and some words flowed again. 

Since I’ve been asking myself what is the role of the poet or artist in a time of war, suffering and multiple crises? I figure there are many answers to this question. We know words have power to evoke love or hate, in essence not just to invite people to think but feel. We know words can appeal to our shared sense of humanity even when that appears to be further away than ever. Our words and arts matter. 

Painting by Palestinian Ismail Shammout


There have been enormous pro Palestinian poetry events held in London and New York City and no doubt else where. Arguably since it is the U.S. and U.K. that are the main obstacle to a ceasefire — our role in the U.K and U.S is of heightened importance, not yet pivotal but significant.

In addition I’d like to share news of an event featuring poets from Israel and Palestine. It’s unclear from the article when or exactly when this event took place but it was reported on the 20th October nevertheless check out the work of these writers. 

Personally I find it hard to imagine picking up the pen when under fire and found this incredible inspiring. The courage! From an article entitled, As the Bombs Fall I Write By Mohammed Moussa Published 8 Jun 2021

“I wrote my first poem in 2014, as Israeli bombs rained down on Gaza, sitting in the corner of my room during the three hours of electricity we had each day, listening to the radio and to the sound of bombs, drones and ambulances. I typed out the words – “I was born in Gaza.” I wanted to talk about what I was going through in the tune of a poet or a poetry lover.…

Growing up in Gaza is inspiring for anyone, but especially for poets – life here is poetry blown into pieces and scattered all over the place.”

So again I ask what is the role of a poet at this time? To write, to act, to shed light on the darkness. To share the work of oppressed people and those facing immediate risk and danger. Find some references to Palestinian poetry in my previous blog post here

I’ve writen little creatively on the subject so I’d like to share this powerful poem from Joseph Fasano. 

It’s so easy to focus only on the suffering and atrocities. This can only evoke pity. No one wants to be pitied. I figure it’s not whether we do or do not write about the darkness but how. Fasano’s poem brings us to compassion and care in a terrifying experience without denying the danger hinted at in the poems devastating ending. 

While Shouting at the Wall, by MC Abdul is an unabated cry of defiance, a portrait of occupation without denying the daily danger people living in Gaza face, “my dad risks his life outside to buy bread.” And bear in mind this video was uploaded two years ago.

MC Abdul aka Abdel-Rahman Al-Shantti was born in Gaza, Palestine. He started rapping and writing songs at age nine gaining popularity when he sang a rap about freedom in front of his school in Gaza. His videos for “Shouting At The Wall” and “Palestine” have gone viral.

Recently I went to a screening organised by a friend of Oliver Stone’s Salvador. In truth I had forgotten that time in the 80’s when people rose from Nicaragua to El Salvador, brutally crushed by CIA backed right wing regimes. Above all though it was a reminder to me of the immense courage people find in situations not of their own making, one of their own choosing.

Elsewhere oil prices are up again, of course they are, as Shell posts $6.2bn profit Oil deals are struck at COP 28. And peace on earth seems like a dream deferred with at least nine armed conflicts in the world at this time, seven of which are in Africa. And don’t expect to see much about that on our screens. It’s enough to make you want to despair. Yet despair is the darkness, hope is the light. We can all be Spartacus, we can all be Neo, we can all edge slowly out of the shadows in our own souls into the light. 

Seasons Greetings. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: December 2023

Diary: December 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity including features on what’s out now, upcoming and nurturing your practice.

This is going to be short and sweet hopefully as there’s that whole Christmas preparation thing to do for a festival don’t even really hold with beyond the impulse to eat, drink and be merry. 

My MA course has been a bit of a social whirl with readings from the tutors, from first and second years, from recent graduates and now concludes with a final end of term event on the 16th of December. So haven’t had a lot of time to keep up with events elsewhere. 

OUT NOW

From one of my poetry community sisters, we have INHERITANCE, the debut pamphlet for Jasmine Cooray, a Poetry Book Society Recommendation Winter 2023, described as, “a profoundly moving exploration of what is passed down by our forebearers, what is left behind when we lose someone, and what we learn from being loved.” Anthony Joseph

She says, “Absolutely overjoyed to announce that ‘my debut poetry collection ‘Inheritance’ is now out. Look at the beautiful cover!!! Thankyou to @badbettypress for making it happen! And extra thanks to Anthony Joseph for his generous endorsement.”


Available to order here

http://mail01.tinyletterapp.com/JasmineCooray/inheritance-out-for-pre-order-take-2-sorry/22496221-badbettypress.com/product/inheritance-jasmine-cooray/?c=15858f2d-75cc-4da9-a0a6-a1633631cd55

COMING UP 

The Poetry Society are holding an event in Johannesburg on 4th December, new poems will be unveiled as The Poetry Society is supporting Portland Japanese Garden in a South Africa Peace Symposium featuring readings from a commissioned poet Siphokazi Jonas alongside Young Poets Network winners – find out more here.

Free Mind – Spoken Word Wednesday takes place at the The Dalston Lounge, 13 Bradbury St, London

A regular event that, “Free Mind is not just a poetry event, it’s an experience that connects people through the power of words. The atmosphere is electric, and the audience is encouraged to participate and engage with the poets.” 

Book via https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/free-mind-spoken-word-wednesday-tickets-654370709407

A heads up the T S Eliot prize readings take place on 14th January 7pm at the Southbank. As Malika Booker puts it, “it’s my kick starter for the year.” Make it yours. 

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE 

Registration is open for The Climate of Change Poetry Workshops, 2024 – UK morning presented by Cath Drake who writes, “This is a time of great change, and writers are at the forefront of describing and envisaging change. We will explore cherishing and re-envisaging our world. We need innovation, understanding, adaptation and resilience as our climate changes and as we try to do what we can.” 

In the U.K. these take place at 10am London time // 5pm Perth Australia // 7pm Sydney & Brisbane Australia // 6.30pm  Adelaide & Darwin

In addition there is an evening option 6.30pm to 9pm UK time https://www.cathdrake.com/events/climatechangepoetryworkshopsevening/

Poetry Society are offering feedback on poems at a friendly poetry workshop on Zoom with Vanessa Kisuule on 14 December 6pm GMT? Details here

LAST WORD

This is meant to be a season of comfort, peace and joy. It’s hard sometimes to truly believe that, and definitely hard to believe it at a time like this when we takes to our screens of one kind or another. I ardently believe though it seems to be getting darker the veils that have clouded our vision are being lifted. The true meaning of apocalypse.

We see the world as it truly is, tortured and traumatised, we are given the gift to see ourselves as we truly are flawed and wounded, maybe even broken and yet our destiny is nothing less than to create a new world from the rubble of the old, whether politically or personally, and to heal and transform ourselves in the process.

In my opinion there is no one saviour, as god is in all of us and we are all part of god, as much as every blade of grass or limping arthropod. And driven by our collective spirits and will that yearn for respect, recognition, compassion, empathy and love as love conquers all, we are all Neo. Namaste. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: What is to be done – On Colonialism and Culture

Comment: What is to be done – On Colonialism and Culture

As I write this the current situation in Israel and Palestine is one of a temporary ceasefire. How brief this will be, I shudder to think. Yet while the Hamas attack is still described as terrorism, the Israeli attack is described as self defence. A disparity in all lexicons. In my opinion war is terror, war is a crime yet war crimes according to international law have occurred and will occur again of this ceasefire does not hold. 

What can we do? Protest, petition, donate to humanitarian causes. All theses are useful but as writers, artists and allies in addition we can celebrate the culture of the oppressed. What follows is a limited series of references which you are welcome to share. First let’s think about how oppression works.

A part of oppression is not just the socio economic, political or the physical; imposed borders, western backed coups, imprisonment and torture. It is and always has been the demonisation of a people and the debasement of their culture.

I would argue this has been a project in extremis as regards “the Arab” a systematic project to hide or fail to disclose their achievements in astronomy, mathematics, literature and art, though much of the architecture remains. Who in the right mind would pull down the Alhambra in Grenada?

Perhaps this has been so intense because colonialism of the Middle East was so recent. Many of the borders were drawn in 1945. The words of Gil Scott Heron from Black History/ The World ring in my ears, “Egypt and Libya used to be in Africa/ They’ve been moved to the Middle East” Full lyrics here

Painting by Palestinian Yasmeen Shamout

Colonialism, relies on this, as in the period of slavery, it is necessary to depict “the other” as less than human or subhuman. When the imperialists debased the Arabic culture, with their hook nosed caricatures, ignored their literature and buried their history of astronomy it was to justify their brutal colonialism and thirst for oil. 

Few in the West for instance have heard of The Epic of Gilgamesh. This epic “hero journey” story, from the 12th Century B.C. was recoded in cuneiform in ancient Mesopotamia and is considered the worlds first novel. With over 30 000 words (in English translation) and a debate of what it is to be human I rather think it was unlikely to be the first, rather the first excavated and translated.

In my opinion the West lost so much wisdom and knowledge and the rest of the world has suffered so much as a result of imperialism and colonialism. Witness the genocide in the Amazon! While it is estimated their are one million widows in Iraq following the 2003 invasion by the “Coalition of the Willing” led by the U.S. and U.K.  During the Iran/ Iraq war, which now seems like ancient history in the West at least, both sides were funded by and supplied with arms by the West. 

I also can’t help recall how my mother told me, in one of her fervent history lessons in the steamy kitchen, about the Suez crisis. I didn’t entirely understand the situation beyond her outrage and disgust in the words, “And WE went to war with the French in THEIR [the Eqyptians] country. It was THEIR canal.”

Nowhere is this debasement more apparent than in Hollywood movies with omissions and worse stereotypes epitomised by the early 20th Century movies The Sheikh and The Son of the Sheihk. “The Arab” is depicted as untrustworthy, deceitful, brutal and money grabbing. 

Palestine, incidentally, has had a film industry since 1935. The first film made was a documentary based on the Visit to Palestine of Ibn Saud of Saudi Arabia made by Ibrahim Hassan Sirhan (or Serhan), from Jaffa. Recent titles here

Painting by Palestinian Nabil Anani

As Zena Takieddine, art history writer and editor, puts it “Edward Said was the first to formulate a language for that slippery yet pervasive  kind of racism that exists in the ‘western mind’ towards us Arabs; slippery because it cannot be based on skin-color, nor can it be based on religion, since people of Arab culture come in all colors and in all religions, (which is, in itself, a testimony to a rich civilizational fabric that cannot be reduced or ignored, no matter how hard they try)…. Edward Said explains it all.”

His seminal text Orientalism is described as the, “1978 book by Edward W. Said, in which the author establishes the term “Orientalism” as a critical concept to describe the West’s commonly contemptuous depiction and portrayal of The East, i.e. the Orient.”

The civilisation project relied on the denial that these cultures were already civilised, and of course, on might as right. We will invade your country, our armies, our guns are bigger than yours and you had no idea we were coming to “civilise you.”

An example that persists in architecture is the “couloirs sanitaires” or sanitary corridors, set up by the French around the old cities of Marrakesh and Fes. The attitude is in in the word “sanitary.” It required building a system of roads, that still exist to this day, that circumvent the old city centres. 

The positive here is the old cities remain in tact though in Marrakesh people  line the alleys leading to the main square, begging. People who resemble a queue for the A&E/ ED, seated in the dust, limbs bandaged, limbs in casts, palms outstretched. Todays poverty in much of the North Africa is the legacy of this colonial underdevelopment. 

So what is to be done? Let us celebrate the achievements of those hidden histories of culture. Hidden only from the curriculums in the west, celebrated by the descendants of the Middle East and North Africa. It was Iraqi’s who introduced me to the Epic of Gilgamesh! This in itself, I believe, particularly at a time like this, is an act of solidarity. Some poetry suggestions here. See also The Academy of America Poets Newsletter And the Poetry Foundation

Mahmoud Darwish. Photo by Don J. Usner.

Mahmoud Darwish is perhaps the best known Palestinian poet, arrested in the 1960s, he was imprisoned for reciting poetry and traveling between villages without a permit, find his poetry here 

The Palestinian poet Fadwa Tuqan is also well know known for her work based on the experiences of Palestinian refugees, “particularly the feelings of displacement that came with being expelled from the homeland and the dream of returning home.” More info here

I Write the Land

I want to write the land,
I want the words
to be the land itself.
But I’m just a statue the Romans carved
and the Arabs forgot.
Colonizers stole my severed hand
and stuck it in a museum.
No matter. I still want to write it –
the land.
My words are everywhere
and silence is my story.

by  Najwan Darwish

translated by Kareem James Abu-Zeid

More info here

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: November 2023

Diary: November 2023

News follows of some upcoming events, publications out now and my new blog feature ‘nurturing your practice’. Apologies this is so London focused, that’s where I’m based, it’s what I know, but realise that you dear readers are from all over the world and I appreciate that so much! You are welcome to send info of events where you are and I’m happy to feature if timely. Poetry knows no borders.

First some thoughts on the present moment. Since my last diary post the world has witnessed, is witnessing, the horrors unfolding in Israel and Palestine. I want to say something about this and how I see the role of poetry and poets at a time of war and multiple crises. I am working on that.

For now I’ll just state my position as elsewhere in Twitter and Facebook, I reiterate that while I do not support Hamas and condemn their actions against civilians on the 7th of October 2023, “the war” as far as I can see did not start on the the 7th October it began in 1948 and has continued since. 

I condemn the rising antisemitism and Islamophobia in the U.K. 

I condemn the actions of the Israeli State in Gaza which are, as always, disproportionate. The disparity between the two “states” beyond description, suffice it to say Israel controls the movement of the Palestinian people, has occupied the West Bank since 1967 and had blockaded Gaza since 2007. This I why we/ I call for a Free Palestine. 

It’s worth pointing out the Palestine solidarity protests, dubbed by the U.K. Home Secretary as “hates marches”, have held a minutes silence for the dead and injured in Israel and Palestinian and called for a ceasefire.

Humanitarian organisations across the world are arguing for a humanitarian corridor, attempting to get supplies into Gaza. At the time I write I read 20-30 lorries a day are getting through with aid compared with 500 on a “normal” day. Ask yourself why Gaza has to be supplied with aid on a “normal” day.

Join me in calling for a #CeaseFireNow


OUT NOW

Greeking is out today from Nine Arches Press who say,

“We are delighted to publish this much anticipated debut by award-winning poet Kostya Tsolakis. Moving between lament and celebration, this book explores an Athenian childhood, self-discovery, queer joy, voyages, a ‘song of exile’, the nature of motherlands and mother tongues: mesmerising and cinematic.  A Poetry Book Society Recommendation.”

We’re celebrating with an ONLINE LAUNCH featuring Kostya Tsolakis and Olga Dermott-Bond (Frieze) plus special guest poet Romalyn Ante on Wednesday 1st November, 7.30pm (GMT). Please register here”

Greekling is a dazzling and formally innovative debut” – Mary Jean Chan

There’s a new set of six posters from Poems on the Underground, if you like that sort of thing, details here


COMING UP

Thursday, 16 November 

Poems Not Bombs at the Spice of Life 3-5 GMT book to attend here 

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE

Queer Circle present 

a weekly poetry course, details here

https://www.outsavvy.com/event/16558/four-week-poetry-course-with-fourteen-poems

Brixton poet Matthew Caley has organised a London Seminars Course

at  Somerset House, London, he writes

“Monthly seminar groups with Matthew Caley, featuring close reading, in-depth discussion and feedback on your poems-in-progress, as well guidance on your next steps as a poet and conversation around contemporary poetry. With a maximum of eight students in each group, these seminars provide an intimate setting and generate supportive and critical friendships, helping you to become part of your local poetry community.

Entry into this group is by application only. If you would like to sign up, please email administration@poetryschool.com for information and we will assist you in the application process.”

LAST WORD 

Welcome news in a tragic circumstances regarding the brilliant, young poet Gboyega Odubanjo who passed so unexpectedly recently. It is reported he is to be awarded posthumous PhD https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/newsbeat-67240506

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

Find my bio here

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Poetry by Others: Blood by Naomi Shihab Nye

Poetry by Others: Blood by Naomi Shihab Nye

Sharing this as right now the “headlines clot in my blood” and I can barely watch or listen, let alone write. 

Blood

“A true Arab knows how to catch a fly in his hands,”

my father would say. And he’d prove it,

cupping the buzzer instantly

while the host with the swatter stared.

In the spring our palms peeled like snakes.

True Arabs believed watermelon could heal fifty ways.

I changed these to fit the occasion.

Years before, a girl knocked,

wanted to see the Arab.

I said we didn’t have one.

After that, my father told me who he was,

“Shihab”—“shooting star”—

a good name, borrowed from the sky.

Once I said, “When we die, we give it back?”

He said that’s what a true Arab would say.

Today the headlines clot in my blood.

A little Palestinian dangles a truck on the front page.

Homeless fig, this tragedy with a terrible root

is too big for us. What flag can we wave?

I wave the flag of stone and seed,

table mat stitched in blue.

I call my father, we talk around the news.

It is too much for him,

neither of his two languages can reach it.

I drive into the country to find sheep, cows,

to plead with the air:

Who calls anyone civilized? 

Where can the crying heart graze?

What does a true Arab do now?

BY NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

“Blood” from Words Under the Words: Selected Poems (Portland, Oregon: Far Corner Books, 1995). Copyright © 1995 by Naomi Shihab Nye. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: October 2023

Diary: October 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

A quick roundup of some events in the world of poetry, activism and beyond follows. I’ve been running to catch up with myself since I embarked on my MA in Writing Poetry shortly after returning from a somewhat tiring… let’s face it I was tired before I even left… yet fun yoga break which also included kayaking, a first for me, and plenty of sun soaking. 

When I left all the news headlines were of British infrastructure crumbling, not a metaphor, literally crumbling; school buildings, hospitals and prisons. Shortly after my return came the, not entirely unexpected, decision to develop Rosebank, a new oil and gas field, the biggest the U.K. has seen in years. 

Despite fierce opposition, despite the fact it is estimated it will not be at optimal output for fifteen years, which takes us to 2038, eight years after the Nationally Determined Contribution (NDC) to reduce emissions by 68% by 2030 relative to 1990 levels. The companies involved vow to halve their emissions by 2030, by drilling for more oil. Confused? Me too. While the development has been justified further my government ministers as, “a crucial part of our transition to net zero”. And despite the fact 80% of the oil will be exported, deemed “crucial to the UK’s energy security.” Go figure!  

In the light of that I was somewhat uplifted to receive a heads up from XR London about the following actions taking place 17th-20th October led by Fossil Free London. Full schedule here XR UK will be leading actions on 17th and 18th. (Training, workshops and networking ahead of the protests on 14th-16th October. You don’t need to come to these to attend the protest.) 

The actions are in opposition to an event nicknamed the ‘Oscars of Oil’, the biggest names in the fossil fuel industry will come to London to talk oil and money. It’s the biggest annual gathering of fossil fuel companies attended by the CEOs of Shell, BP, ExxonMobil and Total & Equinor, responsible for Rosebank. 

More info https://www.oilymoneyout.uk/

XR UK note “The official name of the summit was the ‘Oil and Money conference’ until a few years ago when it rebranded as the ‘Energy Intelligence Forum’. We’re not even joking.” 

NATIONAL POETRY DAY

Takes place on the 5th October and the theme this year is refuge.

From the Poetry Society,

“Here’s where you can find:

Happy National Poetry Day everybody!”


OUT NOW

Follow this link to find out everything you’ve always wanted to know about 14 Magazine

https://richardskinner.weebly.com/14-magazine.html

COMING UP

Red Door Poets present an online event on Sunday October 29th, from 6.00 – 6.45 pm.

Opening the Door to…  Glyn Maxwell 

Mary Mulholland will be interviewing poet, playwright, novelist, librettist and lecturer Glyn Maxwell about his writing life.

“Glyn Maxwell’s books of poetry include How The Hell Are YouPlutoHide Now and The Breakage, all of which were shortlisted for the T S Eliot or Forward Prizes; his most recent volume is The Big Calls.  His 2012 essential guidebook On Poetry was critically acclaimed and is widely read; he is currently writing an expansion of it on Substack called Silly Games To Save The World.  He has taught writing at several major universities in the US, and is currently Head of Studies on the MA at the Poetry School in London.”

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE

Look no further than right now than Roger Robinson’s new series On Creativity, find it here


https://rogerrobinson6.gumroad.com/

#amreading about the line and line breaks in poetry and meter, the latter is almost an alien concept to me if I’m honest…

#amwriting or reworking a poem which attempts to decentre the human relation to nature or reassert our place as part of nature not above and beyond, something like that

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Autobio: My twisting, turning, long road to poetry

Autobio: My twisting, turning, long road to poetry

As I embark on an MA in Writing Poetry I’ve been reflecting on my road to poetry. It’s been a long, slow, twisting and sometimes torturous one. If you like it happened after a series of shifts. Though our house growing up was full of books, not one was a poetry book. Art in general was considered another country. Social science was scorned. 

I heard often, “Science is what you want if you want to get ahead,”” from my parents, and “Don’t do what we did,” was the only other advice I got from them. Dad working at the time as a clerk for British Rail, Mum as a short hand typist for the NHS. Poetry was not just another country, it was another continent and we couldn’t afford foreign holidays. 

Though I’d always scribbled, like many others I began writing poetry to save my life. I’d always wanted to write professionally,  when I told my mother at age 18 I wanted to write for the NME her reply was stark and forthright, “Yes, I imagine a lot of people do but you’re going to get a proper job. People like us don’t write.” 

And with that she drafted a letter, ordered me to copy it out and send it to all the chemical companies in the county. My A levels had been in Maths, Chemistry and Physics. My choice of English, History and Chemistry overridden my parental persuasion. 

Hence I got my first “proper job” at ICI in Welwyn Garden City. I held this position until a shaft of redundancies coincided with an UCCA application I’d made secretly, gaining a place at the University of East Anglia in the school of Chemistry. My choice of study reflecting the still blinkered vision of my possible future. 

University was both a challenge and revelation to me with a working class background. Within a few months a decided to change tack and was offered a place in the School of Development Studies on condition I finished the first year of my chemistry course and submitted an essay, to show I could write presumably. This was the first big shift. 

When I graduated I felt directionless and adrift, in hindsight experiencing PTSD following the death of a close friend in a fire in our shared house, a fire I felt irrationally responsible for. After some years of part time work waitressing, life modelling, oh and the chip shop I walked out of after the owner sleazed on me, I trained in Welfare Rights and was offered my second “proper job” in London at the Mary Ward Legal Centre. 

At the same time I joined the Open Door Writers Workshop, just up the road from my room in a shared flat in the notorious Barrier Block in Brixton. This was the next big shift I guess. I was the only women and the only white person in the workshop. The first evening I stumbled thru the door, hesitating at the entrance to the back room, looking around thinking is this some kind of men’s therapy group, said, “Oh, I came for the writing workshop have I got the wrong night?” The bookshop owner replied, “No, this is it, come in! Sit down!”

Learnt a lot about the legacy of slavery; how it abided in the blood of those around me, etched into their last names. I was introduced to the work of James Baldwin and others and politics of Malcolm X, began writing short stories after work using the office computer. Had one published in their first and only magazine before the bookshop closed down. Though despite their encouragement and acceptance I still had a sense “people like me” don’t write. 


Image by Re-photo http://re-photo.co.uk/?page_id=5

Fast forward a few years by which time I’d met the bohemian Brixton Poets, though I never joined their open mike, I yearned to, it orientated me, another shift. I decided to give up Welfare Rights to, “do something creative and sort out my health.” By this time, despite working and everything else, I had been suffering an unrelenting crippling fatigue for five years. But had no plan, no destination. Actually I did have a plan, to take a video course, but it fell through taking me with it. Rather than release me from this fatigue this leap in the dark plunged me into a desperate state of what I know now was anxiety and depression. 

All I remember is this: sitting in bed, in an attic room of a shared house, often after a night of fractured sleep, drenched in sweat, almost too weak to make it to the kitchen or bathroom, drowning in guilt and shame, often reading. I’d read anything I could get my hands on to try and avoid the churn of cortisol and adrenaline (presumably) that ran around my body leaving my nerves jangling and feeling me with dread, remorse, more guilt and shame.

Then I found Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. I identified with it… The description of the anguish of the protagonist seemed to put into words, vividly, what I was viscerally experiencing. I began to find words that described my pain and desperation. I found other words that challenged what I knew was unjust; insane and absurd; the potential for global nuclear suicide, The Poll Tax, the way our sexuality, the most intimate part of our lives, is distorted by societal values. 

The words came out not in sentences as such but fragmentary lines, proto poems, I thought, maybe. Around the same time I stumbled upon The Gateway Clinic offering free acupuncture and chi gong. Somewhat dramatically at first, collapsing to the floor sobbing mid session, it began to release buried feelings and I began to feel lighter. I like to say this is where I, unknowingly and accidentally, fell onto the path less traveled. Sometimes I’d sit in a Brockwell Park and just weep. And then the words would flow a little more easily. 

Only when I was introduced to someone as a poet (I’d never dared use this term) at the Gateway Clinic a few years on, did I really reach that other continent the next big shift. Andy Balcer, founder of Poets Know it, promptly invited me to perform at a benefit with them for The Landmark, a resource for people with HIV. They loved the raw, honest, painful truths in my words and I guess a poet was born. 


It turned out “people like us”, or rather people like me, were working class, damaged and a bit deranged. Male, female, trans, old and young; survivors of domestic violence, personal tragedy, battling mental health issues and, in Andy’s case, openly living with HIV. I performed with them for 10 years while also graduating to be the mc for Trulips founded by the blind poet Michelle Taylor. 

It wasn’t the end of my mental health challenges midway into that part of the journey following the immense stress of an ex partner turned psychotic, unhinged and stalkery, not too mention moving house three times… I experienced a manic episode and was diagnosed bipolar. A condition I’ve spent best part of nearly 30 years learning to manage while also learning to write for the stage and eventually the page.

Joining the influential writers collective Malika’s Poetry Kitchen, which I attended for 10 years was another important big shift. It kept me afloat and I began to learn the importance of craft and was introduced to poetic forms. Witnessing the success of others I began to see new paths ahead I had had no idea existed and could never have imagined.


I guess this course is another shift. I look forward to what follows. I guess if there is a message in this for others it’s to dream, dream big, have a plan! I’ve stumbled through life! Surround yourself with like minded souls who share your dreams and supportive friends. Collaborate and co-create. Take inspiration from others, above all believe in yourself, your work. I’m only just beginning to and I reckon the journey would have been a lot less tortuous had I been able to before.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: September 2023

Diary: September 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Am in the midst of a long overdue break however here’s a few pointers to the events in the poetry world this month. I’m going to be away for a while on a combined research trip/ yoga holiday hoping to return enthused, strong and rested before embarking on my MA in Writing Poetry at the Poetry School later in the month. 

OUT NOW

indiom by Daljit Nagra

Publisher: Faber & Faber


“Daljit Nagra’s mock epic scrutinises the legacies of Empire and issues such as power and status, casteism and colourism, mimicry and mockery. What is Britishness now? How can humour help us survive hardship? The result is a capacious ‘talkie’/poem/play of resistance and redress whose ludic structures defy boundaries: a story of intertextual and misplaced identities, gods and miracles, celluloid tragedy and blushing romantic desire amid an awkwardly rolling cricket ball and rioting poodles.”

COMING UP LONDON

An innovative youth event that asks 

Who is AI, what is AI, is AI a friend or an enemy?

Come down for a special Poetry Luv showcase as part of Science Gallery London’s current season AI: Who’s Looking After Me? Science Gallery, to January 20, 2024

New work created by the poets that was written as part of a short residency at Science Gallery London. During the residency, the spoken word artists met with AI researchers at King’s College London to debate topics ranging from how AI will affect our justice, healthcare and education systems, to questioning whether it’s possible to fix bias in AI.

The event will kick-off with Poetry Luv’s usual open-mic slot, before leading into the AI: Who’s Looking After Me? poems and discussion.

POETRY LUV is a poetry and spoken word platform for up and coming artists. @poetryluv

INDIGO YOUTH is a not for profit organisation set up to deliver projects for disadvantaged young people in Lambeth and neighbouring London Boroughs. Projects focus on music, creative arts, mentorship and enterprise. @indigoyouthltd

This collaboration is part of Science Gallery London’s Creative Project Grants programme for local 18 – 25s and King’s students.

FREE entry

Science Gallery London is a place to grow new ideas across art, science and health. It is King’s College London’s unique public space that brings together academics, researchers, students, artists and local communities. Science Gallery London presents exhibitions, events, performances, live experiments, open discussions and festivals.

EXHIBITION

A timely exhibition as we see fire and flood across Greece and beyond from Gideon Mendel, entitled Fire / Flood


© Gideon Mendel

Since 2007, award-winning South African photographer Gideon Mendel has been travelling around the world photographing the devastating impact of climate catastrophes, focusing on flooding and wildfires. Over the past 15 years, he’s made 20 trips to flooded areas, most recently spending time in Nigeria and Pakistan.

Mendel said: “My subjects… are showing the world the calamity that has befallen them. They are not victims in this exchange: the camera records their dignity and resilience. They bear witness to the brutal reality that the poorest people on the planet almost always suffer the most from climate change.” The Photographers’ Gallery, to September 30; thephotographersgallery.org.uk

NURTURING YOUR PRACTICE

From Poets for the Planet

Workshop Sunday 17th September 

Campaign Sunday 24th September 

All details in the link. 

http://poetsfortheplanet.org.uk/ecopoems-for-world-rivers-day/?fbclid=IwAR2G-YZHn82a3CqD-lh9zMmP0wTYJXXSjxahwQmEQ3kFM4Jmc5rx3EyZPHU_aem_AWEMaTaO2mBdctUWmaI-zRDVRfMCN6bLxNUlky6BTcHRrO_-G4CefXnvFl5s8xmqVYs

#StopTheSewage #ClimateEmergency #WorldRiversDay 

From the Poetry Society

Catch the last month of Feedback on your poems: Poetry 1-2-1 Sessions, July – September 2023 from the Poetry Society 

Saturday 1 July 2023, 8:00 am – Saturday 30 September 2023, 5:00 pm

£10.00 – £72.00

“A one-to-one feedback session with an established poet offers a relaxed but in-depth analysis of up to 150 lines of your poetry.

It’s a unique opportunity to identify strategies for further developing your writing, discuss problems you may be experiencing and look at strategies for taking your work forward. There will be plenty time to talk about all those things you need to know about writing, revising and submitting your work.

Most feedback sessions take place online. Now Covid restrictions have lifted, some poets are offering in-person sessions again. These have a £10 supplementary fee to cover poets’ travel time and costs. Maggie Sawkins offers in-person sessions in the Isle of Wight, Carole Bromley in central York, J C Niala in Oxford, Judy Brown in London and Alison Chisholm within a 25 mile radius of Stockport.

When you have booked a session, The Poetry Society will put you directly in touch with the poet to arrange a mutually convenient date, time and (if relevant) place. Please note that this will entail swapping your email address with the poet.” 

Details about poets running feedback sessions are here.

Please contact info@poetrysociety.org.uk with any queries.

A HEADS-UP 

This year’s National Poetry Day is on Thursday 5 October 2023. The theme for National Poetry Day 2023 is Refuge.

If you’re a teacher, inviting a poet into your school is one of the best ways to celebrate National Poetry Day. We’d love to find you the perfect poet for your students through our Poets in Schools service: make an enquiry today.

The Poetry Society’s Stanza competition, open to all Stanza members who are also members of The Poetry Society, is on the theme of ‘Refuge’ and the winners will be announced on National Poetry Day. The competition is judged by Gwyneth Lewis, and the deadline is Monday 4 September.

#amwriting about smoke and air

#amreading about wildfires and it’s not for the faint hearted believe me

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Quote: Julio Garcia Espinosa 

Quote: Julio Garcia Espinosa 

“Imperfect cinema can also be enjoyable, both for the maker and for its new audience. Those who struggle do not struggle on the edge of life, but in the midst of it. Struggle is life and vice versa. One does not stuggle in order to live ‘later on.’… And in life, as in the struggle, there is everything, including enjoyment.” 

Julio Garcia Espinosa 

Cuban film director and one of the cofounders of the Third Cinema Movement, author of For an imperfect cinema, translated by Julianne Burto

https://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC20folder/ImperfectCinema.html

Julio García Espinosa, wrote in 1969 one of the key manifestos of the New Latin American or Third Cinema. It was a polemic calling ‘For an Imperfect Cinema’, he argued that the imperfections of a low budget cinema, created in conditions of urgency, sought to create a dialogue with its audience, preferable to the movies made with high production values in contemporary cinema which merely reflected the audience passively back to themselves.

Third Cinema emerged in the late 1960s and early 1970s addressing the role of cinema in developing countries. Rather than reproducing the “First cinema” of commercial filmmaking or the “Second cinema of European art movements filmmakers from Africa, Latin America, and other parts of Asia argued for a “Third World” of revolutionary artistic practice. 

As a result Third Cinema is particularly associated with filmmakers in Latin America, though it’s influence is far wider, who used film to both document realities of social and political injustice and participate in struggles for liberation.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: August 2023

Diary: August 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

The plan is to have a LONG BREAK once I get a bit of admin out of the way and keeping this short and sweet. So August traditionally, in the U.K. at least, is when the poetry scene goes to sleep for a bit. Does this happen where you are? Gives me a chance to do some DIY, more accurately DIWALHFVAF or do it with a little help from a friend, in this case one of my neighbours, as there are bookcases to shuffle around, yeah that! 

Though cleaning up the bomb site that has evolved after eight months without a proper break is all down to me. Ok, hyperbole! I exaggerate! And hopefully will see friends, get away with luck. So how are your summers going? Mine has been the collision of really sucky weather, the jet stream dipping again apparently, a climate change phenomenon I’ve gone into previously, and raining inside my heart. Sorry for sucky song lyric.

Have been writing though, it it just flows and flows. A recent encounter seems to have effected my practice, process, health, and soul in a very good way. Over the last couple of months been writing love stuff, actually it’s more about love, work, family, relationship, communication, miscommunication and mental health at a time of huge precarity and uncertainty, the cost of living crisis, the climate emergency and all the rest. 

I’m not sure if the new poems are to fill in what was missing in the collection in progress (it’s taken me two years to admit there’s a collection in progress) or a new collection, there a lot of editing required but I’ve got two years under the tutelage of Glyn Maxwell and Meryl Pugh to look forward to. 

The XR Rebel Library launch party was a huge success, no hitches, no glitches, when we started, confessed we were all nervous but excited, after we were all saying, can’t believe it went so smooth! 

Guest readers Ben Okri and Laline Paull were enchanting, other guests generous with their library recommendations. Liz Jensen, co-founder of XR Writers Rebel, reiterated, “We are building a community.”

We don’t seem to have a recoding of the launch it included a section on guest recommendations. You can make your recommendations to the library too. We’re always looking for contributors to our growing collection of literature to explain and explore the climate and biodiversity emergency.

If you’re a writer or poet and would like to share your work or ideas, get in touch! Contact mattroselibrary@gmail.com for prose or poetsrebelxr@gmail.com for poetry.

We raised a glass to the library and to Iggy Fox who inspired the library, a wildlife biologist and Extinction Rebellion activist who died so tragically young. The library is dedicated to his memory. 

Anyway here are shots of Laline Paull from Adrian Peacock, who read from her novel Pod, and Ben Okri, who spoke and read and illuminated. Image from @sarahmears10 in twitter quoting Ben saying “stories can capture the sunlight of the truth of the human condition.” The phrase that I will carry in my heart forever from Ben is, “a waterfall is gods tears” from a poem I believe. 



Link to the library here https://rebellibrary.com

On another tack, if you want check out and sign this Authors Guild open letter calling for “consent, credit and fair compensation for all historic and future uses of copyright materials in the training of AI systems.”

<link href=’https://actionnetwork.org/css/style-embed-v3.css&#8217; rel=’stylesheet’ type  

So I will resume full diary posts in September with notes on what’s coming up and out now and looking to interview other writers on their practice, process and influences. That kind of thing. If you think that’s you drop me a line via the blog with a brief bio and a line or two on why you write. 

If appropriate happy holidays! And if not stay strong we have a new world to build and this earth to save from the fires, floods and droughts, my heart goes out to Sudan and all the other places on this blue, green, golden planet where people struggle with war and dictatorship while at the front line of the climate emergency.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: Technology, turbulence and tomorrows.

Comment: Technology, turbulence and tomorrows.

I wonder if you remember the Tomorrow People or Tomorrow’s World? Both broadcast by the BBC in the 1970’s. The former depicted a shiny possible space future with psychic characters who battled evil, some I seem to remember with pink or blue hair. The latter focused on technologies in development. I was always somewhat disappointed when at the end of each feature the presenter would say, “So in a few years time…” I wanted it all right now. I was after all a child.

Recently someone at XR Writers Rebel said, “The emissions of today with determine the climate of tomorrow.” I guess one could also say the technologies we adopt now will too determine the climate of tomorrow. 

Around that time I also read that the first floating wind farm in Italy is in the pipeline, so to speak, a Sicilian project. Though it’s taken time and won’t be ready for some years. See

https://www.rechargenews.com/wind/first-floating-wind-farm-off-italy-in-four-to-five-years-as-sicily-project-raises-sails/2-1-830005

Read elsewhere the Siliciam Mafia tried to get a hand in on this technology in 2010. It begs the question who owns these technologies? If the private sector invest what happens if the banks have another wobble? If government invests what if a new regime steps it and cancels it all? 

The emissions of today will also determine the growing turbulence of weather conditions we are witnessing in Europe this summer and last few summers. From a Eurocentric/ U.K. point of view,  too hot in June to August in Europe breaking records, too cool in July and August this year in the U.K. with the jet stream dipping again and low pressure. 

What do I mean by turbulence? Turn the tap on a bit see it flow smoothly, turn it too the max see the flow becomes chaotic. A better analogy would be someone turning it on and off at random. Maybe an even better example would be watch a pan of water heating up. A little heat and it will heat to simmer, more the bubbles get bigger, movement becomes agitated, it might boil over or boil dry if you are not careful. Climate change gives us both drought and flooding. 

Our movements are growing, they are globally connected, but movements rarely have much cash, money, money, money to invest in technology. At the risk of sounding like Teresa May figure we need at least ethical investment that is strong and stable and ultimately system change. 

The issue there is, as it always has been, as Engels put it, the “special bodies of armed men”. And now with surveillance technology that wouldn’t be out of place in Black Mirror I don’t pin my hopes on an uprising unless the banks and the rest have already gone down. Then it might be, as in Czechoslovakia 1989, velvet. 

Listened to Profile on Radio 4 recently focusing on the boss of Ecotricity, portrayed as a somewhat eccentric, neurodivergent trailblazer, an innovator, a grafter, now a millionaire. So he’s doing alright out of it! How much is invested back I wonder? 

At least, I like to think, we (humanity) are no longer the unknowing veritable frog in a beaker of water. It goes like this: drop a frog into boiling water it will jump out, drop it into cool water and heat slowing it will boil to death. Or are we? 

Either way I figure we can all do our bit. We can’t all drape the prime ministers home in black fabric, leading to the hysterical headlines, well done Greenpeace for that.


Further comment here https://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-12371089/DAILY-MAIL-COMMENT-Targeting-families-private-homes-elected-politicians-unacceptable-criminals-ladders-walls-Rishi-Sunaks-home-subject-force-law.html

We can’t all be involved in arrestable actions, even XR recognise that, however we can all make a difference and it will take all of us to build a new world out of the ashes of the old.

And while the climate emergency is not in the future, but now, let’s not lose sight that what we do now effects tomorrow. We have a sobering choice to create a liveable future or not. Is a huge responsibility and, I feel, a huge honour to be alive at this time, to face this challenge.

And we will, I believe, with the right kind of sustained action, ingenuity, imagination and a lot of hard work, collectively, become the Phoenix, who rose from the ashes in mythology, whose qualities as a spirit animal include resilience, passion, determination, compassion and perhaps, above all, forgiveness. Be the Phoenix, not the frog!

Apologies wordpress won’t add hyperlinks right now…


A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: July 2023

Diary: July 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Well the last month has been a bit of a ride. My poetry news first, a contemplation, scroll down for poetry community news and updates. 

I’ve received confirmation of an MA place at the Poetry School/ Newcastle Uni. I will be London based. I received this in a state of unnatural calm for someone who is bipolar. That said this has led to a scramble for funding as it transpires though I thought I’d made an application for a scholarship, that nugget of information was lost and had to very swiftly write a statement to the effect of why me? Fortunately I was in flow and it didn’t take long. 

Now waiting on that and exploring funding streams. Waiting for some sign regarding a matter of the heart has been more difficult than waiting for this but poetry is flowing as has been the fizz with a few birthdays in my Brixton family.

Proud me!

I’ve been contemplating love, communication and the difficulties of making and maintaining relationships in this uncertain time, there are so many pressures on people and in the whole history of humankind the future has rarely been this uncertain. The Cuban Missile Crisis maybe. My mother told me about that though she never said, all that fear and I had just had you. She must have wondered what sort of world she was bringing me into. 

This is especially difficult for people who are traumatised and after all we are all traumatised in some way in this world, generationally, genealogically and some of us personally. I recall the words of Andy Balcer aka the Poet Poke it aka Vader ink, may he rest in peace, when I was relating to him a development in a particularly difficult relationship he was well aware of he said, “Well we’re all twisted darling!” This lightened the mood though had I had more wits and wisdom I might have said, “Well some are more twisted than others, where do you draw the line?” The line was drawn eventually, believe me!

On Cressingham Gardens we’ve had a busy time with a benefit gig and a Teddy Bears Picnic for the little ones. Plans in the pipeline for more events and gatherings. I hope Lambeth Council/Homes for Lambeth are getting the message that we will not back down, we will not let up, we are united as a community against  the insane, absurd and obscene plan to demolish an award winning council estate. It’s been 11 years of holding our ground and we are still here. 


Soooooo what’s going on besides. I feel it’s the last month before the big poetry world slow down, on this side of the pond at least. 

COMING UP

Sunday, 23th July

See a collection launch from Lucy Ingrams, Laura Theis, Jane Wilkinson

Eventbrite invite here

Same evening sees another event from Red Door Poets online at 6.00 – 6.45pm Opening the Door to Julia Webb

“Katie Griffiths will be interviewing Julia Webb

about what inspires her, what sustains her, what tools and resources she uses, and what brought her to poetry in the first place.”

 Tickets are free, register on Eventbrite here

RED DOOR POETS – Opening the Door to…Julia Webb Tickets, Sun 23 Jul 2023 at 18:00 | Eventbrite

Tuesday 25th July 7.00pm BST sees, drum roll…

the virtual launch of the Writers Rebel Rebel Library. I’m new to this team but it’s been a pleasure to work with such warm hearted, like minded people. It will include introduction to this valuable resource, an introduction to the team, with special guests Ben Okri and Laline Paull.

Eventbrite link here https://www.eventbrite.com/e/rebel-library-launch-party-tickets-675972681487?aff=oddtdtcreator

I will be cohosting with founder Liz Jensen 

OUT NOW 

Velvel’s Violin by Jacqueline Saphra


See https://www.jacquelinesaphra.com/

#amwriting about love, scallops, and angels keep popping up

#amreading about how trees talk 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Matter Poetry: The Way of Water

Matter Poetry: The Way of Water


In the Five Element theory of the Tao water is a yin element other correspondences are; darkness, the moon, winter, gentleness, coolness, softness, the night, yielding and passivity. (Passively without negative connotations, more akin to stillness.)

We live in a world of yin deficit. Yin and Yang are not balanced. Yang is a fire element other correspondences are; light, the sun, summer, fierceness, heat, hardness, the day, activity and strength.

There is strength too in the yin element. Water wears down rocks, carves out river beds, can undermine cliffs until they fall. Water too, like fire, can destroy. 

I think what this work is saying is let go of the stones that lodge in the heart, the hardness we hold in our bodies, embrace the yin elements, recognise our true nature is softness as much as hardness.

I suggest our purpose as humans is, in the process of rising to a more enlightened perspective and experience, is to unite the yin and yang elements; in ourselves, in relationship, in our world, in life and in the struggle as the struggle is, after all, part of life not aside from it.

I figure process is the key word here, not enlightenment as lightning strike, unless you are Ram Dass who famously wrote, “Be here now.” It’s a series of small incremental moments that become less and less fleeting with practice.

Every time we hold back from taking out our anger, every time we realise our vision has been clouded by the past; everytime we realise the wounds in our shadow have effected our perspective of events and behaviour toward another. And I could write a book about that believe me.

Every time we are able to genuinely say, “yeah, my bad.” Every time we are able to challenge another rather than judge, blame, shame or ghost them. I believe this awareness is realisation or enlightenment. Much of this I reckon, also requires yielding, a yin quality, to the higher self, the universe or God if you like. The Yang quality of that relationship is, I guess, acting with love in your heart, hence co-creating with god.

I figure it’s the foundation to see the world as it truly is. To see the true nature of reality, the true nature of ourselves and others, to eventually experience non-duality (which I’m still clueless about to be honest.) It takes practice that’s why I guess we call it practice.

The practice is mindfulness, not in the sense of the NHS proscribed CBT or worse monetarised Wellness industry but sitting in stillness and silence, or absorption in an arts practice or a manual trade. And that’s where people that repair, mend, build, have the advantage over academics who live in their heads.

I met a mountain climber in Rome who told me when he was in the process of a steep, dangerous climb, just about to reach the summit he would feel shivers even when sweating and the sun beating down. His eyes held a look of awe and wonder as he said this.

I’d asked him what he liked about climbing. It struck me that’s what I feel in deep meditation. I figure it’s the result of that single minded focus; one hand hold, one foot hold, after another enough, coupled perhaps with the awe of the view enough to bring one to a heightened state.

It’s not easy, to be present, to just be, none of this is easy, in my experience. We’re all on the path but some of us just don’t know it yet. Being conscious that the path is your path heightens the process for sure. I believe, paraphrasing Martin Luther King Jnr, at the end of his speech “I have a dream” we will all reach the mountain tops, someday.


+Not a permanent installation as I don’t have a spare bathtub, mores the pity!+

Materials wool, glass, metal. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: June 2023

Diary: June 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Some thoughts on the present time then poetry news follows… Have had a month rocked by waves I don’t really understand. I’ve come to this conclusion; minds want to meet, the body yearns for touch, the heart wants to love, the soul wants to connect. This is true intimacy I guess. When faced with this potential or just the hint of it, it’s hard not to run for the hills. For me in any case. Genuine intimacy is scary. Easier to avoid, sabotage, resist. We’ll see what part in me wins, the wounded child, the fearless young adult, the wounded adult or perhaps a more mature being that is still finding its feet. 

I wonder that the earth itself is rocking us with the tremendous uncertainty we all face at this time. Reports suggest a dire situation with regard to polar ice while the smoke from wildfires in Canada reaches all the way down to Florida. Here in June in the U.K. temperatures bounced from 16 degrees Centigrade to 32 in ten days. This is not normal, I thoroughly resist the phrase “new normal”, by the way. Time to pray for the crops, biodiversity and natural carbon sinks, time to reuse, recycle, repair, reclaim and rebel! 

I wonder that the reluctance to fully embrace the reality of the climate emergency, which we all do on some level, I know I do, is also a factor of avoiding our intimate connection with the earth itself, our vulnerability in the face of that fact. As unevolved humans we seek control over the earth, we think somehow we are separate from nature not part of it. 

Perhaps it’s the avoidance of the deep contradiction that if we become fully human; connect with what I’ve heard described as our Christ consciousness or Buddha nature, all that we can be, it means recognising our mightiness yet simultaneously our smallness in the sight of everything, surrendering with awe and humility to the wonder of nature. I’ll leave it there as I’ve not fully thought it through yet. 

OUT NOW

Having struggled with my mental health most of my adult life and navigated much loss and pain am very much looking forward to reading this Define Hope by Evrah Rose Verve Poetry Press


“Define Hope is an intimate glimpse into the journey and thought process of a poet navigating debilitating chronic ill health, grief, loss and pain. From the darkness of losing faith, the bitterness of grieving her former self to the light she often found during her most trying times. Define Hope is a reflection of the extremes of emotion we each face – the exhausting and unpredictable shifts of anger, hopelessness and sadness and their relationship to our mental health and self belief. Evrah exposes herself and her conflict with the world in an unflinching look into her life since her last release.”

COMING UP 

Flaming Poetry!


An eco-poetry workshop among Poets for the Planet on the theme of fire.

Bring a prompt and your fiery imagination: Saturday 8 July 2023 on Zoom at 10am UK time. This is part of a series of workshops exploring the elements, beginning with fire.

More more details tbc soon but in the meantime, keep an eye out for updates on the Facebook page and website and register your interest by email poetsfortheplanet@gmail.com

Coming up online on Sunday 25th June, 6-7pm  –  Red Door Poets Mary Mulholland, Chris Hardy & Lesley Sharpe will be reading with special guests Clare Shaw, Gareth Writer-Davies & Dave Wakely. Tickets free on eventbrite 


This also grabbed my interest; Illusionaries Presents: Memories of a Dead Poet, directed and animated by resident artist Arash Irandoust, June 22nd to September 24th


Tickets are on sale at www.illusionaries.com

“Immerse yourself in the first-of-its-kind, story-based immersive art experience in London, where a mind-bending fusion of art and technology promises to redefine your perception of reality.

Embark on a captivating 40-minute journey through a triptych of multisensory immersion spectacles, meticulously crafted to engage your senses and challenge your intellect.

Arash Irandoust is far from your typical artist. A storyteller who views art through a philosophical lens, he defies societal norms with his creations. His art establishes a deep connection with the inner self, eliciting emotions that go beyond intellectual comprehension.”

#amwriting or rather rewriting and reworking poems addressing the climate emergency and the devastation in vulnerable areas of our home, the earth

#amreading Dear Life: an emerging young writer’s anthology 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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On writing: John McCullough

On writing: John McCullough

“Big poetry tip: make a private anthology. Look for poems you want to learn from, ones that do things you’d like to be able to do in your writing but can’t yet. Re-read each phrase as you’re typing and feel the language pass through you. Make notes on the effects of techniques and line/stanza structures, how they conjure up emotion. This kind of reading puts tools in your toolbox, providing your brain with new strategies both for creating work but also for solving problems later when you turn to editing.”

John McCullough

I really like this idea from one of my favourite poets. Especially the idea of typing out the poems rather than just cutting and pasting. I’d suggest in addition, in a separate document, try playing with the line breaks and/or stanza breaks and see what happens.

John’s work includes Reckless Paper Birds 2019, Winner of the 2020 Hawthornden Prize and Shortlisted for the 2019 Costa Poetry Award, Spacecraft, 2016, Shortlisted for the Ledbury Forte Poetry Prize, Guardian Best Books for Summer 2016 and Longlisted for the Green Carnation Prize and most recently, Panic Response 2022, which I adore and imagine will receive similar accolades.


“John McCullough has a reputation for crafting lyric poems of the everyday with a surreal twist.
– Ben Wilkinson, The Guardian –

More info here

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: May 2023

Diary: May 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Finally getting some down time! Well, that was after two weeks of playing catch up with a poetry admin backlog! So not much to say though my garden is blooming and I can report I got along to the XR Writers Rebel and Poets for the Planet “peoples picket” at 55 Tufton Street at the end of last month.

The sun came out after a burst of torrential rain, I’d say there was perhaps a few hundreds of people there and our love and rage in the air. Here is Zadie Smith on why we were there

Full transcript here

OUT NOW

Catch Me When I Fall: Poems of Mother Loss and Healing by Donna Stoneham

“A moving collection of poems and letters, this collection tells the story of grief, healing, and love between an adult daughter and her elderly mother. Four years of conversations are chronicled in this collection to contextualize the author’s grief after the loss of her mother. This transformational and transcendent collection shows the power of love and relationships to help us transform into our authentic selves.”

COMING UP 

Monday 5th June 7.00pm 

The Social, 5 Little Portland Street, London, W1W 7JD

The second Scarlett Sabet Curates event featuring Salena Godden, Safiya Kamaria Kinshasa, Yomi Ṣode, Oakley Flanagan, Rishi Dastidar and Scarlett herself.

Doors open 7.00pm with readings commencing at 7.30. Pamphlets and publications from the performing poets will be available to purchase on the night. The Social welcomes anyone who may have accessibility needs, however they are unfortunately unable to host wheelchairs users in the downstairs venue space.

#amreading The Thirteenth Angel by Philip Gross and Say it With Me by Vanessa Lampert

#amwriting lists, plans, spider diagrams, excel sheet of plausible poems 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Writing Prompt: Shigir Idol

Writing Prompt: Shigir Idol

Below is the face of the Shigir Idol, it is considered to be the world’s oldest wooden sculpture, older than the Great Pyramids of Giza. It’s on display at the Sverdlovsk Regional Museum of Local Lore in Russia.

It is named after the Shigir peat bog where it was found in the Ural Mountains in Russia in 1890. It was estimated the idol was made about 11,500 years ago, as reported here in the journal Antiquity in 2018. Now it’s believed it may be even older. Possibly as old as 12 100 years old. 

The people who created it would have before the Quaternary extinction event 10,000 years ago, when ice age species such as woolly rhinos went extinct. By comparison Stonehenge is about 5000 year old and the  Great Pyramid of Giza 4500 years old.


Use the image as a prompt. Freewrite from the point of view of the Shigir Idol. Consider things like what he/she/they have witnessed, what the idol makes of the world today or what thought of its makers. Since so little is really known you can take this whoever you like. 

Set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes, stick to whichever you choose and freewrite from the point of view of the idol. 

Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones 

  • Keep your hand moving, don’t stop or cross out
  • Don’t worry about spelling or grammar. 
  • Don’t think, just write
  • Go for the Jugular.
  • Follow the words, just see what comes. 

When you have finished consider what you have just made. Is it is enough as an exercise or does it feel it needs development? Does it welcome a form? 

If you feel drawn to it rework your draft. Play with your words until you find a form of words that satisfies you. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: April 2023

Diary: April 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

At the end of this month I’m off to a writing retreat in Wales organised by The Writing School called Journey to the Centre of the Poem with poet Vanessa Lambert. Very much looking forward to this. I’m hoping it will help with that tricky question of what is the poem doing? Hannah Lowe referred to this as “finding the nub of a poem,” in this interesting article.

I’ve booked the trains, now the dilemma is what to pack? Tee-shirts and shades or umbrella and woolies. A very British problem at all times, the only answer is both, though right now this situation is exacerbated by an inclement weather system produced by, you’ve guessed it, climate change.  Some poetry news follows but first a reflection on this phenomenon.

This time three years ago I was sitting outside my flat reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep in balmy Mediterranean temperatures that whole month. I can’t help think of the contrast with this year where temperatures struggle to limp above ten degrees, feeling like six with the wind chill factor.

It’s all down to the Polar Jet Stream I hear, fast moving air currents at high altitude which form at the boundary of two different air masses. To the north cold polar air, to the south warm tropical air. By is very nature it fluctuates, it meanders, but this much? According to this article this is a direct consequence of climate change. 

“Even a slight change in the “waviness” of the polar or the subtropical jet stream can lead to dramatic weather changes in mid-latitude regions, from northern California to Moscow… In the past 30 years, scientists have observed an intensification of the waves, coinciding with increased global warming. More waviness in the jet stream means that rain and wind remain in a region longer than if the jet stream simply traveled due east with no detours.”

So there you have it. Thirty years of research yet still the deniers clamour.

The Jet Steam 15th April 2023


COMING UP

Friday 21st April 12.00-2.00pm

Poets for the Planet will be joining Writers Rebel on the first day of XR’s four days of mass non-violent protest organised by XR in partnership with more than 70 other organisations including Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth. 

We will holding a picket outside “the home of fossil fuel dark money”, the home of lobbyists and think tanks linked to climate denial, at 55 Tufton Street with speeches from Rupert Read, Juliet Stevenson, Jay Griffiths, Baroness Rosie Boycott and other leading campaigning writers and poetry readings.

The day itself is part of the People’s Picket happening across London by XR, as part of The Big One. XR are picketing numerous government offices along with Tufton Street that day. Writers Rebel won’t be the only group picketing Tufton Street. We will be joined by a 200 strong samba band XR Rhythms, The Dirty Scrubbers, XR Merseyside, XR Plymouth, XR Buddhists and other groups.

Thursday 27th Apr 7.00- 8.30pm 

The Auditorium (Level 6) at Foyles, 107 Charing Cross Road, London WC2 0DT hosts the launch of Neptune’s Projects by Rishi Dastidar.

Rishi will be joined in a conversation through their work by fellow poets Jessica Mookherjee and Tania Hershman for an evening of maritime-themed poetry. More info here.

Neptune’s Projects is published by Nine Arches Press who write, “What do you do when you are a god – but powerless to prevent one of your favourite species from their insatiable, accelerating death wish? Such is the dilemma that underpins Rishi Dastidar’s third poetry collection, Neptune’s Project, a reshaping of mythology for the climate crisis era.”

“There has always been an intersection between poetry and the natural world. Now here comes Rishi Dastidar’s Neptune to add wit, postmodern panache and mythic irony to the tradition of the open sea. A richly rewarding read.”

– Roger Robinson

£14 Book and Ticket, inc. a copy of Neptune’s Projects (RRP £10.99) / £8 General Admission

#amwriting Have discovered the Japanese form Zuihitsu just days after coming across an old draft of of poem which approximates that form so playing with that. 

#amreading What Poets Used to Know: Poetics § Mythopoesis § Metaphysics by Charles Upton

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Poetry by Others: Linton Kwesi Johnson

Poetry by Others: Linton Kwesi Johnson

Time Come: Selected Prose by Linton Kwesi Johnson is out now, published by Pan MacMillan and he is appearing in Conversation in Liverpool on the 9th May and at Brixton Library on the 17th May. His influence of British cultural life is inestimable. ““Recognized as one of the great poets of modern times, and as a deeply respected and influential political and cultural activist and social critic, Linton Kwesi Johnson…” Pan McMillian

I’m filing this under Poetry by Others as Linton Kwesi Johnson is best known for his dub poetry. The title of this collection of prose comes from his poem Time Come on the album Forces of Victory released in 1979, a defiant lament with these last three stanzas:

“It soon come/ It soon come/ Is de shadow walkin behind yu/ Is I stannup rite before yu/  Look out! 

But it too late now/ I did warn yu/ When yu fling mi inna prison/ I did warn yu/ When yu kill Oluwale/ I did warn yu/ When yu beat Joshua Francis

I did warn yu/ When yu pick pan de Panthers/ I did warn yu/ When yu jack mi up gainst de wall/ Ha didnt bawl/ But I did warn yu”

Time Come: Selected Prose is collection of essays and lectures, book and record reviews, published in newspapers and magazines, and includes obituaries and speeches selected by Linton Kwesi Johnson brought together for the first time.

I can’t help thinking how absolutely relevant are those two words, “Time Come” now as then in the context of the multiple crises the whole world faces right now, in my opinion, multiple opportunities for us to connect and change this world. Linton Kwesi Johnson is and was always relevant with words that cut sharp, cut thru.

“Written over many decades, it is a body of work that draws creatively and critically on Johnson’s own Jamaican roots and on Caribbean history to explore the politics of race that continue to inform the Black British experience. Ranging from reflections on the place of music in Caribbean and Black British culture as a creative, defiant response to oppression, to his penetrating appraisals of music and literature, and including warm tributes paid to the activists and artists who inspired him to find his own voice as a poet and compelled him to contribute to the struggle for racial equality and social justice.” 


I also can’t help reflecting on a personal memories; the privilege of seeing LKJ live and how in the early days of punk a bunch of us decided what our sterile home town, the New Town of Stevenage, needed was a bit of graffiti. We had previously re-enacted the cover of the first Damned album, (so that would most likely make it 1977, would make me 15.) The boys up against a wall, faces covered with cream. I took the photo. Graffiti was the logical next step. 

So we set off down to the alley that led out of Peartree Park, a secluded space with a huge white wall at the end of a terrace, with our cans of spray paint and up went the words; The Clash, The Damned, U.K. Subs, Sham 69 and The Jam. Someone added at the centre the word BRIXTON and LKJ. I have a photo of this some place. 

I seem to remember asking, who’s Brixton? What’s LKJ? Someone, pretty sure it was Donald, (not his real name, who I was more than a bit in love with) said, “Punk rock init!” At that time that expression, used like that, conveyed; good, admirable, to be respected, though at the time I was none the wiser. 

Back then Stevenage New Town was almost entirely white and exclusively working class. It was The Clash that led us to dub and reggae though we were unaware of the intellectual and cultural forces rising at this fervent and formenting time.

It was the same year The Anti Nazi League and Rock Against Racism were launched bringing together dub poets including Linton Kwesi Johnson, bands such as Misty in Roots and Steel Pulse with punk bands. We wouldn’t get to discover that for another year when gigs began in the next town of Hitchin.

Time Come: Selected Prose opens with an essay called Jamaican Rebel Music which appeared in Race and Class in 1976. In this essay Linton Kwesi Johnson describes how Jamaican music “embodies the historical experience of the Jamaican masses”. And yet it transcended that, not only to appeal to the Black British experience but to white subcultures and our little provincial town. 

A few years later circa ‘79 in a punk squat in Islington I’d finally got to hear Linton Kwesi Johnson and other dub artists. It reminds me how punk, dub and reggae entwined at that time in a defiant call of resistance to what was a country riddled with racism and sexism, (just watch 1970’s sit-coms to get a flavour of that).

It was a time plagued with the rise of the right in the form of the National Front and the beginning of austerity under a Labour government, who had gone cap in hand to the International Monetary Fund and subsequently with inflation at 20% imposed a 5% pay offer on public sector workers leading to the winter of discontent. I guess in this context we felt defacing a hidden wall was small beef. 

When I moved to London never expected to end up living in Brixton, I had my sights set on Islington or Notting Hill, never imagined working literally next door, at Brixton Advice Centre, to the former offices of the Race Today Collective established by Darcus Howe, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Leila Hassan, Jean Ambrose and others. As if those words on the wall were prophetic. Can’t wait to read this book. 

In a review in the Guardian Colin Grant writes, “LKJ recalls that, aged 11, he left Jamaica for England armed with proverbs, hymns, folk songs and the sounds of mento and ska. When giving voice to his experience, he drew on the deep well of his Caribbean education, constructing verse that became “a weapon in the black liberation struggle”, making each gig a call to arms… Given the neglect of the “sufferahs” in our society and the shameful assault on refugees, the grace and power of LKJ’s writing are as necessary as ever.”

Absolutely. 

See the full review here 

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/apr/09/time-come-by-linton-kwesi-johnson-review-50-years-of-rhyme-and-rage

Tributes

‘Sharp and still relevant’ – Zadie Smith
‘A mosaic of wise, urgent and moving pieces’ – Kit de Waal

‘A book to be savoured and re-read’ – Derek Owusu
‘An outstanding collection’ – Caryl Phillips


‘A necessary book from a writer who continues to inspire’ – Yomi Sode
‘Incisive, engaging, fearless’ – Gary Younge

Time Come: Selected Prose is available from Rough Trade Records and all major bookshops. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: March 2023

Diary: March 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Apparently there’s an anonymous saying in the U.K. “When March comes in like a lion it goes out like a lamb.” Feels to me like it came in like a lamb so what does that mean for us? The Cressingham crocuses, see February diary post, have all but shrivelled up. In this time between winter and spring, with the the push and pull of seasons, like a tug of war of the gods, it feels some days like winter is winning. 

Do we feel it and respond? I reckon we do. Today was the first day since forever I woke feeling fresh and energised in contrast to (according the new mental health monitoring system: making notes of waking state) “aching all over”, “slept baaaaad,” “in groggsville!” or “mood on the floor” and “brain fog til 5pm”

Yet then I notice the “bad days” are less frequent than I thought and actually what I thought was just bouncing off the bottom for months is more like a gradual bumpety, bumpety rise; so don’t be wondering if it’s time to call in the mental health team. Though I am a week late with this…

March the 8th was of course international women’s day, always an uplifting moment. I made this. It might make its was into insta if I can find the time and energy because in all seriousness the last few months have been a struggle. Not sure what this is? Collage? Montage? Visual poem? You decide.

That evening pulled on big boots, new latex black kecks and a frock and attended Dis-Ordered Minds with marvellous readings from Sue Johns and Sara Levy. It took place just up the road in Camberwell. T’was a night when wind whipped umbrellas inside out and the rain pooled in the gutters but there was a full house. A tribute to the talent of these writers’ who presented work from their MA Writing Poetry portfolios.


Sooooo what else is coming up in my poetry world this month? Actually more like this week as I feel woefully behind with everything. A quick round up. 

Tuesday 21st March Corrupted Poetry launch their anthology of visual verse Living With Other People 7.00pm at Chener Books 7.00- 9.00pm 14 Lordship Lane London SE22

Wednesday 22nd March Loose Muse returns —for one night only— featuring: Agnes Meadows, Sue Johns, Joolz Sparkes, Hilaire, Racheal Joseph and Charlotte Ansell at The Sun, 21 Drury Lane, Covent Garden WC2 7.00- 10.00pm

If that’s not enough excitement…

Saturday 25th March Poets for the Planet hold Candle Write for Earth Hour at 8.30-9.30pm and warmly invite you to take part by writing an ecopoem by candlelight during Earth Hour. There are prompts on the website and a series of short workshops between 8.00pm and 8.30pm, with each workshop followed by an hour of writing by candlelight. Register for workshops on the website. 

More info here:


Earth Hour is a global event organised by the World Wildlife Fund. They are calling on people do anything for the planet during this hour. They write, “Earth Hour is your time to switch off from distractions and focus on our world… to reset, recharge and re-evaluate how we can continue standing up for our world every day.” We can all be part of this. More info here: https://www.wwf.org.uk/earth-hour

Events are taking place across the world from China to Bolivia, here’s the list: https://www.earthhour.org/take-part/events


#amwriting some pretty dark stuff based on childhood memories, it’s less writing as therapy as writing to create a healthy detachment and acceptance 

#amreading a whole bunch of poetry collections most recently The Room Between Us by Denise Saul and No more Fairy Tales: stories to save our planet – an anthology from Habitat Press edited by D.A. Baden

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: Peace in our times?

Comment: Peace in our times?

As the one year anniversary of the Russian invasion of Ukraine comes around another anniversary has slipped by unremarked. Twenty years ago on 15th February 2003 the biggest peace actions in human history took place across the world. A coordinated day of protests was held in more than 600 cities expressing opposition to the imminent Iraq War. 

That day has been described by Stefan Walgrave and Dieter Rucht, as “the largest protest event in human history” in The World Says No to War: Demonstrations against the War on Iraq Social Movements, Protest, and Contention. It was depicted in the film We Are Many, a documentary. 

It was estimated, by the French academic Dominique Reynié, between 3 January and 12 April 2003, 36 million people across the globe took part in almost 3,000 anti‑war protests, the demonstrations on 15 February 2003 being the largest.

Of course numbers don’t capture the mood. The most memorable moment for me was when we were stuck on Waterloo Bridge, the sun was high and bright. The air was crisp. The march had come to a staggering halt as so many were trying to get across. 

Behind me I noticed a tall guy with thick dark hair that fell to this shoulders waving his arms about saying, “I’m talking to Athens,” then reeling off the number of people there. Around him others followed suit. “I’ve got Paris… Budapest… Istanbul…

I rang a friend in Barcelona, he wasn’t particularly ”political” but I thought it was worth a try. He sounded like he was almost in tears saying, “Estoy en una marcha. Es enorme!” – I’m on a march. It’s huge! By this point I’m almost in tears. Those feelings of jubilation, of solidarity that rise when we meet in defiance, hope and solidarity, shared across the world in real time. 

Eventually we were moving again. I’m pretty sure I saw just about everyone I knew that day on the streets of London at one point or another. I don’t even really remember Hyde Park to be honest as we spread out over the flattened muddy grass. 


Many people felt dissolutioned when the war began and I understand that but I think it’s worth remembering many of those people were transformed and didn’t go away but took part in a myriad of global protests against the G8, the G20, the WTO and began other campaigns large and small. 

I reference one of these that same year in a short story called Indian Summer about my mother, our relationship, her death which took place a year later.

“My book abandoned I read in The Observer that in Cancun, Mexico in the blazing heat Lee Kyung-hae, a young man from South Korea plunged a knife into his heart during a protest at the World Trade Organisation. It’s reported that other protesters make a shrine between two concrete blocks at the feet of the riot police; the so called ring of steel that keeps sanity out of the building. It doesn’t work, the talks break down. 

Back in his home town the tenant farmers of Jangsu come to pay their last respects bearing sticks of incense, the walls of his house are decked in yellow and white flowers sent from agricultural associations, Korean War veterans and old school friends, among them a message of condolence from the prime minister and a banner that reads, “Stop WTO agriculture negotiations which are killing millions of Korean farmers.””

Indian Summer was published in Out is the Word, an Anthology from The Word is Out 2012

After the protests in February 2003 mum told us she had been diagnosed with cancer and didn’t plan to have any treatment. She’d been through all that before and had had enough. Though she stopped saying, “Just be careful!” before a protest and when Bush came to London in the Autumn told me, “Just remember I’ll be by your side,” for a moment I thought she meant she be gone by then. In fact it was a time when her energy revived briefly while on steroids though still too tired to leave the house; her Indian Summer.

It’s worth remembering this was the time of The Project for the American Century, a Washington think tank dedicated to US global dominance and military supremacy, hugely influential on the Bush regime. 

By declaring the “axis of evil” it certainly felt like Bush was declaring permanent war. This was the opinion of the European Social Forum that met in the previous November in Florence and was instrumental in calling these coordinated protests. 

Despite the terrible destruction wreaked on Iraq, with consequences that still exist to this day; power cuts, food shortages, protests against the present government, terrible inequality and, it’s estimated, one million widows, I do not believe the global movement was defeated. 

Today I believe we see the offshoots of this incredible day. It’s been described as the birthing of “a movement of movements” for equality, justice, peace, a sustainable planet. Interlocking, global, powerful. Though I can’t help but ask – would Putin have had the audacity to launch his aggression in the Crimea and Ukraine had it not been for the blatant disregard of international law shown by Bush and Blair. 

It is so hard to imagine a world without war yet somehow we must. And as the anniversary of the Russian invasion in Ukraine approaches there is increasing anti war action across the world this weekend. If we can do nothing else at least we can hold up a light in the darkness, one that will be seen across time, across continents as our collective actions always are. We can imagine a different world, we can write of it, we can work for peace and speak of peace and know love is light and light is love. Let there be light!

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: February 2023

Diary: February 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Poetry news follows below if you wanna skip this reflection on dealing with adversity, of being more zen. So I’ve been on crutches best part of a month. I’d like to say this was the result of abseiling or paragliding gone wrong. But oh no, nothing quite so dramatic and sexy. Literally got up off the sofa, figure my foot had gone to sleep, and suddenly there I am on the floor surrounded by broken crockery and bewilderment. Is this, I wonder, what could be defined as a proper old lady accident? 

Trying very hard to be zen about this but there’s intermittent feelings is of frustration which sounds a bit like oh no, no no no, NO! And, why now when things are going so well…

Though this injury is not something I wished for or welcome, it’s a lesson in how the body works together. For instance as I compensate in movement I can feel the pull all the way up to my neck. The worse thing about it is it seems to affect my brain – am somewhat foggy so this may be brief and please forgive any typos. The best thing about it is it reminds me everything is connected. 

Couldn’t help reflecting though how as a child, a very young one, maybe four or five, I remember another child coming into school with his arm in a cast and my immediate thought was – if I broke my leg then maybe I won’t have to come to school at all. It must be one of my earliest memories. Careful what you wish for an’ all that! 

I recall school at the age a harsh, overwhelming and confusing experience. You put your coat on this peg here and your school bag on that peg there. Can I put them together? No. Look for the stickers. My sticker is a banana. I feel a crushing sense of disappointment and embarrassment. I want a sunflower. Can I have a sunflower? No. Do as you’re told! Needless to say at one point I came home without my shoe bag and Mother said, “What do you mean you’ve lost your shoe bag, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on!” Thanks Mum!

In other news Spring has sprung in Cressingham there’s always a clutch of crocuses under these trees at the entrance to the estate but I’ve never seen so many.  Perhaps they’ve heard the recommendations of the Kerslake report into social housing provision – accepted by Lambeth Council in – and are raising their merry heads in celebration. 

The Kerslake report has recommended a ballot over the proposed demolition on Cressingham Gardens and Central Hill. After ten years of campaigning this is the closest we’ve come to victory as long as Lambeth don’t find some way of backtracking. They are still insisting of demolishing Ropers Walk which is, urm, part of the estate. 


Living here on Cressingham I am constantly reminded it takes a village, it takes empathy and compassion, the more we inform ourselves the better equipped we are to support ourselves and others. We can all be thrown off balance in this world which despite its beauty, joy and rich experiences can all too often only seem absurd, obscene and insane in its injustices, inequalities and destructive pursuit of profit. Demolishing council estates will NOT solve the housing crisis!

COMING UP

As a half term treat off to see a production of Rapunzel, penned by poet Carol Ann Duffy, at the Southbank on Friday 17th February with friend and her son (and no doubt scooter) in tow. 

Sunday 19th Poets for the Planet’s Dr Robin Lamboll will be exploring poetry and communication at Conway Hall, WC1R 4RL with host Matt Lockwood. Reserve free spot here: https://buytickets.at/sundayassemblylondon/838551 Or watch live at https://www.sundayassembly.com

Monday 6th March delivering eco poetry at the Reel News Film show in Dalston. Details tbc. 

#amwriting about dandelions and how slugs get sexy 

#amreading Eat Or We Both Starve by Victoria Kennefick

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Poetry by me: Tanks for Peace

Poetry by me: Tanks for Peace

For lunch I had cherry bio yogurt. It slipped 

effortlessly down my throat as I digested 

a twenty minute detailed discourse of the merits 

of Challenger, Abrams and Leopard tanks for Ukraine

as the World at One went all Top Gear. 

Johnny Diamonds dulcet tones probed; question 

after question, without a nod to peril, law

or the taste of fallout. Questions to the member of the

Center for Strategic and International Studies, prior

to a meeting on a German air base, who elaborated

on the specific capabilities of each model, 

complex maintenance and the training needs 

of operatives. A bit more palatable than those dinners 

consumed over rotting bodies, strewn along a road

or dug from mass graves. The hungry Russian bear 

chews at Bakhmut and the salt mining town of Soledar.

No agreement is reached yet talk in the west turns on

getting the job done, a swift end,

learning from history.


While I’m focusing on the eco-poetry this story called to me to be told. This is new and possibly raw. I’m not sure if it’s found a form yet and in any case WordPress won’t play ball and show my suggested stanza breaks. Based on an interview 20th January on the World at One hosted by Johnny Diamond.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: January 2023

Diary: January 2023

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

Soooooo, happy new year!

I have spent the entirety of this new year so far in Bugsville, a really unpleasant journey, so really hoping that is not going to set a trend for the rest of the year and hoping you are all warm and well.

A bit of context for my readers from the USA and elsewhere on the heating issue- our energy bills have tripled while the U.K. companies Shell and BP are making record profits. Go figure!

The big event here this month is obviously the T.S. Eliots. From the Southbank…

Shortlist Readings live at the Royal Festival Hall

“The celebrated T. S. Eliot Prize 2022 Shortlist Readings, one of poetry’s biggest and most inspiring nights out, is now just days away. The Readings will take place at the Southbank Centre’s Royal Festival Hall on Sunday 15 January 2023, from 7pm. Ian McMillan will be our genial host and the event will be British Sign Language interpreted throughout. Book tickets for you, your family and all your friends at the SBC box office. We look forward to seeing you.” 

The Southbank go on to add, “If you’re not able to attend the T. S. Eliot Prize 2022 Shortlist Readings in person, don’t worry! Book to watch the whole event live and online via the Southbank Centre’s YouTube channel in the comfort of your own home. We are always glad to welcome international attendees via our online broadcast. Listen out for all of our Eliot-shortlisted poets reading from their collections on BBC Radio 4’s Front Row in the run-up to the Readings on 15 January. Find them on BBC Sounds


Also COMING UP

Hope to join the open mic at an event featuring Sue Johns and Jacqueline Saphra at the Torriano Meeting House, 99 Torriano Avenue, London NW5 2RX 29th January 

OUT NOW

Is the entire “bundle offer” of the 2022 T.S. Eliot’s shortlist from the Poetry Book Society here https://www.poetrybooks.co.uk/products/2022-ts-eliot-prize-bundle-offer It might seem a lot to shell out midwinter with food and energy bills soaring but I figure it’s a pretty good deal. 

Oh, on the climate crisis, cost of living crisis, I’ll add this brief note. I usually set my thermostat at 21 deg C. Last winter turned that down to 20. This winter, in increments I got it down to 18 and I’m saving a small fortune! My bills are actually less than this time last year. 

We all have different needs and accommodations so I’m not suggesting what works for me is going to work for you and I’m not going to say it’s been easy. I spend much of my time in fleece pj’s and a fleece dressing gown, occasionally donning a woolly hat but both the financial reward and the feeling I’m reducing my carbon footprint feels goooooood. 

Wishing you all a creative, healthy, joy filled year. Embrace change, embrace challenges. I don’t buy that “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” but it can make one wiser. What are we here for unless it’s not to learn and grow and create something better. I’ll leave you with this…

I’m reminded every new year by this quote from Leon Trotsky, written the year of his assassination, which pops up most years in my Facebook memories and I have it on a poster on my kitchen wall.

Natasha has just come up to the window from the courtyard and opened it wider so that the air may enter more freely into my room. I can see the bright green strip of grass beneath the wall, and the clear blue sky above the wall, and sunlight everywhere. Life is beautiful. Let the future generations cleanse it of all evil, oppression and violence, and enjoy it to the full.” Coyoacán, Mexico City, 1940

We are doing our best Lev! Rest in peace.


Found foto from that place in Coyoacán, the last home of Leon Trotsky. I’ve stood at the window in his office, looked down on the gras. A room reached by a corridor with bullet holes in the wall. Gazed at his desk. He was still working at the time the Stalinist thug put an ice pick in his head. I wondered at the time what the state of the left would have been if he’d finish that article. Found books on the shelves in Russian, German, French, Spanish and English at least.

#amreading two anthologies of eco science fiction the first of these, Nature’s Warnings is edited by Mike Ashby and brings together classic sci-fi tales that date back to the 1920’s and earlier. Also dipping into No More Fairy Tales, edited by DA Baden, which offers a contemporary collection with the purpose “to inspire readers with positive visions of what a contemporary society would look like and how we might get there.”

#amwriting mostly lists and plans and schedules, it is a new year after all, or at least a new quarter, as my new year begins in September, plus the odd tweet about the strikes, the planet, you know that kind of thing…

Do feel free to message me about what you like or don’t like about this blog. I’m currently reflecting on its form and content. For instance do you appreciate such things as writers on writing, writing prompts, writing by others? Would you maybe like to see interviews with writers or something on form and craft? Let me know!

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Autobio: Home Economics

Autobio: Home Economics

Recently I blinged up an ancient Standard lamp and it got me thinking about learning adult skills, I mean there’s no manual is there? The lamp was inherited from my dad, who as I understand it, made it as a teenager which would make it about seventy years old. It’s carved so carefully, he could have been an excellent carpenter but took his fathers advice and took an office job. 


It has struck me that there are loads of adulty things we don’t get taught formerly. One leaves school not knowing even how to sign a cheque! Home economics taught at school, went little further than how to make cauliflower cheese and rock cakes. I learnt to balance a household budget from mum. I helped her cook which often meant little more than chucking in an extra handful of pearl barley to bulk up a stew. 

Listened as she demonstrated “trussonomics” v Keynesian economics, while making a steak and kidney pie. Yes, it’s nothing new. They were talking about the damn pie in the 70’s. When I asked what’s the difference between the Tories and the Labour Party she replied. “One side say we need a bigger pie,” rolling out the sides of the pastry, pausing, holding the rolling pin above, flinging a bit more flour on top, “the other side say we need to divide the pie more fairly,” scoring in into sixths, scrunching it back into a ball and starting again, saying, “Now get me that pastry brush! “I look at her blankly. “In the top draw!”


It wasn’t like I left home with no adult skills, remember well watching dad making home brew, doing the gardening and woodwork, every move; exacting, slow and patient. Passing him the spirit level, the Phillips as requested. Feeling a sense of pride I knew the difference between screwdrivers. Dads tools were always laid out orderly like a row of soldiers. Watched him build a wall, made my self scarce when he was taking an engine apart. 

One time in the first flat of my own in London I mislaid my keys and a friend admonished me with a air of despair and the words, as if it actually was in a manual for adult life, “but surely you have a place you always leave your keys?”

On reflection when we were kids keys were kept in the fruit bowl, seem to recall mother saying, “ Get my car keys!” Thinking umm, where? Casting my eyes around the room. And as if she read my mind, mother said, “Come on, we’re in a hurry, the fruit bowl!” 

Yep where is the manual to adult life? And how do you cope if you have no parents to teach you the basics? Or parents that are too addled with drugs or mental health crises to cope?

I remember saying to mum and dad in my mid 30’s, in a period after I’d recovered from a severe manic episode and the meltdown that followed, “I reckon I’m grown up now; I’ve learnt to use liquid eyeliner and drink wine.” We all had a good laugh about that. 

But oh so premature methinks. 

The most repeated epithet was waste not want not. I remember one time standing in the front garden where dad had installed a yellow bubble car with no MOT, hence off the road. He was presently driving a second (or third) hand boxy Austin A40, teal with white wings and had picked up this three wheeler from a mate.

Out of the blue he said, “Remember, never a lender or borrower be.” Then continued. “When you’re older just remember you pay your rent first, then they can’t kick you out. Then you pay your bills next so they can’t cut you off. And if there’s nothing left go to your family they’ll feed you…” 


The syntax of that expression, “borrower be” makes me wonder now how many generations that advice had passed through? From the farms of Devon to the mill towns of Yorkshire to the streets of Leytonstone to the New Town of Stevenage.

I reflect often there were no food banks in the 70’s and we didn’t go hungry but it occurs to me the whole atmosphere was one of being risk adverse and anticipating scarcity as war babies gave birth to war babies and the only evidence of the white heat of technology was dad’s mum’s stainless steel kitchen sink she was so proud of.

It strikes me our parents never really leave us. The imprints of their attitudes, values and habits—good or bad— surround us. Symbolised for me in a pastry brush and a Phillips tucked away in a kitchen drawer and an ancient Standard lamp.

That generation didn’t need to be educated to reuse, recycle, repair. Make do and mend was the motto. I figure we have much to learn from the past as we move into an uncertain future. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: December 2022

Diary: December 2022

The year ended as it began; with the funeral of someone I admired, who inspired me, who at times I’d been close too and yet now feel never close enough. And both departing well before time or so it feels. Left with a sense of deep loss comforted only be the fact neither will be forgotten and love is everlasting. 

After Christmas last year it felt like covid feelings seized hold of me though the tests indicated negative, so I figure that was grief playing out. So began the year weakened nevertheless looking ahead thinking I wonder what will this year bring? 

It was an unnerving yet excited feeling; not really knowing where it was going. It felt like coming out of lockdown again even though that phase had passed all I knew is I was to carry on working on my poetry with my wonderful mentor Bethany Rivers. 

I haven’t been disappointed. I attended my first Arvon at Totleigh Barton in May with tutors Liz Berry and Fiona Benson and returned in September for a course facilitated by Karen McCarthy Woolf and Mimi Khalvati.

The year has kind of wound up working with Cath Drakes Climate of Change Challenge in November and simultaneously contributing to the Poets for the Planet COPlet campaign during COP 27. I feel I’ve re-entered the world of poetry in a meaningful way after the pandemic pause. 

Managed to attend a number of book and pamphlets launches online and in the real including those of Malika’s poetry buddies; Sundra Lawrence, Peter Raynard and Joolz Sparks who respectively brought out Warriors published by Fly on the Wall Press, Manland published by Nine Arches Press, Face the Strain published by Against the Grain Press into the world. 

This October also saw the launch of Manorism by Yomi Sode, another beautiful soul from the wide Kitchen alumni, published by Penguin and shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot Prize. So congratulations all round! 

Fairy Inkcap (Coprinellus disseminatus): also known as “trooping crumble cap”, a species of agaric fungus in the family Psathyrellaceae.

For the first half of the year I was regularly submitting and have had a dystopian visual poem Exhibit C accepted by Sustaining All Life and in the summer informed a poem of mine, Harbingers has been accepted by the Dear Politicians eco poetry anthology to be published next year. 

So it’s been a great year for my practice and poetry family and yes now, despite the sadnesses that swells within me I’m able to think, ooooh what does next year hold?

That said if I’m honest I’d say besides all this I still feel a bit like I’m leading a bit of a lockdown life, living through screens, apart from the odd foray into town or into Brixton and that has to change. There are plans afoot to take baby steps IRL!

I’m also at this point wondering if I want to continue with this blog in this form (or at all.) The jury is out on this. Perhaps loyal followers you can help with this. Would you miss the writing prompts? The writers on writing posts?  The poems from me and others? Or a better way to put it would to welcome the continuance? 

Wishing you all a happy and healthy Christmas and new year, hope you are warm and well. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: A brief history of the world

Comment: A brief history of the world

It might not look like it but the sun is shining up there. Here’s a screenshot from the Star Chart app, my favourite app, looking east, note it uses some of the original Arabic names.

Let’s face it they mapped the stars while we were all running round in loincloths, ok I exaggerate a bit, but their “golden age” overlapped our “dark ages.” What follows is the result of a morning freewrite, though I added the links later, as I pondered why this knowledge erased from history. 

I suggest that when the west colonised the Islamic countries in the 19th Century and early 20th century, simultaneous with the “scramble for Africa”, it was necessary to portray these societies as primitive and undeveloped and bury this history. 

In Morocco when the French occupied they established what they called a cordon sanitaire – a santitary corridor – around the old cities, implying the residents were disease ridden and unsanitary. This can still be seen today in the layout of cities. 

In Hollywood Arab men have been portrayed relentlessly as hook nosed characters not to be trusted or worse violent and barbaric. The 1922 film The Sheik being a good example.

It seems to me all this prejudice resurrected big style with Bush’s “axis of evil”  and the eventual invasion of Iraq 19 years ago. We saw the growth of Islamophobia on an unprecedented scale. 

Yes the regime of Saddam Hussein brutal but worse than the 45th, Bolsonrao, Orban, Erdogan? Many of the people knew it, I suggest how different Iraq would have been today if the people had brought Hussein down established their own democracy. 

Instead we saw the Iraqi people hacking pointlessly at a fallen statue while the overlords installed themselves in the Green Zone and crushed under the tracks of their tanks irreplaceable artefacts from ancient Mesopotamia circa 3000 BC. 

Yet even back then in the era of Mesopotamia the lands on the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates were passed from empire to empire. Seems to me the entire history of humanity has been one of war and domination, empires rise, empires fall, borders are redrawn, even as far back as that.

Isn’t it time to recognise our common humanity? To honour the achievements of all societies? To stop the cycle of endless war and its justifications? 

We face a crisis now, the climate emergency, which we will overcome if we unite as one human community. The biggest obstacle I see is corporate power and the governments in their pockets. Those that still pursue the profits of the black gold; oil, coal (and gas.)

They dehumanise, discriminate against and murder those who stand in their way. Often indigenous peoples who embody the experiences of poverty, racism, misogyny, the theft of their land, the degradation of their land, it’s eco systems and carbon sinks from the Amazon to Canada to Siberia  to Australia. They are at the frontlines. 

Seems to me it’s a form of neocolonialism that casts these people as ignorant and savages. Loggers in the Amazon tied an indigenous teenage girl to a tree and burned her alive.

I figure the meek won’t inherit the Earth we will have to fight for it, stand up for it. Put aside our differences, honour out differences, there no place for “these are our people, these are not,” based on human made borders carved out 100 years ago. 

One world, one people is a long way off, but we do have one responsibility. I figure we in the west must standing solidarity with those on the frontline, amplify their voices, recognise their wisdom, we, like they, need to Think Global and Act Local the fossil fuel companies have their hands in all our pockets. They pollute and potentially rob us of our future. 

The way I see it is another world is not only possible but absolutely necessary if humanity is to survive.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: November 2022

Diary: November 2022

This month is special as I’m continuing to participate in Cath Drakes Climate of Change Challenge and joining the Poets for the Planet COPlet campaign.

What’s a COPlet? You might ask. “A COPlet is a rhyming couplet – two lines of poetry about the environmental issues being covered at COP (or not!) that matter to you. You could write one (or more) for each day and post it on Twitter.”

This kinda thing and find everything else you need to know about COPlets here


November is always a bit of a rollercoaster emotionally with the anniversary of the departure from this world of a couple of dear friends and my dad in 2008 and the highly traumatic events that followed that leaving me with glandular fever.

I had this debilitating illness as I child of ten and when the GP told me, after receiving the blood results, I said, no that’s not possible I’ve had it before. She told me it can come back, news to me! In true yin yang fashion (I guess) November is blessed with a raft of good friends birthdays too. 

That said strong emotions like this can be destabilising for someone diagnosed with bipolar. I seem to have avoided this with my “meds;” meditation and medication and a new regime based on what I call old fashioned values; early to bed, early to rise, fresh air and exercise and regular meals. 

In fact I’ve found over the past few years no amount of “meds” can achieve any semblance of balance without the “old fashioned values.” 

And it occurs to me try to be kind to yourself and to others because you don’t know, at this time in particular, who is just hanging by a thread and in my experience meanness doesn’t just affect peoples mental health but their physical health, I am witness to this and it’s well documented here

The month concludes with a special event from the Climate of Change Challenge in which a selection of poets from across UK & Europe will join feature reader, Craig Santos Perez and read poems generated during the challenge. 

About our feature reader, Craig Santos Perez is a Professor in the English Department at the University of Hawaiʻi, Mānoa, where he teaches creative writing, eco-poetry, and Pacific literature. He’s an indigenous Chamoru (Chamorro) from the Pacific Island of Guåhan (Guam), an award winning poet, editor, publisher, essayist, critic, book reviewer, artist, environmentalist and political activist. 

Craig has forged new ways to write about the climate crisis and His latest book is ‘Habitat Threshold’.

“Craig Santos Perez is a writer I seriously watch. He includes a variety of environmentally important writing, seamlessly combined with history, politics, and the familial.” –Linda Hogan, Indigenous Writer and Environmentalist

Other readers are Cath Drake, Kate Potts, Patricia Foster McKenley , Karina Fiorini , Bell Selkie Lovelock , Ness Owen , Suzanne Iuppa, Janet Harper, Clementine E Burnley, Linda Goulden, Joe Mishan, Shalini Pattabiraman, Katrina Dybzynska and myself. 

Tickets are FREE but you must register to attend here

#amwriting poems about climate all month, even in my sleep I suspect…

#amreading The Hidden Life’s of Trees by Peter Wohlleben 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: GOOD MORNING! Lula is back!

Comment: GOOD MORNING! Lula is back!

Yesterday Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, won 50.9% of the vote in the second round of the Brazilian election. This means the climate change and covid denier Bolsonaro is out!

The stakes could not have been higher. The New York Times commented,  “On Oct. 30, Brazilians go to the polls to elect their next president. But at stake is something far more important than just the leadership of one of the world’s largest economies.

Whoever wins will inherit control over more than half of the Amazon rainforest and, by extension, will determine the conditions for future life on Earth.” 

Following the victory Lula has committed to invite international cooperation to preserve the Amazon rainforest and said he will seek fair global trade rather than trade deals that “condemn our country to be an eternal exporter of raw materials.”

Lula vows to unify the country and bring, “new times of peace, love and hope.”

A former steel workers union leader and democracy campaigner Lula, in this first two terms of government, introduced reforms which benefitted the poorest people in Brazil. In his first term child malnutrition was reduced by 46%. He began a housing aid program to improve the lives of people in the favelas. Anyone who has seen the film City of God will know how dangerous and precarious lives are there. 

Prior to that he had campaigned for a direct popular vote in presidential elections, achieved in 1989. After the a coup in March 1964, backed by the US government, each “elected” President was a retired general.

According to The Washington Post, “Under Lula, Brazil became the world’s eighth-largest economy, more than 20 million people rose out of acute poverty and Rio de Janeiro was awarded the 2016 Summer Olympicsthe first time the Games will be held in South America.” 

— The Washington Post, October 2010 

Popularity and the commitment to improve the lives of workers and the most vulnerable in Brazil came with risks. In 2016, prosecutors filed corruption charges against Lula. In 2017 he was sentenced to nine years in prison. He appealed, in 2018 the Appeal Court of Porto Alegre found Lula guilty of corruption and money laundering and increased his sentence to 12 years. 

In 2021 all charges against Lula were annulled by the Supreme Federal Court.

It is worth noting, I think, that Judge Moro, who oversaw the conviction of Lula, who was accused of lacking impartiality leading to the annulment, became Minister of Justice and Public Security in Bolsonaro’s government. Furthermore it’s rumoured that agreement was in place prior to the election.

Lula was an inspiration not just to progressive forces across Latin America but the whole world. Reading this news this morning I felt not so much triumph but a huge relief. 

In terms of environmental protection, his previous terms of office saw the creation of conservation areas and indigenous reserves which led to a substantial decrease in deforestation. 

While the Lula pushed for progressive policies that significantly curbed deforestation in the Amazon he did not support legislation that would have required the country to phase out its fossil fuels.

Now he enters office at a time where fossil fuels are the frontline in campaigns against the climate emergency. During this 2022 election campaign, Lula has focused more on environmental issues.

Yesterday I dedicated my meditation to the Brazilian people. I sent light and love to all. When I went to bed last night I did not expect the results of the election to be out so soon. I wonder if people are dancing in the streets as I write, if so my soul dances with you. 

And though Bolanaro’s supporters will no doubt call foul, I believe, the light in the world has increased and with that all will be able to see more clearly, love more dearly, follow more nearly a path to peace, justice and sustainability. 

It is not going to be easy but I truly believe another world is possible. This is a significant step in the right direction. The obstacles facing Lula are immense with a slim majority, possible opposition from the Congress in the hands of opposition parties and Bolsonaro yet to concede.

Let’s not forget what he has overcome and perhaps our hearts can be a little lighter.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: October 2022

Diary: October 2022

The leaves are turning though I hardly noticed summer turn to autumn, it felt so sudden. National Poetry Day, with the appropriate theme of environment on October 6th flew by. 

In the U.K. after the phenomenal meltdown of the Liz Truss Government we now have our third Prime Minister in a year with ambitious aims to have a “grown up” government. The funniest bit was when the BBC interviewer asked some Tory but how will Sunak manage to unite the party blah blah blah and the guy said, “Well he’s keeping Hunt in post and that will provide continuity and stability.” Paraphrasing. And I thought BUT HUNT HAS ONLY BEEN IN POST FOR WHAT? A WEEK?

Autumn Trails, Clapham Common, 2014. Shot with very old camera phone. Anne Enith Cooper

This month joining Cath Drakes Climate of Change Challenge. I imagine there won’t be much time for anything else and this will be brief.

OUT NOW

A new collection from one of my favourite poets, Balladz by Sharon Olds

“Sharon Olds is a long-standing influence and leader in the tradition of confessional poetry, reflecting on her own experiences with unabashed vulnerability to make larger points about gender, family, violence, and the ever-shifting world around her. In Balladz, the Pulitzer Prize winner’s 15th collection, Olds pays homage to this tradition and secures her place within it, referencing and writing in the style of Emily Dickinson as she explores the present and takes us back in time.” 

More on this and other new releases here https://www.readpoetry.com/6-october-2022-poetry-releases-to-start-the-fall-season/

COMING UP

The the launch of Manorism by Yomi Sode, another beautiful soul from the wide Malika’s Kitchen alumni, published by Penguin. All the deets here https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/manorism-launch-party-tickets-416930960727

While in November the Poets for the Planet launch their COPlets campaign; writing and tweeting to decision makers at COP 27 rhyming couplets.

#amreading Invisible Sun by Richard Skinner and Notes from a Shipwreck by Jessica Muckagee 

#amwriting poems amount the whole bunch of poems in the context of climate change there’s one about autumn colours and a paint hue called dead salmon. Yes really, an actual name. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Photography: St Leonards-on-sea, Sussex

Photography: St Leonards-on-sea, Sussex


Shot with a fast shutter speed as the sun came out briefly, with my repaired Panasonic LUMIX, this was a lucky chance foto. I didn’t notice the bird until I went through the shots. The image is a little cropped, colour, contrast adjusted.

This camera doesn’t give the same definition as my superior Canon but it fits in my bag and I like to pack light though I kinda wish I’d taken both now!

I shared the beach with a Russian speaking family with the cutest kids who slipped between languages effortlessly. I was curious to know their story and had the chance to find out when they offered me a beer after the kids dropped pebbles on my head… but it was a chilly April afternoon and I wanted to explore.


Yeah, it had to be done, the “i woz ere” shot, though not so impressed with the focus/depth of field. I suspect this one might have been on auto! I’ve noticed some definition has been lost in the upload. Weird. Anyway you get the idea.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: September 2022

Diary: September 2022

Below some news from the poetry world but first here in the U.K., after a summer when the government was “missing in action”, we’ve since seen a recent course of events at breakneck speed with the election of Liz Truss as PM followed swiftly by the death of the monarch with the pandering media saturation. 

In the same week we’ve seen another young black guy killed locally following “police contact” while around the world the planet and its people are inflicted with flood, fire and drought. We’ve seen the third of Pakistan, one third of an entire country under water and the West barely blinked.

Just before the of Liz Truss took up her appointment I flick on The World at One slightly later than usual and within 10 seconds hear Bernard Jenkins saying Truss will have to level with the country that we are facing “five horses of the apocalypse…”  

Yes, he actually said that and “this is worse than the energy crisis of the 70’s” he adds, “we may face power cuts, rationing…” so back to referencing the Blitz then, that will please the brexiteers who say without a hint of irony, “We ‘ad rationing in the Second World War, that did us no harm!” 

I didn’t listen to Truss making her opening statement that same day at as though I understand her first announcement was a deeply regressive measure that will do little to help families on low income and quite a bit to help those on higher incomes. Of course it will. 


In my poetry world

I’m off back to Totleigh Barton for an Arvon course at the end of the month. with tutors Karen McCarthy Woolf and Mimi Khalvati After seeing the place in late spring it will be inter to see what the countryside in like in early autumn, that’s if seasons have much meaning any more. 


After a few techy problems was thrilled to join Red Door Poets presenting a reading and Q&A with Fiona Benson at 6pm on Sunday 4th September. 

Very much looking forward to their next event on Sunday 25th September with readers Mary Mulholland, Tom Cunliffe and Katie Griffiths, and their special guests are Alex Corrin-Tachibana, Matthew Paul and Claire Collison. 

Also coming up on Tuesday 11th October at 7.30pm is the launch the Live Canon 2022 anthology and poetry prize. “All poems longlisted for the Live Canon 2022 Poetry Prize are published in the anthology. Poems shortlisted for the prize will be read at the event, and guest judge, Rebecca Goss, will announce the overall winner of the 2022 Live Canon Poetry Prize.”

OUT NOW

Placebo by Claire Collison, published by Blueprint Press

Which has been described as

“Beautiful, pin-point writing in this reflective pamphlet by Claire Collison. With gentle precision the poet leads us through life-threatening illness to new life. She conjures the people administering her hospital treatment so we feel we met them too. And we accompany her back into home, memory and the waters of pond, river and sea. A wonderful debut.”

and “Precise and beautiful as a blade, “ Fiona Larkin 

England’s Green by Zaffar Kunial, published by Faber & Faber

“Zaffar Kunial is a proven master of taking things apart, polishing up the fugitive parts of single words, of a sound, a colour, the name of a flower, and putting them back together so that we see them in an entirely different light.” Google books  

#amreading about drought and flood also embarking on Karen Lords The Best Of All Possible Words, a story of “ hope, survival and love” set on a futuristic alien world and Manland, the second collection of poetry by Peter Raynard

#amwriting poetry, or trying to, about drought and flood. The issues are so vast is difficult to find a perspective, an angle, to reduce it to images that speak to the heart as well as the head

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: Call to action to support the RMT 

Comment: Call to action to support the RMT 

Tomorrow the RMT take strike action again. Wait for the headlines, we’ll see demoralised commuters and no doubt derogatory comments about selfish and irresponsible trade unionists. This is what Mick Lynch, General Secretary of the RMT has to say:

When I listen to Radio 4 news about this dispute it sounds a bit like the reporting of strikes in the 1970’s, though no one yet has used the expression “reds under the beds.” That was a reference, I believe, to Jack Jones and Hugh Scanlon, trade union leaders in the 1970’s.

How I can remember this beats me when I can’t remember what I did last week. Is this senility? 

In my minds eye I’m in the kitchen with Mum. She’s doing the laundry, putting clothes through the wringer, while a Radio 4 commentator whines on about the trade unions insisting on “petty differentials.” The kitchen windows are steamed up, mums hands are red raw. I watch as a raindrop drop outside slips down and runs into another. I ask mum, “What’s a differential?” This leads to a fairly lengthly explanation of what both sides were saying. Mum was like that, she’d give me both sides of the argument but was in no doubt which side she was on most of the time.

I Google “reds under the beds” to check if my memory is accurate and among other things find this: Wilson government used secret unit to smear union leaders In this report from 2018 it’s all there and more. “Senior figures in Harold Wilson’s Labour government plotted to use a secret foreign office propaganda unit to smear a number of left-wing trade union leaders, according to government papers released on Tuesday to the National Archives at Kew.” Wilson’s actions make Keir Starmers threat to Labour Party members attending picket line sound a bit lame, and believe me I’m no fan of the present leader of the Labour Party who has carried out a vicious witch-hunt of the left since taking the position.

And, it would seem, this the government smear played out it the press; Radio 4, blaring from the kitchen, (Radio 1 was off limits until I was about fourteen) was the back drop to my life as as a child and teenager and the report I remember so vividly one of many that attacked trade unionists.

What is in common now and back then is the idea that the demands are completely unreasonable, that the unions are being stubborn and selfish. Read that again from Mick Lynch and decide for yourself if you think that’s the case today. 

A thought occurred to me just now: after the success of the miners in the 70’s the government really gunned for the NUM in the 80’s, and then brought down everyone else. The RMT, until recent years have been very successful at maintaining decent pay and conditions and always put safely issues on the agenda. No wonder they are such a target for scorn and misrepresentation. 

Guess I’ve  been a bit slow on the uptake, how important their action is, it’s not just another group of justifiably pissed off workers, it’s not just another strike; if they lose, what do you think will happen next? 

I figure that it game over for all public sector workers and the private sector could follow suit in pay freezes which are effectively pay cuts. So if the RMT (and Asleff and TSSA) lose we all lose. 

And let’s not forget, “A fight for public transport is a fight against climate change” RMT London Calling 2009

We can support by: 

Sending a message of support to  info@rmt.org.uk

Making a donation at  https://www.rmt.org.uk/about/national-dispute-fund

Joining a picket line find news here of upcoming action https://www.rmt.org.uk/news/rmt-news/&nbsp;

South London Action 

Lambeth and Southwark Unite are urging people to join picket lines at

Thursday 18th – RMT mainline, London Bridge Tooley St near Shipwright’s Arms, from 7am

Friday 19th – RMT London Underground – Bakerloo line station, Elephant, from 5am but we aim to get there by 7am

Saturday 20th – RMT mainline, London Bridge Tooley St near Shipwright’s Arms, from 7am

The summer of discontent made real?

According to a recent tweet from Rotherham TUC  twenty other groups of workers are set to take action in the near future over the cost of living. And looks at what’s trending… The important thing is, as the RMT do, to link the issues of pay and conditions to safety and wellbeing and the threat we face with the climate emergency. 

This situation gives us the opportunity to envision and work toward a new world in which our basics needs, whether it be housing, food and fuel, are not provided by companies further lining the bloated and bulging pockets of CE0s and the profits of multinationals. 

Surely now we can all see this neoliberalism, introduced across the world in the 1970’s, the idea that the market will solve all ills, that the state’s role is only to introduce the conditions for the market to flourish, can be seen for what is is. Not a trickle down of wealth but a flooding upwards of wealth. 

It is fitting that Rotherham TUC draw on the words of another poet, Percy Shelley who died 200 years ago, in their appeal for solidarity, as true today as then. And while Shelly in The Mask of Anarchy railed against the poverty, inequality and lack of representation at that time we too must organise against all of that and the condition of how such power and wealth in so few hands has brought the earth itself to the brink of destruction. We have now so much more to lose than our chains.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: August 2022

Diary: August 2022

August for me is when I like to get a little down time; time to lay fallow or, as my mentor – the poet and tutor Bethany Rivers – puts it, refill the well; recharge basically. So that is precisely what I’m doing for the rest of this month. It will involve, among other things; pottering around the flat, getting a jump on the filing, decluttering and keeping this short and sweet. 

I plan to see a few friends out and about perhaps get to Kew or the coast, who knows and possibly go to see the recently renamed, (long over due) Parthenon Sculptures coz though they are on my banned list; looted in the 19th Century by the 7th Earl of Elgin; I hoping this renaming is the first step to the long overdue repatriation. 

I MUST do something about the bedroom which has got all officey, gotta be a feng shui crime. “Your bedroom should be an oasis.” Hmm. I’m not entirely sold on something that tells me, “Don’t put your bed facing the door…” Let’s face it for many of us that’s the only place to put it! That said, I’m gonna get all those lists, Post-its, plans and schedules OFF THE WALLS and relocate them in the actual office. That’s the plan. 

Beyond my little world an official drought has been announced in eight regions in the U.K. It’s reported Birmingham was hotter than Lisbon in recent days (but let’s face it not half as cute!) Hose pipe bans have been announced in some regions with some bizarre exemptions such as on the laying of new lawns, hot tubs and golf clubs.

Thames Water are dragging their feet on declaring a hose pipe ban which suggests to me memories are soooo short, I mean was London on fire a few weeks ago or not? 

Strikes me these decisions are all a bit class and ideology ridden with someone somewhere in Whitehall or Westminster sending a memo saying, “Light touch, let’s keep a light touch, let’s not go all big government on this. What ho, stiff upper lip chaps, no need to make a drama out of a crisis… “ thinking,  “Oh good god my golf course!”

A debate about water privatisation has opened up, covered in some depth in yesterday’s Any Questions on Radio 4, and leading to articles such as this What We Can Learn From Europe.

Here’s an interesting global perspective published July 20, 2022, demonstrating it’s hot, but not the hottest summer ever

and here’s why

“One of the primary drivers of the within-apocalypse variation is the weather pattern known as the El Niño-Southern Oscillation (ENSO). At the moment, the oscillation is in the midst of a La Niña period, which is associated with a cooler ocean surface in the central and eastern Pacific and cooler global temperatures — likely an important factor in 2022′s place outside the top five.” (Italics my emphasis.)

A historical perspective here.

This oughta be a humbling moment for humanity…

OUT NOW

Manland by Peter Reynard 


Peter Raynard’s Manland is a bold, brilliant and outspoken new collection of poems that scrutinise men and manhood, mental health, working class lives and disability. Aloud and alive with music, wit, anger and rebellion, this is an accomplished, politically-aware and vital book.” Order and more info here

Violet Existence by Katy Wareham Morris

“Moods, reveries, erasures; In Katy Wareham Morris’ Violet Existence surprising reflections on gender and sexuality are wrapped in the chaos of real life. The poems of Violet Existence are wild and dynamic, the lyric I fragments and splits like a river. Wareham Morris explores the world through other eyes, always bold in her use of form, creating high voltage, daring poetry.” Order and more info here

#amwriting very little for a while at least, well, it might happen…

#amreading the seminal cyberpunk classic Neuromancer by William Gibson and A Hundred and One Days: A Baghdad Journal by Asne Seierstad, a description of her time as a journalist based in Baghdad in the run up to and during the start of the 2003 war. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Photography: Memetic app – Choose Love

Photography: Memetic app – Choose Love

Ok, it feels like we are in dark times what with; the climate emergency, cost of living crisis, fuel prices soaring, a worldwide recession looming, covid persisting and mutating, war in Ukraine and let’s nor forget also in Ethiopia, Syria and Yemen, at least, while as I write Israel are shelling Gaza, again, in a preemptive strike they are, sickeningly, calling Operation Sunrise.

I believe beneath these dark clouds a subtle silk stream of light flows in the possibility these circumstances give us to see the world as it truly is and to see our own true nature as we transform to meet these challenges, in meeting these challenges we can’t help but transform ourselves. It’s also an opportunity to build a new world, a better world with peace, justice, equality and sustainability.


With that in mind I created these memes, with a little nod to Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting, using some of my images and the Memetic app, and posted them in my insta. It’s kind of experiment; not sure about the white font on these backgrounds. I’m still getting used to the limits and possibilities of the app. I hope we are can all learn our own limits and possibilities; we will need to in order to guarantee our wellbeing as we create a new world. 

The app is £29.99 annually and has the functionality of at least three other free apps I’ve tried combined. It’s very easy to use, has a range of fonts, filters and layouts and has in app editing though I prefer to use iOS software for that. 


The third meme was inspired by the teacher at a yoga retreat in Italy in 2020 she used a version of Metta Prayer in a session I’d not heard before, adding the line, “May I know the joy of living”. I thought oh wow, I felt for the first time in my life I was being given permission to feel this emotion. Not just a luxury once we’ve healed the world.

I figure hope, love and joy need to be central to our movements moving forward. I’ve found those qualities in XR, the Glasgow Cop 26 Coalition and the indigenous struggles I’m aware of along with respect, empathy, compassion and the centring of wellbeing and self care.

We are building the new within the old.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Comment: Act Local and Think Global

Comment: Act Local and Think Global

Recently a reference to a campaign against the Trans Mountain Pipeline, No TMX in British Columbia popped up in my Facebook feed and it peeked my interest as I’ve been traveling virtually to this area in recent months to research for a poem about the logging protests specifically around Fairy Creek. But what is TMX? I thought, and wanted a bit of context. 

The post reported on a protest which took place two days before in Vancouver. Part of a long struggle involving, “thousands of people from every walk of life… First Nations, municipalities, unions, businesses, faith groups, student associations, environmental organizations, local politicians, famous artists and even the Premier of British Columbia have stood united to oppose the heightened risk of an oil spill, violations of Indigenous rights and expansion of the polluting tar sands that accompany this pipeline.”

The Trans Mountain Pipeline development is a story of; lack of consultation, a failure to listen to those who oppose it, rising project costs, dodgy work by contractors, risk of harm to the environment, claims the company will respect wildlife and benefit the lives of people and do you know what that sounds like? 

It sounds just like the justification for what is happening here on Cressingham Gardens and the other five council estates facing demolition in the London Borough of Lambeth and all across the country.

This is what the proponents of this project have to say, TMX will, “create thousands of good, middle-class jobs, unlock new global markets to get a fair price for Canadian oil, generate billions of dollars in revenue each year to help fund clean energy solutions, help advance reconciliation with Indigenous peoples, including through economic opportunity.”

This is what the indigenous people are arguing, “the Tsleil-Waututh Nation [pronounced sail-wha-tooth], whose territory centres around the Burrard Inlet where the pipeline terminates, found a 79% to 87% chance of a spill in their waters over the next 50 years if the project is built. They also put the chances of a worst-case scenario spill of over 100,000 barrels at 29%.

This level of risk is why their community, and over two-thirds of the First Nations impacted by the project, have not given their consent to allow it through their territories as required by the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

Finally, building a pipeline that could last over 50 years as the global climate crisis spirals out of control is unacceptable. We know the tar sands need to close down by 2040, but this pipeline would help double the size of one of the world’s most polluting projects. Canada cannot meet its climate targets and global commitments to cut carbon pollution if it builds this pipeline – in fact, we would be betting on the world to fail to combat climate change.”

From https://www.wildernesscommittee.org/NoTMX

This gives some idea of the extent of the are of land at risk.


What I take from this is all around the world there are people actively defending the planet and their communities, thinking globally acting locally. Indigenous peoples at the frontline of defending the earth.

I first heard the expression, “Think Global Act Local” from a mysterious character called Shantum who suddenly appeared in Norwich life in the mid 1980’s. Shantum was both down to earth and a deeply spiritual individual. He took part in our struggles at the university of EastAnglia and in the City; a clear and calm speaker, an enthusiastic and imaginative activist. Famously this included erecting three tepees at the centre of the campus during a rent strike by students who lived in university accommodation. 

I honestly can’t remember the outcome of the rent strike, it was a hectic time coinciding with the ‘84/85 miners strike and trips to Greenham Common. Shantum offered me and my partner his squat when he returned to India while my partner was undergoing a bout of psychosis which contributed in no small part to our homelessness.

Shantum remains one of the most influential figures in my life. Though this period was not easy; not long after being rehoused and mental stability restored a dear friend died tragically in a fire in our house. The cause of the fire was never established and the whole period was deeply traumatising.

This attitude is now just as relevant today if not more. I figure we fight where we stand but know we are all connected and not alone, we build solidarity so if you are in a position to, you can donate to this struggle here

Subsequently there was a protest by London XR rebels at Lloyd’s of London in April. Lloyds are one of the backers of the TMX pipeline. That is solidarity of the highest form. The result was disinvestment by Lloyds by May. Though the struggle in Vancouver continues.

Image by XR


A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Diary: July 2022

Diary: July 2022

As I write this the UK is looking forward to never-seen-before heat predicted to rise early next week to 40 deg C. A red alert has been declared by the government and TFL are advising against non essential travel on Monday and Tuesday. The NHS is at risk we are told. Lives are at risk. 

At least the cause of this extreme heat is not being entirely glossed over. This has to be a wake up call. Is still not too late to make significant changes that would prevent this becoming the norm. 

I for one am out of here, London that is, that is, on a prearranged trip to Scotland. Expecting gentler temps of 22-26 deg C. Dumfries here I come. 

Last week got along to the Carcanet book launch with Caroline Bird of her selected works Rookie Wednesday 13th July on zoom. I was impressed not only by her work but her honesty and straight talking delivery of the poems chosen. 

Looking forward to 

Wig! Out @ The Wandle curated by Sue Johns takes place Sunday, 24 July 2022 from 19:15 to 21:45 at the Colour House Theatre Watermill Way London SW19 2RD

And Cath Drake’s The Climate of Change Thursday 28th July with Karen McCarthy Woolf


Cath notes The Climate of Change Poetry Challenge, workshops and readings are supported by The Emergence Foundation.

and more events can be found on Cath Drake’The Veranda 

Out now

Candlestick Press asked Pascale Petite to edit a mini anthology, Ten Poems about Wildlife and it’s out now. It includes 9 poems she chose and a new one by her. 

@candlestickpress Candlestick Press Donation to @wildlifetrusts 

Cover @samcannonart

“With hedgehogs and hares, dragonflies and deer this mini anthology is a celebration of the wild creatures that flutter, slither, swim or stride through the British countryside. This anthology is a reminder to pay attention to the natural world and its creatures…”

Poems by Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné, John Clare, Emily Dickinson, Jen Hadfield, Norman MacCaig, Robert Macfarlane, David Morley, Les Murray, Pascale Petit and Robert Williams Parry.

Other

Enjoyed watching Ghostwriter recently  – what’s not to like – politicos, subterfuge with Euan Macgregor as the ghostwriter, a somewhat wooden Pierce Brosnan as the PM Lang and Olivia Williams as his wife. Directed by Roman Polanski  2010

“A ghostwriter is hired to work on the memoirs of former British Prime Minister Adam Lang. While Lang gets embroiled in a huge scandal, the writer uncovers secrets that put his own life in jeopardy.”

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1139328/

Ghostwriter opens with a road side mugging of the “ghost” by a black clad motorcyclist, as cut to: revelations that Lang has been complicit in extraordinary rendition and water boarding and the stage is set for drama, reputations and a quarter of a million dollar are at stake.  

With an unrepentant prime minster central to the story comparisons have been made with Tony Blair; even going so far as to describe describing Brosnan as a dead-ringer for Blair. Umm, no. He just doesn’t have that maniacal grin and the arched eyebrows of evil that Blair had in the end. So I didn’t really feel that. 

Though it does tear into the British establishment and the cosy relationship between the US and the U.K. at the time which had such devastating consequences for the people of Iraq.

Apparently “Bliar, Bliar, pants on fire,”  took umbrage to the book this film is based on, demonstrating, I like to think, the value of art. Though I felt that despite being well crafted cinematography Polanski is losing his edge slightly though he pulls off an intriguing ending.  I’ll say no more. I’m no spoiler. 

#amwriting  about possible near future dystopias in verse 

#amreading Ubik by Phillip K Dick, Dipping into 52 Ways to Read a Poem by Ruth Padel and continuing with the Gingko Prize 2021 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Writing Prompt: Swan

Writing Prompt: Swan

Play with this; use the image as a prompt. Set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes and freewrite from the point of view of the swan. 

Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones 

  • Keep your hand moving, don’t stop or cross out
  • Don’t worry about spelling or grammar. 
  • Don’t think, just write
  • Go for the Jugular.
  • Follow the words, just see what comes

Image: Anne Enith Cooper Brockwell Park 2019


When you have finished consider what you have just made. Is it for just for fun? Or does it feel it needs development? Does it welcome a form?

If you want to take it further or in a new direction create a spider diagram of all the associations you have with swans.

Using one of more of these rework your draft.

Ask yourself does the draft make an argument, see https://archive.nwp.org/cs/public/print/resource/2689

or what is the “punctum” see this article by Hannah Lowe, https://mslexia.co.uk/magazine/blog/how-to-edit-a-poem/

Just play with your words until you find a form of words that satisfies you. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Poetry by Others: Fred Voss

Poetry by Others: Fred Voss

It’s rare I read a poem that literally takes my breath away. Under Their Sweaty Wings by Fred Voss is one of those. Only at the last line I realised I’d stopped breathing.

I was immediately engaged with the mention of a vice. It evoked a memory of my maternal grandfather whom I used to watch in his shed. My grandmother urged me, ”Don’t bother yer grandad when ’ee’s in ‘is shed.” Yet he permitted me if I stood still, kept quiet and didn’t touch anything. “And never put your fingers in there,” he said as I swung the handle back and forth looking out the window onto the garden.

Image, Dusty Window in Woodworking Workshop by @diydave

This poem which illustrates the reality of machine shop work with its dangers, value and skill in a way that is both tender and mesmerising. 

Under Their Sweaty Wings

by Fred Voss

I have had many fathers between tin walls
one
who told me to lay a crescent wrench across the jaws of a vice
if I left the vice untightened at the end of the workday
so I wouldn’t forget it was loose the next morning and drop a block of steel between its jaws
and send the teeth of a cutter flying through the steel and have the steel explode
in my face
another taught me how to tell what RPM to set a cutter at by putting his palm
flat against the side of a milling machine head and feeling its vibrations
like a gypsy fortune-teller
reading a palm
another told me of how when he was young he wrestled Gorgeous George to the mat
in the Olympic Auditorium in downtown L.A.
lonely
as a street urchin wandering a concrete machine shop floor trying to learn a skill to make a living
with a long-necked can of cutting oil and whatever grit I could pull out
of my guts
leaving Shakespeare a million miles behind in a graduate school I’d dropped out of
these were my fathers
from Lebanon or El Salvador or East L.A. gang or WW2 submarine or prison cell 
          or circus trapeze
who’d landed in this machine shop
too
fathers with toolboxes they’d worn shiny and smooth with decades of their fingers
opening and shutting their drawers
men who’d been shell-shocked divorced shot at who’d cut a finger off or gone mad 
howling at the moon working too many years on graveyard shift
fathers
when I hadn’t seen my father in 2 years when my mother
had disowned me and bikers with metal plates in their legs or heads
were my only friends
and I hadn’t yet written one poem to show me the way
fathers
who made cutting oil and shiny chips of brass
seem holy
giving me old tape measures and sine bars that had crossed the raging Atlantic or a Mexican 
          desert full of cactus
like I was the son they never had
their toolboxes Bibles
the invention of fire the rolling of the first wheel the hammering of the first nail
in their twinkling eyes
taking me under their sweaty wing
giving me a home where forklifts rolled and Krakatoa 2-ton drop hammers boomed
and I laced up my steel-toed boots and squared a hardhat
on my head
home at last
where the ticking of a timeclock
was the mother 
of us all.

See Culture Matters for a version that hasn’t mangled the line breaks…

https://www.culturematters.org.uk/index.php/arts/poetry/item/3876-two-new-poems-by-fred-voss

 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: June 2022

Diary: June 2022

What was that I was saying in the last diary entry about “trying to resist the urge to take on too much as I know from experience that would be counter productive.” And what did I do? Just that! 

Agreed to a trip to Italy at the last minute. Lost the presence that was telling me there were unknown quantities, barely enough time to make the necessary bookings ahead and I already had a lot on. 

It was meant to be a break, a gentle time with a little bit of work, a little bit of sightseeing and relaxing. I reasoned I was due a break. I figured I could work away, I’ve done it before. It turned out to be far from gentle with temperatures up to 37 degrees in the humid sub tropical climate of Liguria.

My phone was telling me it was 26 degrees outside so I couldn’t understand why I was having such difficulty trying to think straight and follow directions in google maps. Only when I saw the sign outside a pharmacy at about 5.00pm registering 35 degrees I twigged. These heats can kill and seriously mangle attempts at rational thought.

It all sounded so good! A radical film festival in Genoa and a few days in Cinque Terre, a place I’ve yearned after visiting for some time. The whole experience was costly in terms of time, energy, money and potentially my mental health. The latter is intact but was put under serious strain. 

Despite that there were some good moments:- 

Screening of a  spectacular film from Marseille of the struggle of a community against gentrification- La bataille de la Plaine by Sandra Ach, Nicolas Burlaud, Thomas Hakenholz, Francia, 2020


A visit to the site of the oldest bookshop in Europe, the original location seemed to be closed with an alter new venue round the corner. According to wiki the  Libreria Bozzi bookshop was founded by a French Jewish refugee from Briançon, Antone Beuf (Antonio Beuf), in 1810. 


A visit to Lerici where the Shelley’s made their base at Villa Magni in 1822. The site has now fallen into disrepair. It was meant to be their dream home. Ultimately Percy Shelly would meet a watery death in the bay he so admired. Note only Percy appears on the plaque. Ironically, like the trip, it was not the happy and curative time the Shelley’s had hoped for, according to Louise A. DeSalvo (1942-2018)

 

“Moving to Casa Magni, even for the spring and summer, made no sense. But Shelley’s [Percy’s] desire to inhabit his presumed dream house distorted his capacity to assess what his family needed. 

The house was in that wild and out-of-the-way place inhabited by a handful of fisherfolk Shelley yearned for. And there was the “divine bay” just beyond the house where Shelley could sail.

But Mary despised the place from the first. Although she did not insist they leave, she was pregnant, ill, and unhappy. She called it “a dungeon,” feared what might happen there and warned a friend to stay away.”

#amwriting poetry about the darkness and danger of a collapsed society 

#amreading Fiona Bensons Bright Travellers and the 2021 Gingko Prize winning poems

The results of this prestigious prize were announced on 24th June. A video of the ceremony and link to the 2021 anthology can be found at 

Home

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On Writing: Elizabeth Bishop

On Writing: Elizabeth Bishop

On being asked by an interviewer what one quality every poem should have Elizabeth Bishop replied, “Surprise. The subject and the language which conveys it should surprise you. You should be surprised at seeing something new and strangely alive.”

Quoted by @JohnMcCullough_ on Twitter

A good poem, in my opinion, is “strangely alive.” It gains that quality by a mixture of inspiration, craft, form and a myriad of decisions large and small. 

The American poet Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) is widely quoted and commended for the “painterly quality” of her work and her tendency to, “revise and revise.” She remains hugely influential. 

Find bio at https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/elizabeth-bishop

Elizabeth Bishop’s second draft of One Art

Photo by lorac’s on flickr

This is an excerpt from the published version, I don’t have rights to share the whole thing

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

See the full poem here

An overview of her work can be found at


A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Quote: William Gibson

Quote: William Gibson

“The future has arrived — it’s just not evenly distributed yet.”

William Gibson. Author of Neuromancer.

Neuromancer was the seminal work of cyberpunk which has influenced decades of dystopian science fiction including The Matrix, Repo Man and Mute.

In 1990 a documentary called Cyberpunk was released that featured extensive interview footage with William Gibson. He expressed the two themes.

(1) The uneven distribution of technological advancements

(2) The presence of the ‘future’ within the present

The documentary is in five parts that can be viewed on YouTube. See also https://youtu.be/UdvxPlhTjDU

Here is an excerpt of some of Gibson’s remarks:

“I think in some very real sense part of the world’s population is already posthuman. Consider the health options available to a millionaire in Beverly Hills as opposed to a man starving in the streets in Bangladesh.

The man in Beverly Hills can, in effect, buy himself a new set of organs. I mean, when you look at that sort of gap, the man in Bangladesh is still human. He’s a human being from an agricultural planet. The man in Beverly Hills is something else. He may still be human, but he, in some way, I think he is also posthuman. The future has already happened.”


I feel what Gibson has hit upon here using a visceral and vivid image, is a metaphor for global inequality. The uneven distribution of everything; from basic needs for shelter, food, water, electricity to access to education, training and employment and of course health care.

The future is here. Smart loos, smart houses. For some. Meanwhile in parts of Madagascar people it’s reported people subsist on leaves and insects against a backdrop of drought and famine.

I can’t help thinking that while I see prototypes for flying cars bouncing into my Google news — the emblem, or trope if you like, of the cyberpunk or dystopian near future genre, rising above dark neon lit streets — I can’t help reflecting on the absurdity and obscenity of the rising the wealth of the powerful, of sea levels and temperatures; with record breaking levels recorded in the USA, the Arctic, across Europe in Siberia and Australia last year.

The great thing about this genre is it warns what can come if people don’t act against those in power. In near future dystopian fiction there is almost always a resistance.

The good news is movements across the world for equality, justice and a just transition out of this mess we’ve made, more accurately the pursuit of profit and growth have made, are rising too and have gone global. 

For Gibsons entire hugely influential back catalogue see here https://williamgibsonbooks.com/

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: May 2022

Diary: May 2022

Late again posting… I finally emerged from late lingering mid winter blues early/mid May. Now charting a steady course and trying to resist the urge to play catch up or take on too much as I know from experience that would be countered productive.

Back in March I put myself on the waiting list for a course at Arvon and was delighted when a place came free at the end of April, it was a bit of a scramble but I got there. Entitled Magical Thinking the week was to explore poem as 

“spells and incantations” to look at “words that change us and thread magic through our existence” led by Fiona Benson and Liz Berry. 

This was such a pleasure, the tutors were amazing, the other participants lovely and the fresh air of Devon a blessed relief. 


Prior to this confirmation I’d also enrolled on a six week course in Death in Mythology as my writing tends to draw on these things from time to time. It’s all on zoom and though I’m having a degree of zoom fatigue, or rather zoom hesitancy, I think it will be worth it. 

Coming up (this has all pretty much happened now at time of posting)

There’s a benefit for Save Cressingham Saturday 14th May with experimental music , puppets and spoken word. This coincides with my birthday celebrates so all good.


Thursday 19th May 7.30pm sees Sundra Joanne Lawrence, Malika’s Poetry Kitchen sister, launch her Aryamati Prize winning pamphlet Warriors. With special guests Malika Booker, Be Manzini and Saradha Soobrayen and Anjan Saha to compere.

Here’s a wonderful endorsement from Rishi Dastidar

“In Warriors, Sundra Lawrence takes us into Tamil culture, the Sri Lankan civil war, and her life, in language that is tangible, evocative and visceral. There are moments here that will have you holding your breath; moments that will make you smile too. We are indeed ‘lucky monarchs’ to have these superb poems.”

Available from Foyles, Blackwells and WH Smith’s 

Thursday 26th May 7.30pm

Sees the double book launch from Nine Arches press of You have no normal country to return to by Tom Sastry and The Telling by Julia Webb.with guest poet Daniel Sluman.

You can find out more about the books and purchase copies of:

You have no normal country to return to here and

The Telling here

If you missed it you can watch here https://youtu.be/M8_q-Lf8x44

#amreading 52 Ways of Looking at a Poem by Ruth Padel. I’ve recently returned to this, it’s highly instructive if a little technical. About to embark on the 2021 Live Canon Anthology and dipping in out of The Gingko Prize Anthology 2020

#amwriting about bones and roots.  Briefly in April the sun shone on my process and poems arose clear and almost full formed but other times it’s as if I’m reaching into a swamp. I know there’s treasures in there but between me and the words is the murky depth, the tangle of weeds, the brush of an unseen creature. Yep, just like that

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Photography: Daisies

Photography: Daisies

Rudely awoken the other day by the grass cutters. The previous night I had been seized by what I can only assume was menopausal insomnia. I thought that was so over! Maybe not. ANYWAY, my first thought hearing the heavy machinery was -oh my god the daisies!

Needless to say I was in no fit state after about five hours sleep to go outside, arms flapping and plead mercy on their behalf. Fortunately they’ve done something uncharacteristically intelligent and only cut the edges of the grass verges and paths. Phew!

I’ve been desiring to snap the daisies with the camera as I’ve never seen Cressingham Gardens so replete, so copious with daisies. Never. Such swathes across many of our green spaces. Is it the late spring? Is it some function of the climate?

It’s as if nature itself is saying -wake up guys you’ve a planet to save.

So mid morning, too frayed to write, I stagger out with the camera which I’ve managed to get off the annoying post focus mode.

(This was an education in itself ie: if one has a tech issue it helps takes the attitude, “okaaay, let’s see what’s going on here,” fiddle fiddle rather than, “On my god what’s going on!” Panic? Fiddle. Panic! Fiddle, panic! Then one gets results.)

I was using the Panasonic Lumix rather than the Canon, which is not new but since a repair seems to have a new operating system and as manuals are gobbledygook to me its trial and error…

So here is result of playing with large aperture/ fast shutter trying to represent the detail and sheer scale of all this life. Which is tricky. Read: on my hands and knees, arse in the air. Bits of me creaking. Ignoring passsers by…

And this is one of the estates Lambeth Council Regen Team want to demolish…

The way is see it is if we all fight our corner, and for those of us in the cities our access to nature may well be just a little corner, resist attempts to take away the few resources that replenish our polluted air, places that are ecosystems in their own right, nurture these places, we are not just saving our communities but saving the planet.


there’s no planet b an all that

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Poetry by me: Morning Glory

Poetry by me: Morning Glory

Since the Arvon writing retreat my mind has been thrown back to the past. Childhood memories of encounters with nature mostly. This one though, I believe, was influenced Stevan Alcock’s Blood Relatives, that I was reading on the train down.

Alcock depicts scenes, in Leeds, circa 1978, in which punks and skinheads hung out together. Scenes I read with incredulity until I remembered those in the grimy town centre and at Bowles Lyon Youth Club in Stevenage New Town at that time.

I had a Saturday job in Littlewoods cafe in the town centre and would cringe with embarrassment when anyone I knew came in on account of the hideous uniform, the worst of it the cap that flattened my spiky hair.

The “Stevenage Skins” would frequent this establishment on Saturdays, I suspect they used it to hold their “business meetings.” Pubs were off limit, as we were all under age. Their cat calls of, “Oi Punk!” Were met from me with the eloquent, “Fuck off!”

It was on the way home from this Saturday job I first spoke to “Neil.”. The character that appears in this poem. All the names have been changed. Here’s a glimpse of my misspent youth. The poem may not be finished but its as good as it will get for now. Nb: WordPress has seriously mangled the line breaks…


Morning Glory

There’s a knock at the door, Mum shoots this sour look that says 

you get it, probably for you anyway. Swing the door back. 

Neil stands in the porch, Ben Sherman shirt, red boots and braces, mouth 

chewing hard; emphatically gurning. Thank god I answered the door! 

Wot you eating? – Morning Glory init. Me an’ Baggy thieved em

from the garden centre, they chased us out. Try to picture 

the Crombies and DM’s, moon stomping round the greenhouses, 

shorn heads bobbing above the displays of potted plants. 

Me and my mates we’d try anything to spirit away the real – glue, cough mixture, 

banana skins roasted under a grill, scrapped and smoked.

You coming out? – No, I’ve got homework. I’ve gotta get rid,

‘ow does he know where I live? And mother already seething

since I dyed my hair black. She hasn’t spoken to me, it’s been a week. 

Last time I saw Neil in the town centre we’d argued again –

You shouldn’t beat up black people, we’re all the same. When,

with a laugh I told mum I’d heard the only black boy at our school 

had joined the NF she scolded; it’s no joke, read Anne Frank,

adding fiercely after the lecture: Never again! Figure I’m doing my bit. 

The first time I let those words fly, hands on hips, chin out,

Neil replied, We’re NF, it’s what we do and I’m the main man 

adding, We like you, you’ve got bottle, your mates they just run.

Figure he saw something in me no one else saw, not me, 

not even mum. Never knew how much of all that fight talk 

was a just boast. Talk of blood on baseball bats. Never actually 

saw ‘em hit anyone. Though there were the rumours; Ashby 

tried to jump off the top of multi-storey.  Ferret got nicked, 

he was tooled up. Probably go down. Carrying a screwdriver. 


***

A post script to this: I ran into “Neil” about four years later, after he’d been inside and I’d started University. We had a chat in the town centre, he looked exactly the same. At some point I asked, “And what about the NF?” He replied, “Nah, that’s all over.”

When I asked, “So what changed?” The words he spoke have stuck with me all this time. He said, “It was like you felt that you had no future, coming from nowhere, going nowhere, so you pull your boots and a crombie and join the NF. It was just part of the uniform.”

I still don’t know if it was “just part of the uniform,” perhaps I’ll never know, but that attitude, so eloquently expressed as feeling like you were, “coming from nowhere and going nowhere” was prevalent at that time. I knew it well. It’s also a reminder that when times are difficult people don’t always choose a progressive route out of suffering.

It was at attitude reflected in the film Boston Kickout, written and directed by a Stevenage resident. A character says, paraphrasing, “there’s only four ways out of this place; marriage, college, prison or the psyche ward.” Words for our milieux which were prophetic.



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Autobio: Cats the Size of Rats

Autobio: Cats the Size of Rats

Recently saw an article in the Daily Mirror which peeked my interest headlined

Giant rats ‘the size of cats’ invading British homes through our toilets, expert warns

It pulled from me a memory of Future Legend by David Bowie, lyric below, the intro to the album Diamond Dogs.

This is how I remember it. Listening to the whole of that album over and over with a friend as teenagers. Trying to work out what it was all about, what it meant. Whether it spoke of the past or future?


I sat there on the bottom bunk of the bed bunks sniffing chloroform stolen from the chemistry lab while she sat near the window trying to piece her ear with a needle and a cork. Where the cork came from I have no idea, perhaps Dad when he embarked on his home made wine experiments using bananas and purple sprouting broccoli and anything else he thought could be fermented. 

The trick with chloroform was to stop inhaling just before you totally blacked out but had enough to enter an altered state. It left a sweet taste in the back of the throat. When one side of the record ended my friend said, “Can you turn it over?” I replied, “Can’t you?” Wondering if I could walk across the room and she said, “I’m only half way through.”

Future Legend by David Bowie

“And in the death

As the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimy

Thoroughfare

The shutters lifted in inches in Temperance Building

High on Poacher’s Hill

And red, mutant eyes gaze down on Hunger City

No more big wheels

Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats

And ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes

Coverting the highest of the sterile skyscrapers

Like packs of dogs assaulting the glass fronts of Love-Me Avenue

Ripping and rewrapping mink and shiny silver fox, now legwarmers

Family badge of sapphire and cracked emerald

Any day now

The Year of the Diamond Dogs

This ain’t Rock’n’Roll

This is Genocide”


You might wonder if that was really the best way to misspent one’s youth. This could have been circa 1975. There wasn’t much to do in the New Town of Stevenage and we’d recently been alerted to the threat of The Bomb, and joined the local CND group.

At some point later a band emerged from neighbouring Hitchin called the Bleach Boys. The had a signature track called Chloroform. They played it at an Anti Nazi League benefit in Hitchin, at one point with my friend on stage with the singer. 

I don’t know how that happened. I remember feeling immensely, possibly irrationally, proud. I wonder what happened to that band. I google. As you do. OMG they have a store in Amazon, tracks on YouTube, an album released in 2012 and still gigging! Chloroform, YouTube reliably tells me came out in 1978 so that gives sometime scale. 

The singer, if it is the same singer, still has hair and is slim and presumably fit as he pogoes up and down while he blasts out the howling lyrics. I can’t say there’s been much evolution in the musical style;  chopping guitars, wanging bass, thundering drumming and (surely by design) crescendos of feedback. I never did become a writer for the NME, mother put the kibosh on that. Another story.

As I approach 60 I look back on my life often. I think the recent style I’ve adopted is saying, “still a punk” though I never held with the spitting, the destructive urges, the “fuck you” attitude.

I stepped out recently to a friends 40th, my first post shingles outing, in ridiculously heavy patent leather-look boots, silver chains swinging from my neck and ear, a black, dayglo pink and grey dress that reached my ankles, under the long black Boohoo coat adorned with a safety pin. 

Punk was at first a place of liberation but eventually as tribes fractured into sub tribes one was as likely to be met with scorn as much as acceptance. And I figure I took Ian Dury’s “Sex and drugs and rock n roll” a way bit too literally.

Going thru this looking back phase that says what the hell happened to the last 20 years? (I started running creative writing workshops.) Or the last 30? ( I started writing.) The last 40? (I started Uni.) Time, it seems, has slipped by. For much of it I’ve been thinking, Am I doing good enough? Am I good enough? Am I ready? Back then I thought I was ready for anything.

And now we live in a time of hunger, sterile skyscrapers, empty during a housing crisis, if I look across the park at night I see “the red mutant eyes” of cranes that surround the new tall towers under construction while beneath the people scurry on zero hours contracts, and below them the fat rats, above them the “fat cats.”

It’s hard to put an accurate date to all this and we’ve come along way from rats the size of cats. Or have we? The years seem to have passed so swiftly yet some memories are as vivid as yesterday. I figure one remembers what mattered. Time, the scars it’s left, the sweetness, the inspiration.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: April 2022

Diary: April 2022

This is the place for a bit of my news, my adventures in creativity and poetry community news…

So I am late posting this, very late and part of the reason was a very unhelpful encounter with my GP surgery. Can’t help thinking of Pixie Madison, now a writer and performer for Cardboard Citizens, who famously regaled us, more than once with, “I’ve only got one joke… What’s the definition of care in the community?” Big pause. “Here’s a ticket to Brixton.”

Well, he had a point if my experience is anything to go by…. The details of my recent encounter with community care I’ll leave ‘til the end for anyone who experiences mental health issues or knows anyone that does, see after the fun stuff…

The month began with an inspiring reading from Stav Poleg for the launch of her book The City which took place on Zoom 6th April.

The start of the month also saw my first Brixton night out in soooo long hosted by Jack Blackburn and the Conformists with special guest Michael Groce. 

Really good to see so many familiar faces though tidy reminder that what looks like not-a-lot-of-wine is in fact exactly that – this fashion for mad sized glasses! 

Held at the Brixton Art Club it was great but a bit of a stimulation overload experience with art, sound and familiar faces all at once. I reckon this is a post lockdown or post – but not really post – covid effect or something… Here’s some grainy pics. 



I’ve been following a series of events by Dear Politicians including Ecopoetry and the movement on 13th April which you can catch up here

and How to write Ecopoetry on the 20th April here

While Writers Rebel presented a star studded showcase outside Tate Britain on the 15th April with contributions from Lemn Sissay, Zena Edwards, Inua Ellams, Patience Agbabi, Sarah Winman, Greg Norminton, Joe Dunthorne, Maggie Gee, Nikita Gill and Courttia Newland as well as Monique Roffey and Alex Lockwood. Catch it all here

On a personal note had a trip to British museum with a friend’s kids. Got to see some of the plundered treasures from around the world. It’s a bit unnerving to think probably most of this stuff is stolen… 

Headed to the Egyptian section to find the mummies. That was the objective since the Natural History Musuem that had promised dinosaur bones, the first choice, was all booked up. I was a bit perturbed that my friend’s son spent a quite a lot of time saying, Re: big tombs, “I’m bored.” Re: hieroglyphics, “Boring!” Re: ancient bones, “That’s not scary!” Re: ancient skeletons with skin on them, “Not scary at all.”

I was wondering where this desire or expectation “to be scared” came from and later remembered a convo before getting the lift. Child, “I’m not scared.” Me, “Well you might be if we leave you here overnight and everything comes to life.” (Ooooh, What was I thinking ?!) Child, “I could live here.” Me, “Yes, you’re quite small, you probably could.”



On the way out I asked, “Was there anything you liked?”  Emphatic reply, “The mummies!!” Phew! Later his mum commended me on making abandonment seem exciting when I told her about the convo at the lift!


But honestly do they need to keep ALL that stuff? Much of it was duplicates, particularly the urns (in the Greek section we passed through.) I mean how many urns do you need to make the point? 

After we sat in Bloomsbury Square while I pondered the Bloomsbury Group; their antiwar activity pre 1914, their artist legacy and nurturing of young artists in the 1920’s… wondering if my feel now touched the same grass, the same ground.

Also had a brief sojourn in Hastings over the bank holiday then when I got back began the unholy STRESS of getting a repeat prescription, for my mood meds, before they ran out – this is the mental health bit – but first a picture of a beach of daffodils…

This s t r e s s happens every two months to varying degrees and in varying forms when it’s time to get a new prescription. It’s not like this is a new condition; I was diagnosed bipolar around 1995 but of course the condition varies and my ability to manage it varies though these days I’m fairly stable.

I’m not going to go into ALL the gritty details of this particular rigmarole, it would take too long. Suffice it to say at the third call (average wait each time 45 mins) abandoning any attempt at calm or courtesy, when told, “I can’t tell you if the doctor has made it up or not,” I said, “That is not acceptable!” And promptly hung up. Then voila get a call back ten minutes later, “Your prescription is ready. The doctor has sent it to the pharmacy.” Just as I was penning a complaint to the practice manager. 

I say all this because I am in no doubt I am alone in experiencing these kind of difficulties. The NHS is in crisis. What can I say? This experience would suggest get your strop on. Get mad. Yet thats not the answer. All I can suggest is the following for any encounters with GP surgeries or mental health professionals:-

Write down what you need to say before you call (or attend an appointment.) Make notes of how you feel if necessary or appropriate. If you are patronised, as I have been in the past, remind them the call is being recorded and the requirement of courtesy applies to them too.

Remind them you are a vulnerable patient. If you are feeling particularly fragile ask someone else to call (or accompany you.) Know their policies and know you are entitled to decent treatment. Keep a record of what happened, where and when in case you need to make a complaint.

Sooooooooooo

#amreading Blood Relatives by Steven Alcock, The Sagas of Ragnar Lothbrok, and Gail McConnell’s The Sun is Open

#amwriting about the remarkable beings ficaria verna, also known as pilewort or the lesser celandine. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Photography: Filto app (and some thoughts on the future)

Photography: Filto app (and some thoughts on the future)

Have discovered a new photo app. One can do cute things with it or more disturbing things. It seems pretty limited one can only add one effect and one filter at a time, and some of the effects are really just filters.

Created the original image, the one l’ve messed with, on NYE. Yeah. Read: Trying on new lipstick and pouting into the iPhone. The first makeup I’ve bought in about 15 years if truth told.

If I’m blatantly honest at the back of my mind was the thought can I still pull it off before my lips get thin and puckered. I am not proud of this train of thought. I’ve reached that stage of life where whilst I’m all for positive images of older people though a little part of me screams ageing? Ok for you, but not me! Yes, really. 

Am playing around with this app while sitting in a great heap of exhaustion. I could do to get to Brixton Wholefoods but somehow I don’t think that’s gonna happen today. Everyday last week woke with gritty eyes, foggy mind, somewhat bloated feeling and a kind of overwhelming weakness. I’ve got some stuff done, essentials and some writing and submissions. 


Earlier I finished my book; The Parable of the Talents, the sequel to The Parable of the Sower. It was harrowing; I think I’m gonna have to take a break from near future dystopian fiction for a while coz instead of giving me the feeling things-aren’t-that-bad-yet. It’s tending to make me feel actually-things-aren’t-far-off-from-that. Both books are by Octavia E Butler, a black woman from California who has received the Hugo and Nebula awards for her work, both are an edge of your seat compelling read.

That said, these stories are also tending to make my think, as did Olamina, the narrator in the first book, that I need to repack my apocalypse bag. This is a real thing and resembles, and has been used as, camping equipment. They also make me too acutely aware of my lack of knowledge about the essentials of survival.

I mean how to you make soap or grow wheat? What plants can you eat? I know you can eat dandelion but that’s hardly going to keep us going when faced with raging famine and perhaps people who might not want to share or work collectively. And furthermore, tends to make me feel I need to enrol at a firing range and get in some shooting practice.

Yes, really, in my darker moments this crosses my mind. I was only joking about this last summer. About how come the apocalypse only the bad guys are gonna have the guns. And how I ought to know having watched every dystopian movie out there, naively wondering why they just can’t form a citizens assembly, then the penny dropped…Dark thoughts yes I know. Though the joke was funny at the time.

Anyway. I say all this at the risk of bringing you down on this fine winters day. At least it was fine earlier. That’s not my intention. It occurs to me these editing facilities of the Filto app could stand as a metaphor for possible destinies. We can make images nice or nasty. We can do the same for our future. Every day I feel it more and more its in our hands. It really is. Quite literally.

I just think we should all think very carefully about the future and what it holds, how we can shape it, what we are going to bequeath. How our action now, in activism or other ways; big and small, can make a difference between a hell or a heaven on earth or at least tend towards paradise, nostra primavera, Shangri-La, a new Eden with some almighty damage limitation and system change. 


Of course, well on one level, I don’t really believe things here will get that bad as scenes depicted in Butler’s stories in my lifetime, at least not in the West. In other parts of the world, as Margaret Atwood work also suggests, elements of these stories certainly exist already. In an early edition of the Handmaids Tale Atwood notes, paraphrasing, ”All the practices cited in this book exist now somewhere in the world.” That was the bit that really sent chills through me when I read this as a young adult.

The scenarios described by Butler might well be experienced by our children and children’s children if we don’t act now. That is why I think it’s so hard to read about. These books, though fiction, give a very realistic picture of what the future might hold if we are unable to deal sufficiently with the climate emergency, with poverty and inequality. If we don’t have a just transition and system change we face at best a bleak future.


In these stories, published in the 1990’s, we see, against a backdrop of climate change, the rise of a fundamentalist quasi fascist Christian force who take power. The president, Jarret, aims ”to make America great again.” Thugs, associated with the regime but unacknowledged by them, round up and literally enslave the dispossessed; unemployed, homeless, squatters and groups with a different world view including Olamina’s Earthseed community.

We see what a deregulated and regressively legislated society and economy could look like with the return of debt bondage, legalised torture and sex trafficking. We see the violence that ensues when people are barely surviving, traumatised, desperate and distrusting. Sound familiar?

Just a last word on the app. There’s a three day free trial. After that its £34.99 for a year. It might be worth it for social, to glam up and play with party images but as an artists tool I’d say its pretty limited. There doesnt seem to be a function to make videos for more than 5 seconds. One can trim, cut and alter the speed but thats about it. Can’t seem to loop them either. Verdict: fun but an expensive toy.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Poetry by others: Kate Clancy 

Poetry by others: Kate Clancy 

This poem is from the collection Slattern, published in 2001, which won Winner of the Forward Prize for Best First Collection and the Saltire Prize for the Scottish First Book of the Year. I came across it when searching for poems about hats! Sharing as an image as it contains some nice yet subtle formatting.

The text reads

Tip

Get a hat, a homberg, keep

it on bars, tipped

so just your profile shows.

Imply a smile, one-sided. Perhaps

a scar to hold it.

Seek out the half light, stand

oblique, a silhouette. Smoke

a blue edged trail

in icy air, by a lamppost, let

your few sharp words intensify

to clouds. Be lean.

Be leaning on the bar I plan

to enter. Irony’s the ice I keep

my dreams in. Drop

some in your whisky. Hold it there.


This filmic image says so much in so few words. The collection is described as, “poems about men and boys: married men, self-sufficient men, wounded men, and men ‘who own/the earth and love it’; poems about memory and time.”

If you are a women you know this scene, in fact we all do if we’ve seen enough movies. Here imaged with the emphatic line breaks, the repetition of the long i sound that runs throughout, the short lines and short sentences building tension to the bitter, “Irony’s the ice I keep/ my dreams in.” As the absent narrator becomes present sharply in focus out of all that smoke (and mirrors.)

I am aware that more recently Kate Clancy’s work has drawn controversy. This post is not an endorsement of that. I can’t comment on it specifically as I’ve not read the offending text: Some Kids I Taught and What They Taught Me. Nor as a white writer do I feel it is appropriate to comment on a debate about the representation of race.

However I can’t help think it’s quite right that writers take issue with discuss and debate not just what has been represented but how. Though in my opinion if that then leads to hounding and “cancelling” it helps noone, except perhaps the right wing who in the USA who are currently carrying out a fury of “cancelling,” benefits. I absolutely respect that was never the intentions of the critics of Clancy’s work. 

Hence I share this not as a political statement or ”taking” sides but because it is a brilliant poem. My position, if I have one, on discussions of oppressions is we are all learning and growing. We all make mistakes. We all hold unconscious bias. We all have different lived experiences which inform those bias. A very different thing from conscious prejudice, I think. Though perhaps the experience of such can seem very similar to the oppressed. These are is thoughts in progress.

Brief bio

Kate Clanchy was born and grew up in Scotland. She is a writer in several genres, and has won the BBC National Short Story Award for her fiction, a Forward Prize and the Saltire Prize for her poetry, and the Writers’ Guild Award for her much acclaimed memoir Antigona and Me. She was shortlisted for the Ted Hughes Award for We Are Writing a Poem About Home, a radio poem by the students of Oxford Spires Academy where she has been Writer in Residence since 2009.

More info

https://www.reading.ac.uk/english-literature/our-staff/kate-clanchy

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: March 2022

Diary: March 2022

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

For the first half of February I felt like I had my head in a box in a padded cell with no windows, longing for the sap rising energy of March. Then Storm Eunice arrived and swept all that away and some of the roofs on Cressingham Gardens and thoughts and movement returned.

Unwary I joined the world once more with varying results. Now back to watching Vikings on Netflix again, (this is how I self soothe, I’m serious) back to living like the hermit on the hill and hardly noticed February swing into March. 

In the poetry world what’s up? Well, I haven’t exactly been in the world much but I can tell you am looking to seeing Salena Godden, reading from Mrs Death Meets Death at Piccadilly Waterstones on Wednesday 16th March plus zooming in with the Red Poets Sunday 20th. 

Coming up World Poetry Day on Monday 21st March and Poets for Ukraine hold ”a hybrid sponsored poetry event” on 27th March taking place at JW3, 341-351 Finchley Rd, London NW3.

Provisional timings are 11-5pm poem-a-thon in a space that seats about 40 people with a evening gala event 7-9pm in a larger auditorium. This is to be a combination of virtual and live performances and audiences will be able to come in person or watch remotely.”

Booking essential. Links below.

Day: https://www.jw3.org.uk/whats-on/poets-ukraine

Eve: https://www.jw3.org.uk/whats-on/poets-ukraine-gala

Image by Henny Beaumont

The daytime event is sponsored, to sponsor a poet go to https://www.gofundme.com/f/poets-hope-and-aid?member=17960261&utm_medium=email&utm_source=product&utm_campaign=p_email+inviteacceptedemailtoteammember&fbclid=IwAR0Vw9z7UhRpjzfj_pA2msp-I2dp4P-Ntf40m1W-EZWQBihwJFjb_oYU9N

All the funds raised will go to humanitarian organisations. My position on the war is I that support and stand in solidarity will the Ukrainian people against Russian aggression but I wonder if this would even be happening if NATO had wound their neck in after the Warsaw Pack was dissolved AND had Bush and Blair not carried out an illegal war in Iraq setting a precedent for international law breaking. Besides this, caught sight of a meme, which I can’t seem to copy or upload, which says:

I know not

what weapons world war III

will be fought, but world war IV

will be fought

with sticks and stones

Albert Einstein. 

These words have been winging around my mind every time I hear commentators on TV and radio blithely remark on the prospect of a nuclear exchange, or nuclear incident without adding, “but of course that would be UNTHINKABLE that would be THE END OF EVERYTHING.” 

I want to be informed without being overwhelmed and collapsing into stasis, uselessness, hopelessness. The only constancy in my life has been the struggle; for peace, justice, equality in various ways. Poetry came later. Right now I feel what was it all for as we stand at the abyss of all abyss’s, at times I feel what was the point and I now where that train of thought leads. How does it help knowing we swim in insanity, absurdity, obscenity it gives no succour. 

A part of me says only if we can look the darkness in the face and still hope we can overcome. Better than to be consumed by it. Yesterday at the end of a poem an acorn dropped at my feet. Hope however small is still hope. 

I wonder how on earth did I cope with these similar fears as a teen? Action I guess, we took action. We (CND) were told more than once to “go back to Russia”, leafleting on the streets, which only emboldened us. 

But before that? When alone, thinking the whole world was mad! And if not them, me? Perhaps I was stronger than I thought despite shaking before walking into a youth club. Hiding in the library at school.

Strength I call for now for me, for us all. Calm, clear sight and gentleness for the world. Thinking, really, “what’s so funny about peace, love and understanding” as we stand at the brink. 

After watching the series Vikings the first time round I dug out the Poetic Edda. It was complied around the 9th Century. (There is also the Prose Edda, which was written some centuries later and as such is an interpretation.) It appears to be a fusion of history and myth chronicling pretty much all we know of; Viking life, belief and ethos. The Edda predicted their end, they called it Ragnarok. The end not just of their way of life but of their gods. One might say that came to pass. Only the Edda remains and these modern interpretations…

Katheryn Winnick in ‘Vikings’ | Jonathan Hession/A+E Networks/History

Our “end of days” has been predicted in numerous forms. I’ve come to think of it as it as a metaphor for transformation. The ascension a metaphor for becoming fully human. Not an end but the possibility of a new beginning. At times like this with the advent of war that feels like hopeless idealism. 

I still hold with “if we can break it we can (re) make it”, here “we” is humanity, but only if there is something left beyond dust and irradiation. Or we leave the world to the cockroaches but they won’t recite, interrogate or interpret our hymns, songs and ecopoetry.

On a personal note a friend invites me to a birthday “do” closing the text with – Dress Code: Sexy. And I think how do you even do that? After spending most evenings in sweats and jumpers and (quite frankly ridiculous) knitted socks since I turned the heating down for the planet, this feels like rather a challenge. (I won’t say “jerseys” because that makes it sound even more sad, language is wonderful isn’t.)

Oh, and did I mention nestling under a furry throw? Because that way, even though it’s made of polyester, when watching Vikings I can imagine I’m one of them, Lagertha perhaps. Sorry, of course it’s Lagertha;  shieldmaidan, warrior, wife of Ragnar Lothbrok.  (While simultaneously musing I’m pretty sure there’s a pizza in the fridge but can I be bovvered.)

As regards the party, I hear “fall back on the feminine classic, get out the little black dress” I reflect there’s about four of them in sixes 8 to 12. Only one I can pull over my hips (and that was five years ago) and it rides up so far it’s comical read: a bit embarrassing. I saw the photos. And it was a book launch. Our Cressingham book launch to be precise… 306: Living Under the Shadow of Regeneration. More about that here


I hear the words of my mother or a neighbour when I were but a child, berating some poor soul, “Mutton dressed up as lamb I reckon”. I hear many voices dictating what women over fifty can, should, could, must, mustn’t wear and “Don’t have you’re hair beneath your shoulders,” and “Don’t shape your eyebrows too thin,” and finally conclude it’s all bollocks… but how deep goes the conditioning of what a women can/should/must/mustn’t dare wear. 

Still the outfit search goes on… And the war goes on… And the poetry and creativity and ingenuity of millions of souls goes on though I’m still hearing the word “nuclear” too often for my liking 

#amreading The Hidden life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben,  Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake and Panic Response by John McCollough 

#amwriting about trees and fungi and the war of course, and my latest contribution to the Listen Up On our Radar hub is here 

https://groundswell-listenup-hub.org/are-you-receiving-me/

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Writing Prompt: The Magic of the Giant Cedar

Writing Prompt: The Magic of the Giant Cedar

Play with this; use the image as a prompt. This tree is located on an island in the archipelago Barkley Sound, The islands are part of a national park in British Columbia in Canada. 

What stories she could tell! Set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes and freewrite and see where it takes you. Then consider what you have just made. Is it for just for fun, or does it feel it needs development? Does it welcome a form?

Rules of the freewrite, after Natalie Goldberg, from Writing Down the Bones; keep your hand moving, don’t stop or cross out, don’t worry about spelling or grammar. Don’t think, just write, follow the words, just see what comes. 

Image by Matt Jackisch who says, 

“On a tiny island West of Vancouver Island exists this giant cedar tree. I had heard the myths and legends and followed a trail of broken hints in a kayak to find it. I’ve visited several times now and really loved the low hanging light in the forest this day.”


Have fun with the process of writing. once you have finish your freewrite be curious about what you have made. Not all writing is for submission or publication, sometimes it’s enough to exercise that writing muscle. You may feel you wish to develop the piece or take it in a different direction, if so you may want to consider this additional information. 

Close to Barkley Sound on Vancouver Island a courageous struggle has been taking place on indigenous land to stop logging of similar old growth trees.

Image by Jesse Winter/ The Guardian

Contractors and police have been vicious in their treatment of people that want to save trees such as this. The largest protest has been at Fairy Creek. Last year a protester commented, 

“We’re now at the point where River Camp, which has been occupied for the better part of seven months … has now been aggressively cleared out and there is machinery waiting at the bottom of the hill to cut down thousand-year-old trees,” said Luke Wallace

The action is organised by the Fairy Creek Blockade, “a volunteer driven, grassroots, non-violent direct action movement,” committed to  protecting the last stands of globally significant ancient temperate rainforest on Vancouver Island.

https://laststandforforests.com/

Last September it was reported, “With 882 arrests so far, the old-growth logging protest at Fairy Creek has now surpassed Clayoquot Sound as the largest act of civil disobedience in Canadian history, according to B.C. Green Party Leader Sonia Furstenau.” As of February this year more than 1100 people had been arrested and charged. 

The struggle against Teal Cedar Ltd continues, on the land and in the courts. This video contains some inaccurate information about the protest, which has been nonviolent throughout, but gives some idea of the scope of the issue.

https://www.cheknews.ca/videos/62312e12112cc000018abe3f/fairy-creek-logging-blockades-return-for-third-year-of-protes


A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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On Writing: Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

On Writing: Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

Some interesting thoughts here in Writing on your own Terms from Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore on gatekeepers, the Canon, an “imagined centre ground” and how writing is what keeps us alive.

“If writing is what allows us to dream, to engage with the world, to say everything that it feels like we cannot say … then we need to write on our own terms, don’t we?”

She concludes that writers need writers. I guess we all know this and we all read yet so often we are content to hide away in the comfort of our writing space. So join a workshop, start a course, go on a writing retreat.

Brief bio

MATTILDA BERNSTEIN SYCAMORE is the author, most recently, of The Freezer Door, a New York Times Editors’ Choice, one of Oprah Magazine’s Best LGBTQ Books of 2020, and a finalist for the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award for “a book-length work of any genre for its originality, merit, and impact, which has broken new ground by reshaping the boundaries of its form and signaling strong potential for lasting influence.”  Sycamore is the author of two nonfiction titles and three novels, and the editor of six nonfiction anthologies. 

More info

https://www.mattildabernsteinsycamore.com/

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Diary: February 2022

Diary: February 2022

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity.

Oh what a slow time it has been. It really feels like this month and I have been dragging our feet through the days. On rare days there is light. On one of these I took myself to the Brockwell Park Community Greenhouses which are presently being renovated. They describe themselves thus: 

“a community garden in the centre of Lambeth’s Brockwell Park. Our beautiful, large site includes an orchard, a series of demonstration gardens, a walled herb garden and two large greenhouses. We help people grow through learning, and learn through growing.” 

Adding, 

“We run a garden volunteering scheme, school visits, family events, courses and workshops.  At BPCG, people learn about conserving the environment and wildlife, to appreciate nature and to understand organic gardening and food growing – and all in a very friendly community spirit.”

I was excited to find an area dedicated to bugs -something I’ve been reading about and occasionally writing about – interesting! This unlikely structure is a home for bugs.


At the end of January stumbled upon an exhibition called SPACETIME. It’s curated by Katya Kan, featuring her work and that of eight other artists. My fave in the show was M.O.O.N. Series by Sandrine Elberg Band white inkjet on 42 x 30 cm paper. The private view took place at a rather funky little bar at 20 Hanway Street. The show is on, I understand, for three months by appointment. 

The whole thing was such a refreshing change to home time, to lockdown life with dj’s, singers, spoken word, a welcoming atmosphere and even a bit of hula hoping from poet Jade Evans. With her encouragement I performed my poem Quantum Chance which kinda fit with the theme. It felt good to be up on a mic again. 


This month see the launch of Listen Up “A lived experience-led project, kickstarting major change towards better healthcare access and life expectancy for people facing homelessness.” 


A bit of a mouth full however the project aims to challenge “the inhumanity that people experiencing homelessness face barriers to healthcare and are more likely to die young.”

It operates via a hub which “collates raw reports on experiences, concerns and feedback – a network of trained community reporters experiencing homelessness, living all around the UK.” 

The hub has been created by Groundswell and On Our Radar, funded by Comic Relief. My role in all this is as one of those reporters, my latest contribution here on the theme of connectivity.


February also saw the publication of A Fish Rots From The Head by Culture Matters. Described as a “quickfire anthology” edited by Rip Buckley. My rapidly created concrete poem didn’t make the grade but the anthology is available here 

Looking forward to the online Emma Press book launch of poetry pamphlet: “Overlap” by Valerie Bence. Taking place 7pm Thursday 24th February The event features a reading from Valerie plus Q&A with founding editor Emma Dai’an Wright. You can order a copy of the pamphlet here: https://theemmapress.com/shop/poetry/pamphlets/overlap/

The book’s blurb: Valerie Bence’s debut poetry pamphlet is a testament to ordinary lives, and a meditation on grandmothers. Part memoir, part family history, Overlap is a series of vivid vignettes from the poet’s childhood, courtship, motherhood and grandmotherhood, spanning the 20th and 21st centuries.


Coming up Your Time To Shine taking place on a barge at 2 Canal Way London W10 5AA on March 5th, 6th, 12th, 13th from midday to 7pm I’m hoping to be reading on one of these days tbc. and depending on energy levels which are a little submarine at the mo. 


And it’ll be a Brixton family day out Saturday 26th February out to see the fab Ruby Sparklepants in RAPPUNZEL at London Walthamstow Trades Hall, 61-63 Tower Hamlets Rd, Walthamstow, yep getting out of the borough! 

#amwriting about locusts and fungi, about the whole jaw jaw towards war war which is desperately disturbing quite frankly, 

#amreading O Caledonia by Elspeth Barker, The Kids by Hannah Lowe and working my way through back issues of the Gingko Prize Anthologies currently 2020

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Matter poetry: Caged

Matter poetry: Caged

Much of the modern world seems to me absurd, insane and obscene, with these objects I attempt to create art as narrative surprise, breaking down distinctions between the plastic, the digital and the written word.

Caged is a meditation on modernity, on a system driven by the relentless need for profit, ideologies that justify and support that system, one that can enslave and imprison our bodies and minds, if we let it.

Materials: wire, dried plant.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Quote: Martin Luther King Jnr

Quote: Martin Luther King Jnr

“We must discover the power of love the power, the redemptive power of love. And when we discover that we will be able to make of this old world a new world. We will be able to make men better. Love is the only way.”

Loving Your Enemies (November 1957) 


It’s kinda funny to read this as I’ve been hastaging “love is the way” for a while unknowing of the footsteps I walked in or not quite aware of the influence of these words. I also found this and I’m not sure if what follows is a continuation of the MLK quote or from elsewhere as the source I found was ambiguous. I’m sharing it as I feel it makes concrete what love means. 

“When love is the way, then no child will go to bed hungry in this world ever again. When love is the way, we will let justice roll down like a mighty stream and righteousness like an ever-flowing brook. When love is the way, poverty will become history. When love is the way, the earth will be a sanctuary. When love is the way, we will lay down our swords and shields, down by the riverside, to study war no more. When love is the way, there is plenty of room – plenty good room – for all of God’s children.”

There’s a irony I feel, “love” is one of the most used words of the English language, the others are “sex”and “chocolate”. I’ve heard it said, in humour, if you want a bestseller make sure to include love, or sex or chocolate in the title. Yet we all love someone or something and that alone is surely motivation for our unity of the human species which we need so much at this time of climate emergency.

Yet we know so little of true love, real love; universal and unconditional. We here being humanity. Who can even honestly say they love themselves unconditionally? Let alone others. Few of us have really learned to love. We are children of trauma. We will wash ourselves clean of it down by the riverside only when we have created and built that new world that grows within the old.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Diary: January 2022

Diary: January 2022

This is the place for a bit of my news, my adventures in creativity and poetry community news…

Happy new year to you all! The light seeping into my flat on New Years Day had a different quality – lighter, brighter. I was fairly intent on ignoring the whole NYE thing but in the end I did put on a bit of lippy and have a wee drinky, popped out at midnight and met up with few of the neighbours and together we raised a glass and watched fireworks in a 360 display that went on for a good 15-20 minutes. In true block style one of the neighbours came out in his dressing gown. 

If I’m honest I’m glad to put last year to bed even if this notion of counting time is fairly arbitrary. It was such a tough year. The third lockdown hit me hard. The whole shingles thing was a real challenge and the year was bookended by virtual funerals, not the best way to see people off. RIP Paul, Leroy, Shashi, Offshore, Gwen, Dale. What can I say. It’s almost been too much. 

There’s been some highlights I guess, little trip to Botany Bay Margate, the live launch of Too Young, Too Loud, Too Different, starting mentoring with author and poet Bethany Rivers and hence writing in a more focused and productive way plus the birthday picnic in the park with great company (and Cava and Kahlua, that went down well.) 

Think I’ve had a bit of a relapse health wise and as a result if I’m honest been feeling fed up, frustrated and somewhat forlorn. I seem to be experiencing fatiguey post viral symptoms. After a mere short exertion, 4500 steps, to put money of the gas card led to two days in bed! 

But at least not in the depths of the underworld picking up pomegranate seeds, at least not at the mo, it could be mild depression, that does tend to happen at this time of year, and not immune to the feeling life-is-passing-me-by-and-I’m-just-in-a-big-heap-oh-woe-is-me! (Dramatic sigh!) 

Hades, Persephone and Cerberus at the dog park eating Pomegranate and swimming in lava By Zelda Devon. (Cropped and with added contrast)

The T.S. Eliot’s was a massive tonic and the result even more so. For me as neither a butch women nor a lesbian, but as a women with fluid sexuality, diagnosed bipolar, decades of chronic fatigue and brain fog and a lifetime of feeling other, Joelle Taylor’s work makes me feel all kinds of different are acceptable. I find in that sense C+nto and other work by Joelle on women, young people and the precarious is poetry of and as liberation. But less from me on this in her own words here

There’s been some other inspiring moments for working class writers in the last month including this from Culture Matters featuring poems; What is History, Discuss? by Anna Robinson, where are the working class now by Martin Hayes and Struggle by Jim Aitke and two moving poems which focus on the male psyche and body from Peter Reynard in Black Nore Review

Meanwhile Poets for the Planet has had a bit of exposure in Poetry News

As regards January, this slow time, I don’t really do news years resolutions, but have resolved TO GET OUT MORE, to submit work for publishing more, (not diffic since the base line is almost zero) and let people who are important to me know they are important to me. More order, less chaos, in brief get another Billy Bookcase and some bedroom cupboards. 

Oh and get my BMI back down to 22. It’s presently hovering at around 24.5 which is not good. When I went to Malta 3 1/2 years ago my body was slim, lean and tanned. Now it resembles a crumpled dough ball. It’s not so much what it looks like but it don’t feel good. I’ve been going thru an – accept the menopause belly – phase but now I’m thinking no, no, no let’s shift it. 

Life is still dominated somewhat be screens though at least one was outside-the-in-the-world. I went to see Dune recently and oh, yes, oh so epic on so many levels. Even if you are not a fan of sci-fi I urge you to see this movie and on a big screen. Dreams, giant worms and prophesy might seem a bit far fetched but It works, in my opinion, as a critique of imperialism, capitalism and colonialism, and possibly Climate Change and is so vividly and visually engaging I wanted to freeze frames to witness the sheer complexity of scenes and it’s raw beauty. Take my word for it. Dont take my word for it, here’s a trailer.

On the small screen besides Don’t Look Up, which I liked and let’s face it is the talk of town, very much liked The Tourist and The Power of the Dog. I felt both resisted the good guy/ bad guy dichotomy and explored the grey areas that exist in human mind and behavoir while being utterly compelling. 

We’ve got our fill of real life drama and it seems Partygate isn’t going away anytime soon. My only concern is that two deeply regressive bills presently going through Parliament the Police and Crime Bill and the Nationality and Borders Bill are getting little attention. There was a protest against both of these. We mustn’t lose sight of the attacks on civil liberties and citizens rights taking place right now.  Or let the absurd and obscene manoeuvres in Downing Street and Parliament or the pandemic be a smoke screen. 

#amreading a whole bunch of stuff including the Ginkgo 2020 Anthology and The Falafel King is Dead by Sara Shilo which explores grief from the point of view of each member of an immigrant family in a small Israeli town and paints a picture of life for a marginalised community of Jewish Arabs.

#amwriting or trying to write about the earth that is earth, soil, it’s fragility and fitness, about what lives there, those complex webs within it that make the difference between it being healthy or not, I think that’s what I’m trying to do…

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Poetry by me: The Button Tin

Poetry by me: The Button Tin

A prose version of this poem was published in the Loose Muse Anthology of New Writing by Women Spring 2013. Sharing this today thinking about the women’s marches of 2017 after the election of the 45th.

Reflecting that women, in small ways and large have always been a part of the struggle; sometimes on the front line, other times carrying out unseen acts of solidarity and resistance.

Its based on a childhood memory from my maternal grandmothers and to some degree reimagined. My mothers family were from Blackburn Lancashire. My grandmother was a former mill worker. The family moved south to Stevenage Old Town before my mother was born. As I understood it because my grandfather was told by a doctor that with his lungs he wouldn’t live long if he stayed in the north.

It occurred to me writing this I was unknowingly brought up with three languages; the Standard English of school, the Lancashire dialect of my mothers family and the Yorkshire dialect of my fathers family. These last two over lap to a large degree, with a subtle difference of accent.

I spent a lot of my childhood in a blur of confusion. Frequently not understanding what was being said to me as even my mother rarely “translated” sayings and expressions; you don’t know you were born…were you born in a barn… I didn’t dare or even know how to ask for explanation.

I’ve screen shotted the poem as WordPress has this annoying tendency of garbling all the line breaks. Hope its readable. I appreciate for anyone with limited vision the font is very small. Don’t hesitate to contact me for a large print version.

Note to the poem

During the miners strike in the winter of 1972 an event known as the Battle of Saltley Gate took place. It was turning point in the strike and a legend in trade union history.

On the morning of the 10th February, following a call from (the then little known) Arthur Scargill, 30 000 engineering and building workers from Birmingham walked out. 10 000 of them marched to the outskirts of the town to join a mass picket at the West Midlands coking depot. They succeeded in closing it down, stopping deliveries undermining the strike.

Among them were engineers from SU Carburettors, ”crowds of women”  who marched at the front under a red AUEW banner. They made their way to the inner ring of the pickets and stood opposite the police lines. “It was solidarity action on an unprecedented scale, one of the largest mass pickets the country had even seen.” http://www.freedompress.org.U.K./news/2012/04/10/the-battle-of-saltley-gate/&nbsp;

The strike lasted seven weeks ending when the NUM agreed to a pay offer on 19th February. Two years later a work to rule (overtime ban) by the miners in response to rising inflation, at over 7%, led to the three day week. When prime minister Edward Health took it to the nation in the “Who Governs Britain” election of February 1974 he lost and Labour leader Harold Wilson was returned to power at the head of a minority government.

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here

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Diary: December 2021

Diary: December 2021

Return after a week away to Plan B Omicron Britain which mainly seems to consist of pretty-much-what-most-people-were-doing-anyway; working from home, wearing masks in enclosed public spaces, social distancing at a distance, that arguably, if any less would be considered, (in British terms) a bit creepy at best and at worse possibly verging on sexual harassment or threatening behaviour.

I’ve just got back from a retreat of sorts in the rather glorious Lanzarote. I had/have certain reservations about flying during a climate emergency but it’s hard when you hear of the number of private jets swooping into COP 26; one report states 118 (Forbes) another suggests it was as high as 670 (The Metro), hard not to develop a fuck it mentality. 

I will be donating a sizeable proportion over and above my total spend to reforestation. Is this just to placate my nagging conscience? Maybe. I’m only human. 

The trip was designed as a let’s-finally-kick-into-touch-the-whole-shingles-encounter break with yoga, tai chi, a spa, a gym and pool. I swerved the gym obvs! Though I walked every day  bathed in the sea air, if not the sea itself and the sunlight. By rights should be feeling renewed and refreshed. 

However the day after I arrived a received a message saying, “Did you know Dale is very ill?”Dale and I had spoken recently…frequently of late. He commented recently about “a gastric flu” and what sounded like a fairly alarming symptom, “limping with abdominal pain” but kind of playing it down. For someone as self deprecating as Dale hindsight tells me that should have rung alarm bells. 

I refrained from my usual barrage of unsolicited health advice, thinking he’s an adult, he can look after himself, instead suggested lightheartedly he’d better see or at least speak to a doc in case his insides felt out or words to that effect. I’d had a flu like thing myself and went into details of my treatment regime in the hope he’d take the hint. I didn’t pick up the phone. 

Yet it occurs to me post world wide web we’ve slipped into this culture of can I call? Calls are scheduled. When I say “we” here I mean people I know on the whole. Sending a Facebook comment when a text would be just as easy. Sending a text when a call would be good. Picking up the phone when when meeting up would be better. 

None of this prepared me to hear – induced coma – ICU – sepsis – leukaemia – DNR – turning off life support – And so as his life slipped away just three days later. I sat watching the sun set writing a poem to him after a day praying for a miracle. An hour and a half later I heard that Dale had passed. 

Our last messenger convo was about a writing swop. I was made up by this turn of events as Dale was, still hard to use the past tense, a brilliant writer, in fact, I was a little in awe of his writing depth and output. He had a voice that was witty, incisive, irreverent, sagacious and yet empathetic. Dale had more empathy than most people have in their big toe. And so it was agreed to start this week. 

I spent the proceeding days away in a kind of numbed blur. Going through the motions. After three days of meditating and sending light, then hearing he had succumbed to this sudden and unexpected early passing I felt bereft of meaning and purpose. 

And if I’m honest I still can’t accept it. I scroll through pics, I reread his articles, listen to his poems hearing a gentleness in his voice I’d not heard before. At the airport on the way home I read 148 messages full of condolences and wry memories from his friends in response to the inevitable Facebook post. 

The day before I left it all threw me into – into what? Perhaps a form of benign nihilism, I’d had a complimentary glass of wine with my last dinner and an amiable chat with a couple at the next table and found myself experiencing something close to cheerfulness. Consequently I wrote, 

“I’m just struck with the absolute transitory nature of everything; a mood, a sensation, an experience. A state I’m told can be achieved by years of meditation. I’ve heard this described as entering a state where one experiences the true nature of reality. Yet instead of conveying to me the deep sense of some other universal eternal with profound meaning and comfort it’s borderline terrifying and just led me back to what’s the point? A place i really don’t want to be.

If each moment comes and goes; bliss, sorrow, pain, anger, agony, ecstasy then so what? Perhaps the higher beings are not evolved beings who have transcended the human experience but those who never knew it. The stones, the plants, the trees, the burrowing insects. 

Perhaps it is we humans that are un-evolved in comparison, primitive. Let’s face it we are on the whole primitive. I have no grief for the end of humanity if I’m honest. And feel on some level nature will survive us. Look at what we’ve made; an indoor artificial waterfall, smart loos, chemical weapons…. 

I often wonder that Agent Smith was right the world would be better without us or at least we should stop trying to better nature, being the big Hu-Man, knowing so fucking much and understanding so little. And what is the point even if we are part of a big whole, a hive mind, a universal consciousness, some days I see consciousness as a giant multi faced glitter ball, shining on one side, darkened on the other…”

Image creator Marcy IPTC

After that it appears I stopped writing and presumably fell asleep. Since I’ve considered the point is not so much what we create, learn or experience but how we are with each other, what we share including thoughts, feelings and of course experiences, acts of creation, learning and dance! And yes these too are transitory. 

And though I don’t see death as an ending, rather a portal, the beginning  of another journey – otherwise really what would be the point?  If all the accumulated lessons and wisdom of a lifetime was just snuffed out. I guess the sheer existence of death gives life its meaning. And in particular those shared moments with other human bodied souls. 

(Though some days I think I’d rather come back as a tree, preferably a gnarled old oak tree or if I was really privileged a giant cedar, the kind they have in Fairy Creek, British Columbia or a Japanese platform cedar.)

Of course the pandemic has taken away so much sociability over the past two years. And now people are opening talking about how covid could go on another two years. Well it will unless we fucking get on with vaccinating the world! I wonder does all this isolation and distancing make us less human? Being human is being social. Does screen gazing and clicking and scrolling make us less or more evolved? 

I guess it depends what finds the eye. Ironically Dale and I became closer over the past two years than we had been for decades. And I will miss him terribly. While I got not much further than the park next door with more frequency he seemed to have taken advantage of the pandemic to indulge in slack lining which appears to be balencing precariously on a loose line strung across quarries and other wild spaces. A kind of apt metaphor for these times. 

At least he leaves us with an extensive body of word full of his wit and wisdom. Some of which can be accessed here 

http://dalelately.blogspot.com

https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/dale-lately

#amreading the Live Canon 2021 Anthology, Tongues of Fire by Sean Hewit and Why I Write edited by Ian Humphreys 

#amwriting about the ephemeral, impermanence if you like, bunch of poem about climate change including one about scorpion invasion, with the intervention of the Goddess Selqet, during a recent deluge in Aswan; the latter a poem I’d promised to send Dale

Signing out til 2022. Apologies if this post is a bit sweary, am grieving. Love yourselves, love each other. Let the light shine. Life, tenacious as the vines that cling to the black volcanic slopes of Lanzarote, fed only by the the dew that condenses of the basalt gravel, brought by humid trade winds, and the soil protected by that peculiar lava form. Life, desperately transient, desolately temporal, snatched away so suddenly it leaves you breathless.

Breathe, be present, as the great Ram Dass said, “be here now.” We only have the moment. And yet we have a future to bequeath, and it really is up to us what that future holds and if the earth will continue to hold us.

Earth image courtesy of Nasa at http://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/IOTD/view.php?id=885
Diary: November 2021

Diary: November 2021

So this month felt forced, by dragging health, to sit out COP 26 in Glasgow, cancelled accommodation with much reluctance. It commenced 31st October and ran on until 13th November, a day later than planned. 

On the last day, bleary eyed delegates concluded the final draft of the Conference of The Parties 26 Decision -/CMA.3 Glasgow Climate Pact was famously tweaked and phase out became phase down (of unabated coal power and phase-out of inefficient fossil fuel subsidies.) Everyone blamed Modi in a shoot the messenger disgrace. Don’t get me wrong Modi is no friend of our movements and certainly not his own farmers who recently won a spectacular victory. 

I participated, as far as possible, virtually. The COP 26 Coalition hosted a series of events on and offline. While Poets for the Planet presented Earth Song which can be seen here

An event which came about after poets and spoken word artists from around the world were matched with researchers from Imperial College London to create science inspired poetry against climate change in a range of languages. “The result will be a cross-cultural feast of poetry and science, investigating the danger our natural and human landscapes are facing across the globe and what we can do about it.” Broadcast with live Q&A.

The event involved Santiago Acosta, Adnan Al-Sayegh and Jenny Lewis, Luca Bernardini, Annsh Chawla, Moya De Feyter, Harry Josephine Giles, Tammy Lai-Ming Ho, Robin Lamboll, Yang Lian, Ian McLachlan, Jérôme Pinel, Pieta Poeta, Jacqueline Saphra, Marvin Thompson, Anton Trubaïchuk, Debra Watson, Tamar Yoseloff, Sindiswa Zulu.

Elsewhere 12-15th November sees the annual Aldeburgh Poetry festival details here

I’ll be honest I find this time of year tricky at the best of times as the days shorten and the light fades so early. I left all my clocks on BST until the end of the month in an attempt to hang onto the light. It was partially successful. Am planning an escape from all this that will involve at least yoga,  tai chi and sunlight and hopefully much more. 

Nevertheless here on Cressingham we have organised a post COP event Let’s All Go On A Tree Hunt for Sunday 21st November to be led by the engaging and informed Steve de St Croix of the Brockwell Greenhouses. 

The Cressingham Rotunda as viewed from the gate into Brockwell Park. Shot with my iphone.

#amreading New & Selected Essays by Denise Levertov and by Mama Amazonia by Pascale Petite and Poor by Caleb Femi 

#amwriting about bugs, some of the absurdities of modernity and the contradictions of COP and a bit of autobio 

Diary: October 2021 

Diary: October 2021 

It’s the end of October already! The year has slid past and yet at the same time stretches out. My birthday picnic in the park in early June seems a lifetime ago while it’s already two months, almost to the day, since the onset of the shingles encounter. Though some symptoms remain that seems like ancient history too. 

Still somewhat in recovery mode though. Hardly have energy to go out. Feeling a bit split; yesterday as excited as a child who has caught a butterfly to discover the essays of Denise Levertov on poetics. Today find myself asking why poetry? Is is my soul yearning or just a box I’ve carved myself into where I’m holding myself prisoner? 

I started reading Ben Okri’s The Famished Road recently I can’t believe it’s sat on my bookshelves untouched for so long. I find it’s so rich in imagery I can only manage a few chapters at a time. Sometimes only one. I find I have to put it down and digest it slowly. 

Some poetry news follows but first some reflections on my writing process, my identity as a human on this planet and and our role at this time. Why do writers write? Why do I write? Recently I wrote on a neon pink post it, “because it makes my soul sing.” It joins others that read, “may I know the joy of living,” “it’s about the journey,” “it takes as long as it takes” and a counter to debilitating perfectionism, “80% is good enough.” 

My writing process, closely aligned to the state of my mental health, has changed as I find myself more stable. I used to only really scribble in a state of manic frenzy then subsequently tried, and more often failed, to craft the scribbles into, into what, into something.

These days have a modicum of discipline. Generally words still tumble out fairly swiftly and I feel merely the witness. This is an example. Though for your sakes I correct the spelling,  typos and confusing syntax. There’s always a shadow of a fear this might all just stop. And then what? When I’ve pinned my identity to this? In general I prefer as description; human, or female bodied soul ( after Dom Bury) or child of god (after Marianne Williamson.) 

Some days I’m not even sure about human. As a child I felt so other. I remember when everyone was out ransacking the bureau at home. (A piece of furniture the size and shape of an upright piano with a writing desk which opened out.) It was where mum and dad kept stationary and documents. I was looking for my birth certificate. I figured I may have been adopted. When I found nothing I concluded I must therefore be an alien. 

A bit of a leap on reflection. It may well have been influenced by my fascination with The Unexplained – a magazine I subscribed to – the 1970’s equivalent of the X Files and an enchantment with Star Trek and The Sky at Night; the latter hosted by the monocled Sir Patrick Moore. That said, the feeling of otherness is rarely far away. 

I wonder if this is what makes an artist? Being somewhat outside holding a tension between wanting to fit in and stand out? I always felt at home with Poets Know it and by extension my Brixton family —perhaps as we all in individual ways were or are a bit other. One night many moons ago a group of us round a table in the Prince Albert shared how we were all the last to be (reluctantly) chosen for the team on the school sports fields. 

Possibly this otherness feeling is a symptom an inner non-acceptance of self or aspects of the self. In meditation the other day a strong image came to me. In my lap lay my perfect baby self. Meanwhile I extended my arms outward and embraced other parts of myself; present were at least the harsh critic, the driver, the fearful saboteur. And the alien? 

So it occurs to me The Way/ the road less traveled/ the spiritual path, whatever you want to call it, is as much a journey to God/ the source/ a higher power, as a journey back to the self.  

Nothing less than an acceptance of the muddled, flawed, damaged selves that we all are. How can we not be when we live in and emerge from a traumatised world shaped by wars, inequality, injustice, poverty and untold human suffering, (ironically in this state move into the climate emergency.)

I still have to confess to not feeling unlike Okri’s narrator who feels he is here on earth as a kind of penance or mistake, reluctantly. Though part of me feels – what a time to be alive!  We have the very real opportunity in the heat of the climate emergency to forge this world anew. I believe it will not change in a just and permanent way unless we all act together. 

I believe even the smallest change to behaviour by any of us is a radical repositioning towards the planet. Logically, in our individual and collective action, as we take action not only does it necessitate and demonstrate a change in consciousness it invites the possibility of transforming our relationship to each other, to non human species and to the earthy and watery aspects of this planet. This is my hope. 

So there’s a whole bunch of stuff coming up in the poetry world

Find Poets for the Planet at COP 26 at

Also worth checking out 

Human Impact on Nature, Landscape and Climate kicks off via Zoom on Sunday 7th Nov from 12-1pm and of course takes place during #cop26 

This event brings together four poets all exploring in their own way our human relationship with nature, landscape and climate, conscious of our footprint, and the impact of our lives on our environment. With Sarah Westcott, Steph Morris, Anna Saunders & Dom Bury 

Book your FREE ticket here https://www.poetryinaldeburgh.org/festival-programme 

Also the Forward Prize and Booker Prize will be awarded at the Southbank some time in November. Info here https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/festivals-series/london-literature-festival?type=literature-poetry

Special mention Malika’s Poetry Kitchen Friends and Family are at the Southbank Centre for the London Literature Festival in on Saturday 30th October at 1pm Presenting poems and in conversation with Malika Booker and Nick Makoha, Katie Griffiths and Kostya Tsolakis, Yomi Sode and Kareem Parkins-Brown.

Here’s the link for info: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/malikas-poetry-kitchen-friends-and-family

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper 

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Diary: September 2021

Diary: September 2021

In my last post, a self portrait in fragments of ear, eye, mouth, presented in a triptych, i mentioned some bizarre and very painful sensations in my ear, eye, head  that i was experiencing the entire weekend with only my breath and a few aspirins to manage. https://seedsandfuses.wordpress.com/2021/08/21/photography-self-portrait/ After a trip to Kings a&e, the following Monday (which incidentally has been rebranded Emergency Department,) this transpired to be the onset of shingles! As a result have been pretty much out of action creatively or in any meaningful way beyond managing the pain.

It’s now day 28 of this painful affliction. The name, shingles, doesn’t do it justice, suggesting to me a pleasant isolated nudist beach, perhaps a little uneven underfoot but nevertheless one where one can fling off clothing and be entirely care free. A far flung vision from this encounter which has left life has been soooooo limited, so discomforted. This post took daaazzze to write as for some reason screen time has been super pain inducing. Please forgive any typos, dodgy syntax or poor formatting. 

It is deduced the excruciating pain associated with this condition, (particularly with the ocular version; surrounding the eye, which i have) is the result of the varicella-zoster virus, the same that causes chickenpox but without such dire consequences. Apparently the virus lies inactive in nerve tissue near your spinal cord and brain. Years later, the virus may be reactivated as shingles. 

The name of the virus brings to my mind in its addled state both a varieties of pasta and Nietzsche‘s Thus Spoke Zarathustra, of this I remember little, though there’s a copy someplace. Wordplay is all i have trying to find a word or series of words that adequately describe these sensations im subject to. I cannot. The words tingling, shooting, stabbing, burning and bruising oft mentioned in descriptions don’t do it. Don’t come close. No way. 

On the subject of words i can report my poem Singing in the New, based on observations on Cressingham Gardens estate, (my home,) during lockdown one, appears in The Other Side. A copy of this dropped through my door last week. It’s a new publication from the No Planet B environmental film show.  More info about that here https://mycommunitycinema.org.uk/cinemas/no-planet-b-film-club/ 🌎


Getting back to the shingles encounter I think it has helped that right from the beginning, forced to cancel the wellbeing retreat I’d booked, I decided to take an attitude of curiosity and acceptance towards the experience this sounded like, “Okay im not going to make that journey but this is just another journey, not one i choose but lets see what can I learn here, lets see what is the gift in this.” I think this has helped to develop a kind of sense of detachment or separation from what is going on. 

In a recent meditation class our teacher, Tim Dyson, talked about dropping into a state of equanimity when suffering, i think that what it was about i wasn’t able to be entirely present at that time.

I’m not sure if this is the same thing I was doing or attempting to achieve and defo can’t say I’ve sustained it throughout. There have been times I lost the calm acceptance resulting in anxiety bordering on catastrophizing, particularly regarding the eye pain, which on one occassion took me back to an eight hour wait in a&e, feared the eye was reinfected, which can cause sight loss, an outcome which can be quite unnerving. (No pun intended.)

A less dramatic form of non acceptance took the form – I’m determined not to get this again – so I look up causes, I look up remedies, I look up vaccines, rather than be in the moment with the experience.

Mind you I have to say rather like these folklorist remedies which for me reflect somehow the ghastly nature of this condition and provided some much needed light relief. So here we have from the Encyclopedia of Folk Medicine, compiled by Gabrielle Hatfield, 2003

“This painful affliction has attracted diverse remedies in British Folklore Medicine…  In the Isle of Wight an ointment was made from the verdigris scrapped off church bells…. Blood taken from the tale of a black cat was a cure in Ireland….In Lewis in the Scottish Highlands the blood of a black cock was recommended, or the blood of a person named Munro…. “

Hmm. Look out Munro! 

The science is not exactly reassuring, according to studies. “About one in three adults will get shingles. A shingles outbreak can take weeks to heal, and the illness tends to follow a similar pattern, moving through several phases before becoming dormant again.”

My emphasis. Dormant again. So never defeated as such. Never complete free. You can contract shingles and still not be immune. You can get a vaccine and still not be immune. Since so much is unclear about this condition, i reckon best to take this attitude of equanimity.  

Equanimity, i discover, is a concept in many spiritual traditions; defined in Buddhism as “a gentle way of life, a state of conscious wisdom and freedom—the great protector of love and compassion.” A bit wow, this definition goes on to add, ”Buddha describes a mind filled with equanimity as abundant, exalted, immeasurable, without hostility, and without ill-will..” see https://www.yogitimes.com/article/what-is-the-meaning-equanimity-define-how-buddhism&nbsp;

Here’s a version of an ancient story, Equanimity in Adversity: A Zen Story about Wild Horses, ive always rather liked, which kind of illustrates the attitude.

So its been four weeks into this journey on this rocky road, with fear at many turns, much pain and discomfort; i still have a feeling of numbness, not unlike when one has been given an injection at the dentist, around my mouth, side of my face up to my decimated eyebrow, still have to wear dark glasses to get through a movie of an evening, it wasnt long ago i was only out of bed a few hours a day so celebrate the progress!

Most of the alarming swelling to both sides of face has subsided ( reaction to antiboitic!) Blinking feels less like scrapping sand paper over my eye. Sometimes there seems to be a hiatus between thought and speech. When the pain killers kick in im still back in substantial but no longer excruciating pain, but theres always the breath. Had i been really hardcore i guess would have managed the pain entirely by breath and by now perhaps entirely escaped the wheel of samsara who knows!

It has all nevertheless brought me here. I actually feel a sense of contentment and gratitude. Kinda exalted. I felt this keenly at the wake for our beloved dj and all round special human Offshore which took place today. It was the first time ive been out in a month besides trips to Kings A&E and eye clinic, defo felt i had sea legs! (Well past the infectious stage.) Will this sense of peace last? Perhaps is just relief at at absence of constant pain though i feel I am growing a calm acceptance about myself and my life i dont think ive known before. And what is next?

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to all my spirtual teachers over the years which i believe has got me through this with something close to equanimity. And of course those who messaged me with words of comfort and kindness, those friends and neighbours who kept me supplied with food, numerous prescriptions, love and understanding.

Outside the yoga studio Casa Amrita, Abruzzo, Italy, September 2020


Nothing for the diary as such going forward. ive not exactly had the radar up and screen time still really limited which i find hugely frustrating, not very zen i know! love and light to all.


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Photography: Self Portrait

Photography: Self Portrait



I call this triptych, a self portrait. Read: me messing around with my first Camera Phone in bed many moons ago. The original images have been desaturated et al, then edited with Facetune, quite a versatile little app, and finally added a vivid warm iPhone filter.

The moon is full tonight, a blue moon I’m told. It’s brought me nothing but suffering. Since yesterday have been plagued by shooting pains on the right side of my head, eye, ear and teeth. The severity and frequency of these “attacks”is increasing. Not unlike the extreme weather events across the globe.

In the early stages of this I went to the hairdresse for a cut/ colour and also got eyebrows tinted. Now I seem to have had some kind of raised blistering rash on my forehead (a reaction?) and a rough pinpley rash on the right side of my face while my right eye is swollen and weeping.

The practice of art I’m told is about being able to reproduced an effect or technique. I doubt I could ever reproduce this series of images. Holding the phone up to my head and clicking blindly. Besides my face has sagged, lips thinned, eyes not so wide or clear. How much we take our bodies, the earth for granted until they cause us pain.

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Diary: August 2021

Diary: August 2021

This month saw the ✨live✨launch of the Malika’s Poetry Kitchen anthology Too Young, Too Loud, Too Different at the Publication Day Party. We celebrated our 20th anniversary anthology entering the world! With readings from many MPK members and a headline set from our co-founder Malika Booker. In all took place at the rather glam and eccentric Temple of Art and Music near Elephant and Castle.

Finalised and circulated a call to attend Holding the Earth: Writing from an Open Heart. This is a series of writing workshops aimed to enable participants to write with an attitude of playfulness and curiosity about experiences in the climate emergency and related activism. This is initially to be offered to members of Lambeth XR but may be extended further so watch this space. 

Summer, such as it is, is not complete for me without a trip to the Southbank. So Pablo (friends child) and me had a day out. I learnt some valuable adult skills on the way.1) Whatever the child says you will end up carrying the scooter. 2). Walking away when a child lies on the ground in I-want-candy-floss-defiance actually works. 3) Saying no occasionally is not gonna be held against you forever. 

We had such fun though, a glance at the beach which was closed much to Pablos consternation, checked out the book stalls and the skatepark, the giant bubbles, ate ice cream, Pablo insisted I take pics of him with ice cream on his nose, had a whirl on the carousel and ate chips. Yeah, just love the Southbank. 

Booked a holiday/ retreat. Going to be away for two weeks including a week of tai chi/ yin yoga /chi gung in Fuertaventura. I note from some research “nudism is permitted through out Fuertaventura except on city beaches.” Yay! How very civilised! I so need a break. 

Of course this means flying and I don’t exactly feel good about that. Had it been the mainland I could have taken the train. The only way I can think to resolve this is to make a donation to a reforestation project, but even then I ask myself to salve my conscience or save the planet?

#amwriting it’s hard to say what I’m writing, the words come and I’m often surprised what comes, writing I guess about this time…

#amreading The Bookseller of Kabul by Asne Seierstad, Rite of Passage by Dom Bury and the sea refuses no river by Bethany Rivers

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Poetry by others: Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

Poetry by others: Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

Found this poem when I was investigating line breaks. I find them one of the trickiest aspects of poetry to get my head around. Get to a point where I’m happy with the imagery, syntax and pace of the poem then run into this issue.

My investigation led me to Siken’s astounding poem via a brilliant article by Rebecca Hazelton in Poetry Foundation. This poem, on so many levels, totally blew me away. When I tried to post here WordPress threw out the formatting which is is truly unfortunate and it would be a tradegy to share it all scrambled. Here is an except as a screen shot and do read on via the link below. Do read and enjoy. 


From “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out” by Richard Siken. From Crush, © 2006 by Yale University, published by Yale University Press.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48158/litany-in-which-certain-things-are-crossed-out


Richard Siken is a poet, painter, filmmaker, and an editor at Spork Press. In her profile of Siken, Nell Casey wrote, “he effectively juxtaposes holy wishes with mundane images—making them both seem beautiful by some strange lyrical alchemy.” His poems unwind on the page effortlessly, barely pausing for breath; the speaker’s voice wracked with sexual obsession.

His book Crush won the 2004 Yale Series of Younger Poets prize, selected by Louise Glück. It was also a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Lambda Literary Award, and the Thom Gunn Award. His most recent book is War of the Foxes (Copper Canyon Press, 2015).

Siken is a recipient of a Pushcart Prize, two Arizona Commission on the Arts grants, and a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. He is also a full time social worker, and he lives in Tucson, Arizona.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/richard-siken


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Diary: July 2021

Diary: July 2021

Still reeling somewhat from the death of a dear friend. And at times still feels life, thought, action somewhat on hold. That said have enrolled on Writing From The Soul of the Earth, a workshop created by Dom Bury and started some mentoring with Bethany Rivers, I find her gentle, playful approach to creativity suitable for me, a safe place to explore and create. 

Have planned an Escape to Margate with a good friend. The aim is to visit Botany Bay, which I thought was in Australia, but no, 20 minutes on a bus from the aforementioned so we might even check out Dreamland which I read inspired Banksy’s Dismaland but is not The Thing itself as I thought it might be, no, that is in Weston-Super-Mare, Geography is not my strong point it would seem. 

Botany Bay

In downtime have been watching a bunch of foreign movies. Netflix seems to think because I like Spanish cinema I might like Polish, Ukrainian, Italian, German titles. Their algorithms need sharpening up methinks. The most memorable was the biopic Roma from Mexican director Alfonso Cuarón. 

Also become enthralled with Adam Curtis’s Can’t Get You Out of My Head, BBC iplayer. I read this as a multidisciplinary essay presented in a poetic collage with a multi layered narrative. At its heart a thesis about or perhaps just an exploration of individualism versus collectivism with segues from obscure and sometimes bizarre examples of popular culture and an eclectic soundtrack. As such it is compelling. So much to say about that, another time! 

Received my copy of the MPK anthology the other day, featuring my poem This is a Prayer. Just love the feel of it in my hands! It was the first time I really felt that so-great-to-see-my-name-in-print feeling people talk about. I put this down to the huge amount of time I’ve spent in meditation paying off. It’s available to preorder here https://uk.bookshop.org/books/too-young-too-loud-too-different-twenty-years-of-british-poetry-from-malika-s-poetry-kitchen/9781472155061

Looking forward to the launch of Anna Robinson’s Whatsname Street on Sunday 1st August, live and direct from Lower Marsh, Waterloo, yeah! Not sure if the launch is public, if so details will appear here http://www.annarobinsonpoetry.co.uk/

#amwriting what is slowly dawning on me is ecopoetry 

#amreading American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins, a novel exploring issues of migration and the threat posed by Mexican drug cartels, plus Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors: Overcoming Internal Self-Alienation by Janina Fisher.

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Writing prompt: The Crown Wand Orchid

Writing prompt: The Crown Wand Orchid

Play with this one; use the image as a prompt, or the name, what a name! Write from the point of view of the orchid. Set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes; whichever you feel comfortable with and freewrite in poetry or prose, whatever comes, see where it takes you. Have fun.

Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg, from Writing Down the Bones. Keep your hand moving, don’t stop or cross out, don’t self censor, go for the jugular, don’t worry about spelling or grammar. Don’t think, just write, follow the words, just see what comes. 

Image, Paphiopedilum fairrieanum in situ, Kengkhar, Mongar District, Bhutan. October 2nd 2019 © Dhan Gurung

Once you have a rough draft consider what you have just made. Is it just for fun or does it feel it desires development? Does it welcome a form? You may wish to refer to the notes below or research the subject further. Maybe take the writing in a different direction or choose a different point of view.

The Paphiopedilum fairrieanum, also known as the Crown Wand Orchid, is an epiphyte (a plant that grows on another plant (non parasitically. It is from the Indian Himalayas and Bhutan at elevations of 1300 to 2200 metres. It is also found on limestone cliffs in the oak forest near water and on grassy slopes. 

It is an area subject to seasonal monsoons. The wet season is very wet with heavy rains. When the dry monsoon comes the region still receives light rains and heavy dews as the temperatures drop every night.

In 2015 this orchid was recorded on The International Union for Conservation of Nature Red List of threatened species. The IUCN is the global authority on the status of the natural world and the measures needed to safeguard it.

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Comment: Writing as Healing

Comment: Writing as Healing

In the previous post I quoted Lan Samantha Chang who wrote, “Hold onto that part of you that first compelled you to start writing.” It promoted me to think about how I started writing, how I came to recognise the healing power of words as both a writer and workshop facilitator.

Chang goes on to add, “A writing life and a writing career are two separate things, and it’s crucial to keep the first. The single essential survival skill for anybody interested in creating art is to learn to defend this inner life from the world.” I also consider how I used writing as a survival skill and the value and causes of wordlessness, sometimes referred to as writers block, and pauses in our writing process. Resources follow at the end of this post.

In my early 30’s, I left my job as a welfare rights adviser because I felt I could no longer work and bare the crippling and unexplained fatigue that had persisted for over five years. The aim was to “get well” and “do something creative.” I had a plan of sorts, the idea was to study video production but the course fell through. 

The result of this abrupt change with no destination or support was a sudden plunge into what I now understand would be diagnosed as anxiety and depression. I simply had no words for the agony I felt, though aspects were describable; insomnia, night sweats, panic attacks, indecision, inexplicable fear, an incredible physical weakness beyond even the fatigue I’d been accustomed to. 

I saw a doctor and asked for blood tests he refused, told me to drink more water. Another suggested antidepressants but I was fearful of psychiatric drugs so declined. I spent a whole lot of time in bed. When I could, I read. It’s kind of ironic, as hardly uplifting, but I found myself enthralled with Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, identifying with the mental anguish of the central character Rodion Raskolnikov. This baffled me as I hardly identified with the character yet I recognised the physicality of his symptoms so vividly described by the author. 

This led me to attempt to find words for what I was experiencing, to make sense of it or make it more manageable. I was writing for my life. A life I wasn’t even sure I could endure anymore. At the beginning of this descent, as my world collapsed,  I’d wake with a cold sweat, devoid of feeling and meaning and repeat my name, age, address out loud in a bid to hang on to some sense of self.  It was a kind of hell.

Around this time my cousin committed suicide. I don’t know what kind of hell he was in and only wished I’d known he was in the dark too. Though it’s doubtful I could have helped the state I was in. I couldn’t even get to the funeral I was so weak and full of shame I couldn’t even get dressed. It was perhaps this that led me to cling onto life rather than cause the family even more distress.

I’d heard that folklore urges us not to name the devil lest he appear yet I’d also heard somewhere if you say the name of a demon it is forced to relinquish its power over you. This was what I aimed to do; name every one of the demons that afflicted me. 

The words dripped out slowly, slipping past defences. Occasionally I’d write something else and say, that is for the world. Prior to this I’d written a couple of short stories and a smattering of poetry aiming to address issues of inequality and injustice wrapping them in love, beauty and dreams of a better world.  Mostly at this time I wrote for myself. When I finally got my own computer I created a folder called My Dark Gods and other Demons and stored all this dark material there. 

Words eventually began to flow more freely and I’ve pretty much written ever since. Sporadically at times. Sometimes only in my journal. Though I’ve been hugely inconsistent in submitting work for publication, hounded by my inner critic who says, “it’s not enough… it’s no good… it will never be enough,” occasionally dodging this monster with encouragement from others. 

Hence I was surprised to find these words from Louise Glück, particularly as she has been so prolific and recently won, what can only be described as, the most prestigious writers prize; the 2020 Nobel Prize for Literature.

“I go through two, three years writing nothing. Zero. Not a sentence. Not bad poems I discard, not notes toward poems. Nothing. And you don’t know in those periods that the silence will end, that you will ever recover speech. It’s pretty much hell, and the fact that it’s always ended before doesn’t mean that any current silence isn’t the terminal silence beyond which you will not move.” 

It would seem this is not an isolated experience.  John McCullough, winner of the 2020 Hawthornden prize for Reckless Paper Birds, responded, “I recently had almost a whole year of writing no poems. No one can be constantly at their creative peak. Don’t follow the capitalist logic of productivity equalling self-worth. Sometimes you just have to look after yourself.”

Indeed! Look after yourself! Something that is so hard in modern capitalist societies even though a whole industry of wellbeing and self care has arisen. It is an agony to be without voice. In my experience it was not so much a writers block but a malaise that went much deeper. We call it the black dog, the dark night, despondency. The Romantics called it melancholy. 

There are few words that really describe the ravaging pain of depression and anxiety wherein thought, feeling and words are blocked, a sense of self lost, all the while held hostage and tormented by a raging inner critic. A kind of uber stuckness, a numbness, now recognised as a symptom of personal trauma.


John McCullough goes on to add, “In addition the pressure on professional artists, musicians and writers, especially if self employed, to produce works to the timetable of galleries, record labels and agents only serves to inhibit this space to use writing to play, heal, learn and grow.” It would seem to me if we focus too much on a writing career we risk abandoning our writing life and the wellbeing it can promote. 

When students ask me what to do about writers block I say; “Don’t think, just write, write anything, it doesn’t even have to make sense, just follow the words and enjoy it. Write just for yourself.” If someone feels blocked the suggestion “just write!” might seem counterintuitive or even perverse and yet it works. This is well documented here and here.

Writing, or arguably any creative act, can lead to a release of the stored unfelt feelings; ego fears, rational fears, anger, sorrow, shame and guilt. Our heart needs to heal and our soul needs to breathe. It doesn’t even have to be good art or good writing. The expression becomes part of the self care we need in a world of historical, collective and generational trauma.

Writing alone is rarely enough if the “stuckness”is great, the body heavy. Besides writing I pulled myself out of those dark depths in my early 30’s by practicing Chi Gung at an NHS clinic in Clapham run by Jon Tindall, the first of its kind in the U.K. It was pretty hard core, standing meditation in an class that lasted a hour and a half. Yet there was a committed and supportive community around it which helped. I dragged myself there three times a week for six months in my numbness before I felt anything. 

One day towards the end of one of the strenuous sessions I dropped to the floor weeping. All I remember is, as the session ended coming back to ordinary consciousness, I felt an acute sense of embarrassment, maybe even shame. Then half a dozen people came over, helping me to my feet saying things like, “Well done… this is a breakthrough… now you are on your way… now you’re on the path.” Of course despite their comments at the time I figured that was it. Job done. I’m healed. You have to laugh at that. Little was I to know I’d inadvertently fallen onto the path less travelled.

I wonder if creatives go through these “barren patches” because we have an acute sensitivity. Arguably without sensitivity there would be no works of art. Perhaps the lived experience of being in the world just becomes too painful. The world can seem too much and hence we close down. Or are closed down by others who are behave with insensitivity towards us with anything on a continuum from tactlessness or spite to abuse and cruelty. 

Therefore breaks could be seen as akin to a field laying fallow, a kind of gentle healing, which is fine for a while. If, however, the body feels heavy it is likely the paralysis is as a result of deep wounds, buried difficult feelings that need to be released.

Ten years ago I was co-facillitating a ten week creative writing workshop called Freeing The Writer Within. It was part of The Word is Out Project in Lambeth, a coproduction between mental health service workers and service users. We held workshops in the community, at SHARP, the Social Hope and Recovery Project and on psychiatric wards at the Lambeth Hospital. 

This workshop took place at a ward for people under 35 who had experienced early onset of symptoms. The participants were in recovery from acute mental distress. It was a very diverse group; at different stages of their recovery, with different backgrounds and educational experience. 

It wasn’t clear at first if it would gel. Yet the participants became enthusiastic and engaged, though intermittently, supportive of each other, despite sometimes being restless or clouded by medication. As the weeks went on they were keen attend and to write and share their work. It was proof to me, if it were needed, of the healing power of words. 

I would suggest if you find yourself “stuck” in the process of producing some writing choose a random phrase from a book, any book and use that as your first line and just write what comes. The Way of Words workshops, which I founded in 2000, had a strong emphasis on free writing, using images, sound, objects and phrases as prompts and participants produced strong work. Bear in mind free writing of any kind can release painful feelings. If you want to go deeper I strongly suggest you find a course. 

Writing as healing enables blocked energy to flow again. It can be a key to unlock your heart and find a way back to your soul. Be prepared to cry, with joy or sorrow, write yourself free. This is best done in a group setting or with formal support from a therapist or counsellor. In addition to writing to truly heal, we have to move too. The body is built to move. It doesn’t have to be Chi gung. Yoga, walking, swimming, dancing or running any of these will serve you well.  

Find a course here

Heal Yourself with Writing

https://www.dailyom.com/cgi-bin/courses/courseoverview.cgi?cid=83

Writing As A Way Of Healing

Writing for Healing Trauma – Workshops and Coaching

Free Fall: Writing as Creative Therapy 

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Writers on Writing: Lan Samantha Chang

Writers on Writing: Lan Samantha Chang

“Hold onto that part of you that first compelled you to start writing. Hold onto that self through the vicissitudes of “career.” A writing life and a writing career are two separate things, and it’s crucial to keep the first. The single essential survival skill for anybody interested in creating art is to learn to defend this inner life from the world. Cherish yourself and wall off an interior room where you’re allowed to forget your published life as a writer. Breathe deeply. Inside this walled-off room, time is different—it is flexible, malleable. We’re allowed bend it, to speed it up, slow it down, to jump forwards and backwards, as our minds do. We can to circle back to our thoughts and memories picking and choosing the most meaningful to us. There’s a hushed, glowing sound, like the sound coming from the inside of a shell.”

From Writers Protect Your Inner Life

This is a quote that really speaks to me. I reflect on the fact that both my writing life and career have been interrupted, more times than I’d like to think, by health problems, in particular sometimes severe episodes with my mental health, though I’m inclined to think the physical, mental and emotional are inextricably linked. Indeed that is how I experience what I recognise as a sensitivity. Also I reflect that so often when considering these gaps I lamented the interruption to my “career” yet didn’t give much thought or value to my writing life or indeed see the two as separate.

Image: PhotoHelin at Shutterstock

In truth even in my retreats from the world rarely have I not written. In the “walled off room” I found such richness, profundity in the pain. In fact often it has been my way back to health, sociability and the world. And more and more I’m recognising if I think less of “problems,” gaps, loss of productivity, thoughts about not getting anywhere as more of challenges and take the attitude when challenged I’m just readjusting a temporary imbalance. I somehow consequently realise these are all part of a my life journey. An opportunity to learn and grow and literally a place I can do the healing I need to do. Balance is the key.

“Lan Samantha Chang is the author of a collection of short fiction, Hunger, and two novels, Inheritance, and All Is Forgotten, Nothing Is Lost. Her work has been translated into nine languages and has been chosen twice for The Best American Short Stories. She has received creative writing fellowships from Stanford University, Princeton University, the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study, the Guggenheim Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Arts.”

https://lithub.com/author/lan-samantha-chang/


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Diary: June 2021

Diary: June 2021

My diary posts are the place for a bit of my news, poetry community news, plus my adventures in creativity

There are times when it’s hard to put into words, even in poetry with its condensed form, the passing events that rage on. What can I say? Finally the clouds broke, the rains eased and the sun blessed us while I hear one of my oldest and closest friends has died and a dear neighbour. Some poetry news follows but first I reflect on this time we are in.

In between all this the farce of the G7, a not funny farce, in its grandiose setting and quaint barbecue on the beach. Blame farming, blame the cows for carbon emissions not the jets they arrived in nor the abysmal and quite unnecessary patriotic display by the Red Arrows. Not to mention the postering and posing commitment to 1bn Covid vaccines when the WHO says the rest of the world needs 11bn. Never has inequality been so starkly clear. 

When words fail me I feel bereft. In my journal recently when trying to express my grief I found myself writing, “Years slip by as easy as weeks. Yet this last year stretches out. What a cruel time this has been.” I hadn’t seen my dear dear Shashi since Christmas 2019 as he was shielding during the pandemic. I’d not seen Leroy for too long. I’ve hardly seen anyone if the truth is told.

Recalling the names of those I know that passed this last 18 months I found myself writing, “it feels like a massacre,” and inwardly felt shame to be so hyperbolic and yet am I deliberately exaggerating? And is it any wonder I feel like this when daily Covid death figures make the headlines? 

All I can say is Bilal, Len, Ted, Shelia, Paul, Michael, Phil, Shashi, Leroy; rest in peace brothers and sister. I feel I must say their names at least. To honour them. (Little of this was directly Covid related. Loss is loss. I’m not about to get clinical here it feels uncouth.)

I’ve been asking myself why, despite daily meditation, almost daily yoga, bipolar meds and a decent diet and routine to be honest I’ve been struggling with my physical and mental health. Asking why my back feels like it’s given way. Erm why d’you think Anne? I could move more, I realise that, swim maybe, walk more at least. 

I swing between a calm acceptance of it all and I guess denial, between a sense of quiet existential hope and numbness, and, to be honest, some days there are notes of gloom and despair. I watch Fargo and The Hand Maids Tale and find comfort there. Which says it all.

I’ve also found solace working with images and composed a new visual poem. It’s a contemplation of Spring, renewal and transformation, using found and original images, based on the philosophy of the Tao where seasons have attributes, associated with one of the five elements. 

The element for Spring is wood and some of the correspondences are the direction east, sour taste, the colour green and wind.  In this philosophy the virtue that corresponds to Spring is gentleness and the emotion anger. In Chinese medicine, based on these ideas, the organs that correspond to the wood element are the liver and gallbladder.


For some reason gave it the the immoderate and perhaps excessive title, In This Almost Time, This A Time of All Seasons A Fusillade of Buds and New Bloom Refresh the Senses as We Reawaken. I think now the title would better conclude –as we continue to awaken. After all awakening is a process. You can find this in my insta whether you are on or off this platform at https://www.instagram.com/anne_enith/

Besides that tInkering/ tweaking ideas for and structuring my new workshop series Into the Light: writing with an Open Heart (working title). Mulling over whether to take part in the Brixton Urban Art show, if I’m not too late with that already, keeping one foot in the door with the On Our Radar project. 

There was refreshing relief from it all and fun with a beautiful though belated birthday picnic in the park with lovely friends, some of whom dared try the Cava and Kahlua concoction, just over a week ago. A rare outing. It was strange that it felt not strange to be with people again. A time out of time. Life in the midst of so much death. Mostly life is still on zoom. 

This weekend just gone got to the mind stretching, thought provoking  Lipstick Intellectuals; a conversation between poetry family members Jacqueline Saphra and Sophie Herxheimer a virtual offering as part of this years Winchester Poetry Festival. 

Coming up this Saturday 19th June is our Poets from the Planet Fresh Summer Thunder while the following weekend is Saturday 26th June is a movie night combined with a poetry open mike from The Word is Write.


#amreading Taking the Arrow out of the Heart, a new collection of Poetry from Alice Walker, a gift from my blood brother, and The Storyteller, a novel by Jodi Picoult, found in a charity shop. While this was interesting too despite its bizarrely completely useless inclusion of Katy Perry! https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/6-lyrics-quote-literature-patti-smith-bob-dylan/

#amwriting or more accurately editing, which is to my mind where the real writing happens, a bunch of poems for submission, not something I’m very good at, submission that is, we’ll see.

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Matter poem: Caged

Matter poem: Caged

Much of the world seems to me absurd and obscene, yet there is wonder and fascination within and beyond. Sometimes words only do not convey this complexity. With these objects I attempt to create objects as narrative surprise, breaking down distinctions between the plastic, the digital and the written word. Caged is a meditation on modernity.

Caged 2018


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Quote: Banksy

Quote: Banksy

“People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else.

They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.

You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.

Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.

You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.”

– Banksy

Banksy in Venice. The shipwrecked/ Migrant child

The mural was made during the 2019 Venice Biennale. It depicts a child in a lifejacket and holding up a pink flare, a reference to the journeys of migrants and refugees. Banksy confirmed the mural was his by posting photos on his instagram account.

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Diary: May 2021

Diary: May 2021

Life recently has consisted of not much more than yoga and mediation, acquiring or repurposing pots for herbs and vegetables seedlings, some home improvements which, in the context of the continuing threat of estate demolition, I find empowering and an act of rebellion on my part.

Beside that little more than lamenting the inclement weather (not very zen) and watching Line of Duty. I came late to the party on that one, in the end my curiosity peeked by the numerous references from friends in social media. I’m not so sure it’s compatible with achieving an uplifted state of mind but I was hooked five minutes into the first episode of series one. 

Got along to a Lambeth XR planning picnic, Poetry from the Grassroots on the 9th May and the Poets for the Planet meeting on the 16th. Have been fiddling around with images for my Spring insta visual poem about based on the philosophy of the Tao. The last instalment for Winter entitled, Under a Wan Sun we Draw in, proved popular, here’s a screen shot. Come over to https://www.instagram.com/anne_enith/ to see it clearer or comment. 

Looking forward to Writing, Rights and Literature organised by Birkbeck University as part of their Arts Week 2021 Tuesday 18th May 6pm, register here https://eu.bbcollab.com/guest/b15effd71c974df7a6da94f96c9bf398 

and hearing Roger Robinson talk about gentrification at the Cities Imaginaries Lecture 2021 Thursday 20th May at 6pm, register here https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/x/roger-robinson-cities-imaginaries-lecture-2021-registration-148901948737?

The following week hope to attend Living Net-Zero in Herne Hill Thursday 27th May at 7pm, and would urge anyone who wants to reduce their carbon footprint, but like me not quite sure how, to attend, register here https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/x/living-net-zero-in-herne-hill-tickets-149456158393?

Herne Hill resident, Jeremy, gives a free talk with Q&A. He says by way of introduction

“Two years ago I was shocked to discover the true environmental impact of my ordinary life in Herne Hill. Motivated to turn this around, I went on a journey of discovery. Analysing scientific data, I measured the environmental impact of every single aspect of my life, and what I found was astonishing. 

I now have a new way of living, where consideration for the environment and future generations is built in to all that I do. This has had a profoundly positive impact on my happiness, finances and wellbeing. 

Join me for this friendly evening talk where I’ll share my journey and some essential truths about living net-zero in Herne Hill, and you can ask me your questions.”

#amreading Waking The Tiger by Peter A Levine, Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro and The Craft edited by Rishi Dastidar

#amwriting the odd poem sporadically and an outline and session plans for a series of workshops Into the Light: writing with an Open Heart (working title). What this space for updates about the latter.

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Poetry by me: Don’t You Know about the Match Girls?

Poetry by me: Don’t You Know about the Match Girls?

Don’t You Know about the Match Girls?

Aunt Lucy comes into the kitchen, nursing a teacup,

tight blue curls under a hair net, faded pinny. I’m chewing 

a match stick.

-Children shouldn’t play with matches, she scolds,

snatching it away -and you never

put them in your mouth!

Don’t you norr ‘bout the match girls? Lickle girls 

they wor, no’ much bigga ‘an you, marched up to Fleet Street 

they did. Y’noor, where they make the paypers…

                                    – Why?

-To make tuppence inta tuppence ‘apney,

in old money mind. See this?

She holds up a three pence coin.

-Earnt less than this they did, and that’s when 

they weren’t dropping down dead.

As she speaks I see the firefly in The Lady and 

The Tramp. I see a pale girl in a black bonnet, another

with a with a burning jaw. I hear new words; 

lockjaw, lockout, phosphorus.

-They did it for us, so think yourself lucky!

They’re always saying that to me, I’ll be lucky 

if she gives me that thrupenny bit.

Aunty sees the plea, says -‘Ere you are then. 

I clasp it in my palm until it leaves a mark. 

In the garden the sky is a clear blue pool. I skip

in circles picking daises, reciting

 – girls’ strike, strike a match, match girls, 

girls’ strike, strike a match, match girls.

Aunt Lucy pulls an apple from the tree, gives it to me.

Tells me not to swallow the pips or a tree will grow inside.

-Eve ate the apple, she says frowning,

                   -and now look!

I ask mum about Eve later. -Don’t fret, she says,  -your Aunt Luce 

can be a bit funny at times. Mum’s trying to light the fire, 

turns her head, stares toward the kitchen, holding

a sheet of newspaper up at the hearth. -Find me that box 

of Swan Vesta and bring it ‘ere. Puts the red tipped match 

between her teeth, purses her lips, lifts the yellow box

                                          -Mum don’t!

She shoots a looks that says, this 

better be good! Slowly I begin,

-Don’t you know about the match girls?

As I speak I see the firefly in The Lady and

The Tramp. I see a pale girl in a black bonnet, another

with a with a burning jaw, the words tumble out;

lockjaw, lockout, phosfrus.

-They did it for us! To make tuppence

into tuppence ‘apney.

-Ai ‘appen they did, she replies, balling up the newspaper 

flinging it on the fire. I’m afta ‘aving a word with our Luce

‘bout puttin’  the fear o’ God into you.

-No not God Mum.  Just phosfrus.  God is Love, she said.

A version of this poem was published on The Matchgirls Memorial website. This campaign aims to get a statue to commemorate the important role the Matchgirls played in working class, indeed British history. 

In 1888 at the Bryant and May factory in East London 1400 girls and young women walked out on strike against appalling pay and conditions, their victory was swift and laid the foundations for the modern trade union movement. 

I first heard the story of the Match Girls strike from an elderly aunt. I feel in hindsight that I was the depository for the stories and secrets, from the women in my family including my mother and grandmothers, a form of oral history. That said I often couldn’t make much sense of it at the time, I wrote this poem to reflect the way I heard the story. 

Last month the Matchgirls Memorial Campaign held its #StartsWithASpark socially distanced action on Twitter and Instagram

Find more Matchgirls themed poetry and flash fiction, including Spark Catchers by Lemn Sissay, and more information on how to support the Matchgirls Memorial Campaign here https://www.matchgirls1888.org/ 


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Comment: Coming out of Lockdown, Keep Calm & Breathe

Comment: Coming out of Lockdown, Keep Calm & Breathe

As we move towards coming out of lockdown, again—maybe, maybe not—whilst it can be a relief and reason for joy at the same time there can be many ways this can also be a source of stress. Especially given the high profile reporting of virus variants, varying reported reactions to the virus itself.  There are so many uncertainties; will it last? Are we really safe? Are vaccines safe for me? Will they work? 

These times are likely to be very anxiety inducing for many. If you haven’t experienced clinical anxiety before it can be a frightening experience. As the sympathetic nervous system kicks in, releasing adrenaline and cortisol into your body. Your heart starts racing, you might start sweating or shaking, feel tense or a sensation like an electric shock in the case of a full blown panic attack. I know this feeling well! 

This is the body’s fight, flight or freeze response taking over. It’s is an ancient response designed to help you if facing a sabre toothed tiger. It’s not designed to respond to most modern stresses and won’t help with the fear of catching a virus as the anxiety producing chemicals surge around your body if not dispersed by physical action or soothed. 


The NHS recommend a technique called 7/11 breathing. I prefer this, a method that works for me: breathe out as fully as you can then breathe in through the nose and count to five. Breathe out through the mouth and count to ten. If you are very tense this might be difficult start with three in and six out and gradually lengthen the breaths and if you want introduce a pause at the end of each breath. You can do this standing up, sitting or laying down. I try to do this do using the yoga position the Child’s pose for about 10 minutes every day.

If you can’t get all the way to the floor there are variations of this that work just as well see https://www.yogaoutlet.com/blogs/guides/how-to-do-child_s-pose-in-yoga

This is a powerful way to soothe and overcome any anxieties at this time. It will stimulate your parasympathetic nervous system and calm you down. If you are just a little anxious doing this for a few minutes will probably be enough. If you are experiencing severe anxiety set a timer and do the breathing exercise in a position that is comfortable for 20-30 minutes once or twice a day.

It also serves as a detoxing method which will boost your immune system giving your body a better chance to fight off he virus and other infections. Breathe your way to well being.

Here’s the sciencey bit https://www.anxieties.com/57/panic-step4


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Diary: April 2021

Diary: April 2021

Diary April 2021

Am taking some time out for a period of reflection, contemplation and meditation. Recent events have compelled me to consider presence and purpose and more on a deeper level than previously.

I say this as if it were a decision when really it has been more of an unfolding process. I figure I am going inwards for a while ironically at the same time the U.K. at least is opening up partially. 

Call it a retreat if you like. To return renewed, I hope, and reinvigorated. Despite this continue to play with images in an experiment to see if its possible to construct a visual poem. This is the most recent entitled

Under a Wan Sun We Draw in – made using found and original images posted in instagram. All 12 images make up the poem. A contemplation of winter wisdom and transformation based on the principles of the Tao.

In this philosophy seasons have attributes, associated with one of the #fiveelements. The element for winter is water and some of the other attributes are the direction north, salty taste, colours of blue and black and cold. 

I’ll leave you with a recommendation, check out Katie Griffiths launch of The Attitudes with special guests Arji Manuelpillai, Mary Mulholland, Matthew Paul and Michelle Penn Thursday 22 April 2021, 7.30pm (BST)

This event will be streamed live through the Nine Arches Press YouTube channel. Tickets from Eventbrite https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/katie-griffiths-online-launch-of-the-attitudes-tickets-148028361815

“Katie Griffiths’ debut solo poetry collection The Attitudes is a search for trust and faith – in the body, in the mind, in all those things we seek to hold on to but cannot. 

Here we encounter mortality and tread the balance between visceral wisdom and the intellect, between fragile, fallible bodies, and the mind’s hold over them, between the bright spaces and the haunted ones. 

In poems that are bold, effervescent, frequently playful, Katie Griffiths approaches serious subjects – eating disorders, ageing, grieving – with a precise and inventive lyricism. An astute and accomplished book which transforms.”

Image Katie Griffiths


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Photography: Spring Equinox

Photography: Spring Equinox

I created this image Saturday 20th March this year, on the spring equinox. This is the fence at the end of our block on Cressingham Gardens housing estate over looking Brockwell Park.

It spoke to me of balance and also the way the natural world and the human environment in cities entwine and coexist, though both are threatened by so-called regeneration.

Ironic really, I guess, as balance and coexistence is arguably lacking on a world wide basis. It doesn’t have to be that way.

While recently we have been hearing many stories about the challenges to biodiversity and the ice sheets, communities threatened by fire and rising sea levels as a result of the climate emergency there is still time, I believe.

There are so many acting to bring the truth to light, so many knowledgeable making change, so many with new ideas and technologies, I remain hopeful.


Image taken with iPhone. Cropped. Contrast, light and black point adjusted, no filter.


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Poetry by others: Amanda Gorman reads The Hill We Climb

Poetry by others: Amanda Gorman reads The Hill We Climb

The reading by Amanda Gordon, National Youth Poet Laureate, at the Biden inauguration signified for me hope and vision with realism.

At 22 years she old made history as the youngest poet to read at the presidential inauguration in the U.S. Predecessors include Robert Frost, Maya Angelou, Richard Blanco and Elizabeth Alexander.

The brief was to write a poem about American unity, a difficult task for anyone in the circumstances of the past four years which were about to reach their zenith. Amanda Gorman finished the poem, The Hill We Climb, the night after pro-Trump rioters lay seize to the Capitol building on the sixth of January. 

This suggests to me courage and and maturity as a writer, to respond to the moment weaving past, present and future, the personal and political in a beguiling lyricism and does so with grace. 

She told the New York Times, “In my poem, I’m not going to in any way gloss over what we’ve seen over the past few weeks and, dare I say, the past few years. But what I really aspire to do in the poem is to be able to use my words to envision a way in which our country can still come together and can still heal,” she told the New York Times. “It’s doing that in a way that is not erasing or neglecting the harsh truths I think America needs to reconcile with.”

The poem has a circular form, with the lines towards the end, “When day comes we step out of the shade/ aflame and unafraid,/ the new dawn blooms as we free it./ For there is always light,” serving as an answer answer to the question posed at the beginning, “When day comes we ask ourselves,/where can we find light in this never-ending shade?” Ending with the last two profound and resounding lines,  “if only we’re brave enough to see it./ If only we’re brave enough to be it.”

Watch here 

Full transcript of The Hill We Climb below.

When day comes we ask ourselves,

where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry,

a sea we must wade.

We’ve braved the belly of the beast,

We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace,

and the norms and notions

of what just is

isn’t always just-ice.

And yet the dawn is ours

before we knew it.

Somehow we do it.

Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed

a nation that isn’t broken,

but simply unfinished.

We the successors of a country and a time

where a skinny Black girl

descended from slaves and raised by a single mother

can dream of becoming president

only to find herself reciting for one.

And yes we are far from polished.

Far from pristine.

But that doesn’t mean we are

striving to form a union that is perfect.

We are striving to forge a union with purpose,

to compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and

conditions of man.

And so we lift our gaze not to what stands between us,

but what stands before us.

We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,

we must first put our differences aside.

We lay down our arms

so we can reach out our arms

to one another.

We seek harm to none and harmony for all.

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true,

that even as we grieved, we grew,

that even as we hurt, we hoped,

that even as we tired, we tried,

that we’ll forever be tied together, victorious.

Not because we will never again know defeat,

but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision

that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

and no one shall make them afraid.

If we’re to live up to our own time,

then victory won’t lie in the blade.

But in all the bridges we’ve made,

that is the promise to glade,

the hill we climb.

If only we dare.

It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit,

it’s the past we step into

and how we repair it.

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation

rather than share it.

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.

And this effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed,

it can never be permanently defeated.

In this truth,

in this faith we trust.

For while we have our eyes on the future,

history has its eyes on us.

This is the era of just redemption

we feared at its inception.

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs

of such a terrifying hour

but within it we found the power

to author a new chapter.

To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.

So while once we asked,

how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?

Now we assert,

How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was,

but move to what shall be.

A country that is bruised but whole,

benevolent but bold,

fierce and free.

We will not be turned around

or interrupted by intimidation,

because we know our inaction and inertia

will be the inheritance of the next generation.

Our blunders become their burdens.

But one thing is certain,

If we merge mercy with might,

and might with right,

then love becomes our legacy,

and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country

better than the one we were left with.

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,

we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.

We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west.

We will rise from the windswept northeast,

where our forefathers first realized revolution.

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.

We will rise from the sunbaked south.

We will rebuild, reconcile and recover.

And every known nook of our nation and

every corner called our country,

our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,

battered and beautiful.

When day comes we step out of the shade,

aflame and unafraid,

the new dawn blooms as we free it.

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

More about Amanda Gorman here

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Comment: Let’s get back to “Normal.” Really? Revisiting Maslow.

Comment: Let’s get back to “Normal.” Really? Revisiting Maslow.

As I was scrolling through my Facebook memories recently I noticed posts from that day, over a the series of years, referring to; a protest at Lambeth town hall to defend children’s services, university’s taking strike action to secure their pensions, women resisting the DAPL pipeline at Standing Rock, a general strike in Barcelona where people simply want the right to a referendum over their future and one about a woman appealing to prospective buyers at an auction urging bidders not to buy up social housing. 

It is fantastic to see memories of the courage, determination and collective action of people for children’s services, pensions, access to water, democracy and housing 

BUT I ASK YOU THIS

Why do we have to fight for what are basic needs? Why do we have to fight for what are our rights? 

I know recently I’ve been banging a drum about this, repeating various versions of let’s not return to “normal.” The truth is to do so would be a return to a ceaseless struggle for what should be our birthright, our basic needs met.

Let’s not return to “normal.” Ever. “Normal” was hell. Let’s remember what “normal” was likening the U.K.

4.2m children in poverty 2019

rising homelessness with rough sleeping up 21% and

        55%of homeless people in work in 2018

                        rents noone under 30 in London could afford

people “lucky” if they got the paltry minimum wage, in 2020 amounts are

25 years and over £8.72, 21-24 £8.20, 18-20 6.45, under 18 £4.55, 

apprentices ( working up to 30 hours a week  and expected to study) £4.15 an hour

309 deaths in custody 2019/2020 8% black and brown people/ people of colour compared to a population of 3%

                 3m in the U.K. in the gig economy with no sick leave, paid holidays or contracts of unemployment 2019

            an estimated 2.4 million aged 16 to 74 years experienced domestic abuse in the last year (1.6 million women and 786,000 men) year ending 2019 

                    Only 3% of reported rape cases prosecuted in 2019

Sick and disabled people put through harrowing interviews to “prove” they were sick despite gp and hospital letters and

                 17 000 sick and disabled people dying while waiting for an appeal when benefits were withdrawn 2019

The U.K. pension for single person now in 2020/21 £134.25 is a week, £6,981 a year. For a married couple £268.50 a week forcing many to rely on the means tested housing benefit

Sorry to go on. Sorry to throw so much out.

We are talking about the U.K., the fifth biggest economy in the world. I haven’t even got started on the abuse faced by the Windrush generation and the loops European’s have to jump through post brexit to get healthcare or the global picture where many have such limited access to clean water, electricity and safe homes. 

We could do so much better than this because we know what people need and what they can do. We the people. A new democracy based on “from each accordingly to their ability, to each accordingly to their needs,” Marx.

Surely our democracies and the extractive, neoliberal economy are just moment a in world history. Greek democracy had slaves. Women have only had the vote for a century. Democracy can change. But our limited democracy is only part of the problem. Can the system change? When the Eastern Bloc fell someone said, at the end of 1989, I forget who, a left intellectual, and I paraphrase “two things came together, the system couldn’t go on in the old way and the people didn’t want it to go on,”

It’s time for us to evolve a better version. It is that or fast forward to an unimaginable dystopia. The seeds of this, I believe, exist globally, rooted locally in our communities and workplaces in a myriad of campaigns.

What could a better world look like? What are our basic human needs?

Joking aside, this is a representation of what Abraham Maslow, an American psychologist, called the hierarchy of human needs, however you look at it, much of humanity is really are still at the very bottom, if we have to struggle for food, water, shelter, rest, employment and security. At the top is self actualisation. 

How can humanity sustain itself let alone self actualise under these conditions? The conditions of vast economic inequality and as yet unabated climate change? 

How can we be the most we can be? We can begin for sure. Struggle, meditate, do yoga, study it will take you a long way on that path, if you have the time and privilege. It’s dialectical of course, as we we learn and grow, we change and in turn change the world.

Yet I can’t see, without system change, until all are free to follow their destiny, free to thrive not just survive, none are free as we are all part of each other. Yet I’m still not sure exactly how we get from here to there, to a new earth, where we can all self actualise, 

  “… The struggle will continue until all we have to contend with is the elements and our egos, the true meaning of jihad, And that my friends has already begun. 

The way ahead is still not clear to me, or whether there will be more fire, trumpets of woe, more blood shed, already ochre bellied locusts swarm over Africa, there is an exodus from the holy lands where writing began but it is clear to me there will be no single point, nor second coming or single movement led by a vanguard.

Witness the armies of love that hang dignity and empathy from their banners in the Lebanon, Hong Kong, Belarus and Thailand where the age old struggle for democracy returns and now it seems we are more like the water, many rivers flowing down into the seas, into the oceans and the oceans are rising while wild fires circle the globe,  

Perhaps it is Gaia calling to us be the fire, be the water, put down deep roots and like the forests reach up. As I sit before the mountain if I close my eyes I see the new world blooming in a millions of lotus flowers opening…”

from a poem in progress The Centre Cannot Hold”

Further reading

A Theory of Human Motivation by Abraham Maslow, first published in the journal Psychological Review 1943

Toward a Psychology of Being by Abraham Maslow, first published 1954

https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/beautiful-minds/who-created-maslows-iconic-pyramid/

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Diary: March 2021

Diary: March 2021

As we take a step close to Spring, I feel, often at this time of year, time itself speeds up at an alarming rate. Its as if January limps, February shuffles while March is limbering up for a sprint, next thing I know I’ll be shaking by head seeing nauseating Christmas ads, which incidentally I’ve found one can avoid successfully with steaming services. Events are moving fast and as such it’s hard to post a coming up diary, as I have previously, as a this went down one. 

A lot of cool stuff happened in one week. Started a five week mini course led by poet Bethany Rivers called Mindful Words in which we read, write and discuss poetry. 

Poets for the Planet presented FRESH: Spring Bloom on YouTube: https://youtu.be/UThp7vu3pvAHi

My experimental voyage into insta can be seen here https://www.instagram.com/anne_enith/ The Last Swallow has Flown is a visual poem exploring/ contemplating autumn, love and transformation, based on the philosophy of the Tao. 

Annnnd The new anthology from Malika’s Poetry Kitchen has a cover now and can be  preordered here https://t.co/vNXRgl8yYa More to follow on this

I have a recent, well not that recent, contribution to the On Our Radar, a project reporting homelessness stories here I looking into what happened to the government’s Everyone In scheme. https://microsites.onourradar.org/covid19/?p=1699

Saturday 13th, saw a tremendous outpouring of collective sorrow, grief, rage and solidarity across upwards of 30 cities and towns in the U.K. (the actual number unsure as it was rising by the hour) as people attended vigils of beauty, poetry, prayer and silence over the death of Sarah Everard, and so many others we never hear about.

Yet in Clapham police choose to attack a peaceful protest! As an organiser said on BBC news last night had the organised vigil been not been ruled against there would have been stewards to ensure Covid safety. Had the Met not obstructed the thing in the first place and not lost the plot on the night there would have been no need for arrests, actually scratch that there was no need in my opinion.


In a highly publicised case Patsy Stevenson, pictured above, was forcibly removed from the vigil. She subsequently told reporters that after being thrown to the ground she was dragged into a van, fined £200 only to be released back into the park where this interview took place! So we can all sleep sound in our beds now. 

Beyond irony when two days later Parliament was set to debate the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill 2021 which offers no protection to women and includes broad powers for the police to curtail rights to peaceful protest and restrict assemblies, with tougher sentences for those charged, and even limitations on one-person acts of peaceful protest.

So let’s get this straight under this new legislation- If I attack a statue of Churchill I can get up to ten years inside. If someone attacks and rapes me they can get up to five years inside. If they are even prosecuted. In 2019/20 only 3% of reported rapes were prosecuted. 

In a society like this WE NEED TO PROTEST!

For a joint statement in opposition see here https://extinctionrebellion.uk/2021/03/15/killthebill-joint-statement-on-the-police-crime-sentencing-and-courts-bill-from-xr-blm-local-groups-raah-and-more/?

Sunday 14th joined Poetry from the Grassroots to deliver a poem The Truth About Hats, which skips over the centuries touching on women’s history and struggles here’s a link to the recording https://www.facebook.com/MarkMrTeeThompson/videos/10158618361077217/ Unsure if this link works outside Facebook but it it does see great poetry from fellow Poets for the Planet member Sue John’s at 10 mins in and my piece is at 35mins in,  it was a great night, it’s all worth checking out.

#amreading The Occillations by Kate Fox, Flight Behaviour by Barbara Kingsolver and Healing the Tiger by Peter A Levine

#amwriting poems referencing Greek and Roman Gods and Goddesses and throwing around some ideas for a piece of dystopian fiction….

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Writing prompt: Matka stick sculpture by Olga Ziemska

Writing prompt: Matka stick sculpture by Olga Ziemska

A caveat to the suggestions in this exercise. It’s an exercise that asks you to go deep and writing can release painful feelings and energy in the process, if you can stay with those feelings, without attaching or avoiding, they will pass through and the process becomes also one of healing. 

We are in a triggering time where issues about women, the earth, our future can lead to discomfort so go easy with this exercise. Take a break anytime if necessary. 

Engage your self care if necessary and/or the support of trusted others if the writing brings up feelings you find too difficult. Also allow yourself to experience joy of being and becoming

***

Get a pen and paper ready, glance at the image below then respond to the following questions. Write one or two words for each, a couple of sentences or more. There are no wrong answers. Take no more than five minutes for each question, set a timer. 

Where did your journey begin?

Where is it taking you? 

What is your ground of being? 

Take a break, walk around. How do you feel? Perhaps make a note of that if you like. Then if you want go back to your notes. Look at what you’ve made.

Do you want to develop it? If so you can, add, delete, combine, cut and paste, revise, play with it. Give yourself another 15 minutes. Come back to it a few days later if you want and repeat this. 

Matka stick sculpture by Olga Ziemska 

“Cleveland-based sculptor Olga Ziemska works with natural materials like wood and bamboo to create mysteriously figurative installations for her series titled Stillness in motion: The Matka Series.

“Matka” means “mother” in Polish and essentially defines the figure that Ziemska recreates. Through this mold of a maternally inclined female, the artist symbolizes a place of origin, further hinting at “our first physical environment—the womb.”

“The artist says, “Through the repetition of the human form, the subtle characteristics of each environment will emerge naturally and visually. This body of work is ultimately a celebration of the diversity of place and also a homage to the similarities that underlie all things at their core.””

From Haunting Figure of a Woman Made with Wood and Bamboo by Pinar Noorata on April 13, 2013

https://mymodernmet.com/olga-ziemska-stillness-in-motion-the-matka-series/

If you want to take this further consider what is your relationship to the earth? When was the last time you walked in bare feet or touched the earth? Or what is your relationship to your mother? When did you last speak to her, touch her? And write about that. 

More about Olga Ziemska here https://www.olgaziemska.com/

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Writers on writing: Charles Baudelaire

Writers on writing: Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire, the French poet, essayist and art critic, 9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867, is perhaps best known for his Les Fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil). First published 1857, it dealt with themes such as sacred and profane love, melancholy, sickness and death, the corruption of the city, lost innocence and the oppressiveness of living, it was considered scandalous. 

It was arguably a contemplation on modernity, he is credited with coining the term, a highly influential work, not just on other French poets but cited frequently in All That is Solid Melts into Air by Marshall Bergman, a book I return to time and again. 

The title of this work, exploring modernity, is taken from Karl Marx who wrote the Communist Manifesto in 1848 following the French Revolution in the same year. 

Baudelaire took part in the revolution and wrote for a revolutionary newspaper. While Marx examined the social forces and developed the idea of historical materialism, Baudelaire gives us portraits of the decadent and debauchery of modern French capitalism, the first volume of Capital published in 1867. 

As contemporaries, in my opinion, they both leave us with work that help us to understand the modern world. Capital predicting the rise of the transnational corporation, Le Fleurs du mal suggests the fleeting, impermanent nature of urban life.

A concern relevant, perhaps now more than ever, as an underclass of cleaners, Uber drivers and Amazon delivery workers move from Bangladesh to Birmingham, Colombia to London, Portugal to Paris, eking out a living, sleeping in cramp accommodation or on the streets. 

“By modernity I mean the transitory, the fugitive, the contingent which make up one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immutable.” 

Charles Baudelaire, “The Painter of Modern Life” in The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays, edited and translated by Jonathan Mayne. London: Phaidon Press. 


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Comment: Wellbeing and Mental Health: Gratitude Practice

Comment: Wellbeing and Mental Health: Gratitude Practice

The pandemic has focused attention on our health in both mind and body. This is a good thing. Generally speaking in “advanced” capitalist society’s we tend to treat our mind/body as a resource to plunder rather than something to nourish and nurture. The result is seen in higher cancer rates and serious mental health conditions. The pandemic has further increased the latter.

We are in societies where profit is put before people therefore it should come as no surprise that during the pandemic we’ve seen political decisions that appear to put livelihoods before lives.  While it is important to challenge political decisions with action there are things we can do personally to weather the storm of this uncertain time and the fears and anxieties it has produced. Gratitude practice is one of those things. 

It might seem that in midwinter, at a time of Covid, with the NHS overstressed, loved ones ill or even dying there is little to have gratitude, it is easy to focus on what we lack. There is always something to be thankful for and acknowledging this rather is a healthier place to be as it encourages the soothe mechanism in the brain rather than the threat mechanism. It’s a better place to take action from when needed. It’s not about, for instance, denying anger or grief or sitting toxic positivity, for instance the apparent attitude of Boris Johnson with his blustering style optimism it’s about embracing your entire experience. 

Why is it necessary?

We tend to have a negative bias when it comes to evaluating our experience of the world. We are hardwired this way. We are more alert to threat than things that comfort and soothe. This was what kept cave people alive. In the modern world it might sound more like, 

“I just the interview today, it went down really bad,”

“Why do you say that?”

“I was terrible, I repeated myself. At one point one of the interviews yawned, I’ve had it.”

In reality the interviewers were smiling and nodding their heads but negative bias will remind the candidate of only this one moment. 

Something similar to this happened to me recently. I attended a zoom poetry event on the open mike and they put me on first. I was nervous and anxious, my less than fully stable tripod, was leaning precariously, thinking it might keel over. I read two short poems with a humorous segway and spent the entire rest of the evening tense thinking, “I was so wooden!” It was a great night and I felt I’d let everyone down, that I’d let myself down. The next morning I looked at the recording and it was fine! Not brilliant but certainly not wooden. 

What is gratitude practice?

One recognised method is keeping a gratitude journal, or just writing in a regular journal and making a note of at least three things, or just one to begin with, for which we are thankful about during the day that has just passed. You can do this  before you go to bed or the following morning. 

Alternatively write on scraps of paper and put them in a jar.

Write on post it’s and pin them to a wall.

Share your experiences with family or friends around the kitchen table.

Create a private facebook group for your nearest and dearest and share your gratitude between you.

Ants perspective posted by Our Earth on Facebook

How can it help?

Many spiritual practices cite the value of gratitude practice and studies have demonstrated that it reduces stress, anxiety and depression and boosts feelings of optimism, happiness and ability to cope. 

“People who regularly practice gratitude by taking time to notice and reflect upon the things they’re thankful for experience more positive emotions, feel more alive, sleep better, express more compassion and kindness, and even have stronger immune systems.”

From https://www.happify.com/hd/the-science-behind-gratitude/

Little things matter

We tend to focus on the negative particularly if we are stressed or anxious. Perhaps it’s been a good day until a neighbour blows up at you about your ivy growing over their porch. Now there’s a black cloud over everything. Instead of letting all the good be blocked out by this, take a deep breath consider what else happened? Reflect on the taste of your morning coffee, a kind message on a card from an aunt, the woman on the bus that complimented your bag, a great song you heard for the first time on the radio, and write it down. Be specific as possible. 

Basically the more we are grateful for the more we notice things around like the delicate white flowers springing from the hedgerow on the way to the shop or the scudding clouds in the deep red sunset you can see from the kitchen.

The sciencey bit 

Practicing gratitude is a form of positive psychology. It doesn’t mean denying any difficult feelings experienced or ignoring any abuse. It just means reducing the tendency to focus on the negative and rebalancing your perceptions. It won’t, on its own, tackle poverty or injustice or inequality but it can equip you to take on all or any challenges even if it’s just the rude and annoying neighbour. It moves your brain from vacillating between the drive and threat functions into soothe. More about that in another post. 

More info

https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_gratitude_changes_you_and_your_brain

Seriously technical study on the subject here 

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/16045394/

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here

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Diary: February 2021

Diary: February 2021

I’m late with this, so late! Wa Gwarn? As they say round here. What’s going on indeed. Been feeling decidedly ropey, trying to find an appropriate metaphor…Feels like; climbing a sand dune in a desert in a wet suit, crawling up a mountain backward, swimming against the tide in a storm. All of these imply struggle. 

No doubt a struggle within. As I write this I think – rather than struggle why not just surrender? Something, honestly, I find hard. I veer between the two attitudes. The latter might sound like, if you can’t do, just be.

Poet and mindfulness tutor Cath Drake puts it like this, “Many of us spend most of our time in ‘doing’ mode: organising, thinking, ticking off tasks, often in autopilot. It’s important for our wellbeing to balance this with the ‘just being’ mode, just being alive to where you are and what is around us, accepting things as they are without trying to change them.”

Cath has been running writing workshops with this in mind. If you’re struggling too why not check it out. Cath says, “What if you write without a goal in mind? Experiment?

Tuesday mornings 8am, short sessions of Mindfulness, Poetry and writing. A new theme each week – sign up and drop in when you can.” Go to https://cathdrake.com/mindfulness-poetry-uplift/ 

During the low energy time I’ve been playing with my images. This, I find, I can do in a meditative way, achieving what is known in the Tao as wu wei, or effortless activity. Ideally we would all do everything like this. 

The result of this was what I call a visual poem called The Last Swallow Has Flown – created using 12 images, found and original. It’s a contemplation of autumn, love and transformation based on the philosophy of the Tao.

According to the Tao the universal energies yin Qi and yang Qi produce the Five Elements, which in turn, give birth to the “ten-thousand things,” ie: the manifestation of all things. The Five Elements are Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water. Each of the five elements have attributes. The element associated with autumn is metal and some of the other attributes are the direction west, spicy taste, the colour white and dryness. 

This was an experiment, it’s been fun and useful to find that contemplative space. Finally I posted the images in my insta, you can see it here https://www.instagram.com/anne_enith/ whether you have an Instagram account or not. It’s designed to be best viewed in the grid.

Accordingly to my insta analytics the posts have reached 21.5 K accounts in seven days. A bit wow, I have no clue what “reached” means but it makes me feel good anyway. 

Elsewhere the zoom poetry community is blooming drawing poets from Australia, Europe to the United States. I recommend Poetry in the Brew, Speakeasy, Ooo Beehive, Say it Louder and Like a Blot from the Blue. I’m yet to dive in to appear, most have floor spots. 

My fave so far was the St Valentines Mascara, a curated event held Sunday 14th February, which was particularly spectacular. A collaboration between Like a Blot from the Blue, Eye Publish Ewe and Poetry in the Brew, see it here for just over two hours of audacious wordplay and performance. 

Meanwhile Poets for the Planet had our AGM also on the14th and will be holding Spring Bloom: An eco-poetry open mike night on Saturday 6th March at 7.00pm which will be broadcast on YouTube. Poets will be responding to the themes #beginafresh #noplanetb #springbloom 

Finally, it’s not been a great time recently for residents on the six regen estates facing demolition, Homes for Lambeth are on the offensive, during lockdown, yep. However there’s great news for Cressingham Gardens and for children’s fiction and black writers; my friend and neighbour, Sandra Moodie, launches her first book, Aminata and the Bag of Seeds on Saturday 20th February. 

Sandra took her first dabble into creative writing with the Cressingham Voices project I ran on the Cressingham Gardens estate in 2017 in my role as writer-in-residence and contributed to the book we produced. More about Sandra, founder of Pass the Baton Raise the Next Generation, and the book here https://inspirationalenterprise.com/latest-news

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here

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Matter Poetry: Roots

Matter Poetry: Roots

The image is a matter poem I called Roots

A tribute to and attempt to illustrate my origins. I find it hard to identify with “English” though I love the language. I don’t even know what English means beyond empire and oppression. After all before they turned the map pink there was the Welsh, the Scots and the Irish to contend with and suppress. Culturally “English” and “British” seem to merge and elide, something I struggle with. I would like not to have this attitude if someone wants to have a go at convincing me. 

Watching The Barrier recently on Netflix, a near future dystopian fiction situated in Spain, reminded me of my grandmothers tales of acts of disobedience and defiance, which I’m sure must have inspired and influenced me, though I didn’t recall the details of memories until practicing freewriting on the subjects. 

Honoured they choose me to pass on their stories and proud to be by blood half Lancashire, half Yorkshire. That is an origin or identity I am happy to embrace. (Though according to DNA I am one third Greek, a bit Bosnian, a bit Finnish, by which I read Viking, and the rest English/Irish.) All our bloods are mixed let’s face it.


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Poetry by me: Let’s Talk About Our Salvation

Poetry by me: Let’s Talk About Our Salvation

Let’s Talk About Our Salvation

We heard so many slurs, so many monosyllables as money 

and mendacity hit the campaign trail. Reeled with the 

superlatives; ears bleeding, eyes blinded, hearts broken, 

shuddered with the ugly vile-nasty-ism. We watched 

in dismay, the ceremony of shame, as the old law breaker, 

became the new law maker. A smokescreen of tweets bleated

and abused concealing policy, the links with Breitbart,

flooding our platforms and screens, turning our blood cold. Yet


still we utter, still we declaim, filling the streets of cities 

and towns, with our bodies and breath. Our banners rock with mirth, 

we are so not done yet. Hell no! A new generation joins us on the

sidewalks, the boulevards, the squares – across the world, their legs 

strong, love on their lips. Swinging hips holding the Mexican, 

the Muslim, the other, locked in an embrace, birthing new possibilities 

in the republic born in genocide and slavery; reshaped and exulted 

by the dream factory. Remember the Alamo! That was Mexican, 

it’s kinda in the name, isn’t it? They called it manifest destiny, 

pushing westicons and tropes still haunting the movie theatre


today. La la la la land, we are awakening. John Wayne wasn’t always

the good guy. Good guys, let me tell you about them, they’re up at Standing

Rock, right now, facing guns and water cannon, ice on the ground, 

with only smartphones, prayers and the spirits of the ancestors 

to protect them. And while I’m at it, I’ll tell you another thing 

for nothing; the forgotten were never forgotten by Alice Paul, 

Kathleen Cleaver, Lucy Stone, Olive Morris and bell hooks. 

We move together, memory in our arms, bones of dignity, courage  

in our bellies, compassion on our shoulders, the future in our hands; 

we rise, still we rise, and we will rise again and again and again.

Anne Enith Cooper 2017

Image taken at the London Women’s March 21st January 2017


I wrote this poem after the tremendous global women’s marches, open to all genders, which took place immediately after the inauguration of the 45th.

Looking back at this poem a few weeks before the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamilla Harris I’m asking myself if, with hindsight, it was hopelessly idealistic having seen the apparently inexorable rise and consolidation of the right in the USA culminating in the armed attack on the Washington Capitol building yesterday, January 6th 2021, by supporters of the 45th and far right extremists in which five people died.

At the time the women’s marches were reported as the largest protest on a single day in the USA.  “Women’s March against Donald Trump is the largest day of protests in US history, say political scientists” Matt Brookfield, The Independent. Protests took place in 550 cities and towns in the USA and 100 globally. It was estimated over 6-7 million participated in the USA and worldwide with 4.6 million within the USA. In London it was difficult to get anywhere near Trafalgar Square, let alone in it, the crowds were so large.

We’ve endured four years of an administration headed by a premier who actively encouraged the “alt right/ libertarian right; replete with reactionary attitudes towards women’s rights and the alt right is really a euphemism for those who wave the Confederate flag alongside the swastika, don tee shirts celebrating the holocaust, brandish (Walmart) Tiki torches in a gesture that evokes Ku Klux Klan rallies and mob lynchings and drive vehicles into crowds of peaceful protestors.

Despite all this it seems to me there has been no cease in our struggles from Black Lives Matter, to Standing Rock and Extinction Rebellion, to mention but a few, even during the pandemic, across the world, with women playing a part front and centre. And it is not just a struggle of resistance but one that envisions a new world free from all oppression, violence and inequality, living in harmony with our planet.

We are so not done yet!

Image taken at the London Women’s March 21st January 2017

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Diary: January 2021

Diary: January 2021

Happy New Year everyone, wishing you all health and happiness, hope, strength and joy in the struggles we will undoubtedly face together, let’s continue to bring beauty, respect, dignity, peace, justice, equality and sustainability to this world. Hope this new year is rich and rewarding for all.

Last year was a tough one, I appreciate many are grieving, in recovering, or financially challenged, we are all in a sense precarious now. I prefer to think also about what it has given us; a renewed respect for the often invisible yet essential workers, a chance to reevaluate what really matters, a chance to upskill, learn and grow, the reveal of the incompetence, uncaringness and mendacity of power.

This time has also seen the emergence of mutual aid on an unprecedented scale demonstrated dramatically during the lorry-park-with-no-toilets debacle at the end of the year. While the government callously described the unfolding events as a “stress test” for a no deal Brexit it was the Kent community that fed the thousands of stranded drivers not the council or the government.

Hope you had a reasonable time last night I had a quiet one. At least the flat is emerging from a year of dust, clutter and cobwebs (ok i exaggerate a little though it is curiously how dust and cobwebs seem to create small balls over time…)

Reflecting on the year personality feel immense gratitude for when it was possible to connect. The year began for me on a challenging note plunged into the dark in January, almost it seemed, overnight. How much of this was personal and how much was existential I don’t know. I was writing a ring of fire: a lament for Australia as it began. Spend a good part of the year crawling out of that place. It would be easy to look on the year as the sum total of that but on reflection  there was much more.

Some highlights; in March just before lockdown one hooked up with Poets for the Planet for a reading and conversation at Resonance fm link. In May and June joined the Black Lives Matter protests in Windrush Square while August saw a diminished but effective XR rebellion in London, my part in this was small but supported rebels camping in beautiful Brockwell Park, a stones throw from Cressingham.

Collectively the park became our playground, sanctuary, gym. Hard to put into words how valuable it has been for so many of us. I read in Brixton Buzz Lambeth Council want to hand over management to some company which aims to hold 50 commercial events annually, surely this must be opposed.

In September between lockdowns took a trip to Italy; discovered the wonder of Rome, attended a powerful yoga retreat at Casa Amrita in Teramo province and explored the delightful coastal town of Pineto before reluctantly returning.

The poetry world went all zoom and forced to face my reluctance to get in front of the camera head on joining Poetry from the Grassroots on a number of occasions. A supportive and increasingly international tribe of fellow wordsmiths. Joined the team at On Our Radar, who in collaboration with Groundswell, are collectively stories of homelessness in a peer led project.

Have been massively supported and assisted by group meditation on zoom with water and earth protector Urtema Dolphin. She has been holding a space almost every day since the start of lockdown one. A space to learn and grow, to be and let go.

Ended the year putting together a visual poem entitled The Last Swallow has Flown; a contemplation of autumn, love and transformation which is almost ready to share, watch this space

Feeling optimistic about the future; our struggles have gone truly global and becoming more inclusive. We are still in a fractured and polarised world, in my opinion the dark is not rising it was always there and the light is revealing it, so let the light shine!

Not much in the diary yet but starting a short course in Greek and Roman Mythology at Penn State Uni, I’ve found gods and goddess making an appearance in my poetry for a while now; the Indian goddess Kali came to me in Brockwell Park, Gaia on a beach in Pineto, while Venus, Zeus and Eros put in appearances from time to time and so I figured it was high time to learn a bit more about them.

Also will be joining Poetry from the Grassroots on the 10th January 2021

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Comment: Seeking Refuge 

Comment: Seeking Refuge 

On the way to the Sistine Chapel in Rome recently I met a young guy from Syria. An asylum seeker. His story emerged as we talked, tried to communicate. Only much later I pieced together in my mind things that were unsaid. I won’t talk about “the plight” of refugees, a despicable expression that can only evoke pity than than compassion and solidarity. I just want to paint you a picture of one man, one family in a desperate situation at a precarious time; during the covid pandemic and a climate emergency.

I say young, he could have been maybe thirty. Really hot day, navigation isn’t exactly my forte yet found the entrance to the Termini Metro easily, paused thinking, “That wasn’t too bad, so far so good.” 

At this point I noticed him, crouched on the ground. He wore a tee-shirt streaked with dirt, pulled halfway up his back. He had his head in his arms, hands clasped at the back of his head, rocking on his heels. I noticed an old man and woman close by; sleeping bags, cardboard, carrier bags.

I spoke to the old guy, something like, “E tutto bene con lui?” Is everything ok with him? His reply, unintelligible to me. Tried Spanish, only to result in another unintelligible reply. Reached in my bag, took out a bottle of water and placed it near this young man and stepped back to a Covid safe distance. We were all unmasked, at this point masks were only required on public transport.

Some meaning was comprehended. Then both the old man and the young one said something simultaneously. Both equally unintelligible to me. Shook my head, shrugged. Then, suddenly, the young one leapt up, span around, beaming, pointed at me, pointed at the sky, saying, “De deus, de DEUS!” Meaning, I assume, “From god”, from either the French or Portuguese. As we might colloquially call, “a godsend” or say, “You’re an angel.”

With him standing now, we fell into a halting conversation; gestures, pulling words from all sorts of languages. He seemed to be asking where I was from. Once I said London we tried to communicate in English. “Three times I come here,” he said. I took that to mean two times he had been deported. “Where from?” I asked, his answer baffled me. He reeled off a list of what I took to be place names, the only ones I recognised were Lesbos and Aleppo, that came last.

Only then I realised he was listing the names of places on his journey here in reverse. A journey so many have made since dictator Assad’s counter revolutionary push against the Syrian Arab Spring, a war of attrition against the Syrian people. Assad’s father, a former dictator for twenty-nine years, was a killer too, ruthless, both cosy with U.K. government’s.


Citizen journalism image. Jabal Bedro, Aleppo, Syria, 2013 (AP Photo/Aleppo Media Center AMC)

The man’s accent in English was strong too but intelligible. At some point he told me his name, pointed to his chest, said, “IT engineer.” I told him my name, didn’t say, poet! Shame, they love poets in the Middle East, more, they respect them, pay them! Surely he would have understood “Poeta.” We continued to struggle to communicate. At some point he showed me a patch of baldness on the side of his head, caused by the stress of it all presumably. “You need vitamins!” I said. (I’d seen the same thing on the heads of children in a poor Mexican village.)

“Eh.” he replied

“Fruit! Frutta, domani, I bring qui domani, okay!”

He made the peace/victory sign. Smiled and I hastened off. I had a timed ticket to get into the gallery and I know how long it can take me. It took me about twenty minutes to work out the ticket machine! Had to ask for help when it swallowed my money.

When I got to the Vatican bought more water, offering the guy a 20€ note. “Cambio?” He asks. Change? I replied, “La machina en metro mangiato,” The machine in the metro ate it. Wondering where this sudden grasp of the language was coming from. Another customer, laughing commented, “Come sempre!” Like always.

The next day I was leaving for a yoga retreat. In the morning went to the supermarket, bought peaches, pears, bananas, grapes and a few of bottles of spring water with vitamins. There was a dilemma; if I take it all straight to the metro will I have time to come back and get my stuff? So I lugged everything down together. 

When I got back to the Termini, the old man was there, the old woman, no sign of this young man. I put the bags down next to them. What I wanted to say was “Please say hello and goodbye for me to your friend,” Way too many prepositions! So throw in; hola/ciao, (hello) otro/ altro, (other) tu amigo/amici, gesturing wildly. I still wasn’t sure if they were fellow asylum seekers or homeless locals. Probably the former from the language. Then the guy appeared, bounced towards me with such a big smile and joy washed over me. I point towards the bags, said, “Frutta, acqua.”

We “talked” again for a while, not sure how, couldn’t understand each other well. My Arabic all but lost due to neglect. Though I’d thought if I try a word in Arabic, he might reply in Arabic and I won’t understand a thing. Never heard a Syrian accent before, guttural. Like trying to understand a Glaswegian. Eventually he said, “You leave?” pointing to my bag. I nodded.

Just really wanted to give him a big hug to be honest but covid separates people! I put my hands in the prayer position, dipped my head towards him and the others, indicating namaste, an expression exchanged when meeting or parting that means my higher self bows to/greets your higher self. That I used to say as far as I’m concerned we are equals.

Then reluctantly had to go, try and navigate the metro again and catch a bus. Hopping on with literally minutes to spare after having a covid temperature check. Method: the guy sneaks up besides me while I’m looking the other way, his arm outstretched, holds a device near my forehead. Moves on. No per favore, no grazie. Sat on that bus hoping, really hoping, they had understood that last gesture.

Left wondering just how many people there are like this young man, adrift, grappling with a second or third language. Sleeping in the dust in European cities perhaps alongside local people experiencing homelessness, at the time of the pandemic, during the climate emergency.

Men with the ability, determination and courage to cross continents on foot while I struggle to make a journey across a city by metro, subway, tube. While I can go to a safe home. While I can be home in hours from Europe, while their journeys on foot take weeks and months. Risking life to reach what they hope are safe shores. People with such potential, hopes and dreams. Longing to see again a familiar face, longing to hear their mother tongue. 

Aleppo 2016 © AFP

It’s worth noting since “begging”, despise that word too, is illegal in Italy, and despite Berlusconi, Salvini and the hostile environment for refugees there. Given all that the carrier bags I’d noticed the first day, I reflected much later, must have been donations, the only way people in this situation, can survive must be through these donations and solidarity.

Now looking back, especially at this time of year, I can’t help wishing I had, like a friend of mine visiting the Jungle in Calais, gave him my phone number and said if you make it, get in touch.

Now I wonder if those were his parents, that he was looking after them. Both young and old man spoke with the same guttural accent. Imagine that; the young one, the strong one, the one with a second or third language, the one with the qualifications and training, the one looking after you is possibly unwell. Imagine having to witness your hope rocking on his heels like that. Imagine the despair.

That other lad from the Jungle did make it and stayed with my friend for many months and is doing well, while my friend jokes, “Didn’t want kids, now I have a son.”

I’m not going to go into it here, what is, in my opinion, the atrocity that is the hostile environment here, the lack of safe routes, the demonising of asylum seekers, not now. Just asking you to recognise the humanity of others, our common humanity, something I feel our government fails so appallingly to do. 

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Writing prompt: The Three Line Poem

Writing prompt: The Three Line Poem

Three line poem prompt 

Choose a word from the dictionary at random then freewrite for five minutes. Take a break. Stretch or walk around then come back to what you have written. Underline the strongest words or expressions. Delete any unnecessary words – for instance do you need “and, but, yet, so,” keep them if used emphatically.

Extract the strongest words and expressions and create a new piece. How many lines do you have? If it’s three you have your poem, check again delete any unnecessary words. Consider if the image(s) created.

If not continue to extract again the strongest words and expressions until you have three lines that express one idea. Check again delete any unnecessary words. Consider if the words left behind sing together.

An example 

The three line poem is called a tercet, the term can also refer to poems with three line stanzas. 

This site takes submissions of three line poems https://threelinepoetry.com/


The classic three line poem is the haiku. It’s a Japanese form traditionally with three lines with seventeen syllables, written in a 5/7/5 syllable count. Though modern examples introduce variations. This is hotly contested but that’s another post.

Often focusing on images from nature, and usually makes reference to a season. It emphasises simplicity, intensity, and directness of expression. In addition the haiku tends to focus on a brief moment in time, juxtaposing two images, and creating a sudden sense of enlightenment.

An example 

From Matsuo Bashō, the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan.

Japanese

閑けさや 岩にしみいる 蝉の声

Shizukesa ya/ Iwa ni shimiiru/ Semi no koe

English

Oh, tranquility!

Penetrating the very rock,

A cicada’s voice.

Translated by Helen Craig Mccullough

See more examples here https://www.readpoetry.com/10-vivid-haikus-to-leave-you-breathless/



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Comment, Wellbeing and Mental Health: A Time to Transform

Comment, Wellbeing and Mental Health: A Time to Transform

In this “unprecedented” time; living against the backdrop of a virus that may or may not kill us, with growing precarity in jobs and housing in the west while people in parts of the Global South are on the verge of starvation and devastation from the accelerating the climate emergency, I am aware that many people I know are going through big shifts or faced with big challenges, either making life altering decisions facing circumstances that feel overwhelming. 

Sometimes it can manifest as inner shifts and challenges catalyzed by the circumstances, sometimes the feelings themselves can seem overwhelming. I’ve recently been through a big shift which was at times really painful, it manifested at times as deep grief, at other times experiencing ecstatic joy and sometimes self doubt, which I’m not entirely convinced was all “old stuff” it’s been hard to get back a healthy routine but is now playing out in new productive ways. 

If you are going through deep or strong fluctuations or this kind or feel affronted with emotional storms, perhaps feeling; anger, sorrow, shame, guilt, self doubt, or self loathing, know it’s ok it’s just growth. You are clearing the past to heal it, to make the present and the future more fruitful. Everything needs to be recognized, accepted and integrated to clear. That’s a big ask. Spirtual teachers I know report see this is happening to some people in fast forward. Bear in mind big change is almost always the result baby steps, lots of them.

Nevertheless despite growth we can still fuck up, I know I do. That’s ok as long as no one gets really hurt or even if they do, it’s rarely intentional so if someone can’t forgive you can at least forgive yourself. Think of it as your self development. We are all damaged in some way. We carry the grief and trauma of our parents and grandparents and what they lived through and couldn’t express. And we in turn at times can inherit their silences and can find it hard to express sometimes the most important things. I have found, over the years, the quicker I can accept the feelings that were coming up for me, by which I mean being with them, having curiosity about them, neither avoiding or attaching, the quicker they pass.

This is the essence of meditation and yoga. To watch what comes up and neither cling to it nor evade. It’s much easier in a group but with practice one can sit with the worst feeling alone. Covid brings up fear of death, fear of harm to loved ones in addition to anxieties about how to survive financially. In truth it would help us all to learn some of these techniques at this time as these are difficult things to accept and not to avoid with drink or drugs or any other form of dependency.

In morning meditation today it came to me we must hold on to hope, trust and faith. (I appreciate the notion of faith may be a bit woo woo to many of you.) If you have a faith I probably don’t need to say God has got your back. If you don’t hold with the idea of a higher power think of it as faith and trust in your higher self or your inner wisdom. To look at it another way, the part of you that knows deep down what you need and how to get it though you may not always be in touch with this. Few of us are; the spiritual path to connect with our higher self, in a lasting relationship, is life long.

At this time I look back to the darkest days of humanity see the horrors and defeats and see how we, as humanity, overcame and persevered. Though to consider horror passed with the Holocaust and Hiroshima and Nagasaki is perhaps a bit Eurocentric.

Figure we need to shift from surviving to thriving, individually and collectively. Feel the foundations for this are being laid at this time and simultaneously this time is accelerating our change of attitudes to and our understanding of our relationship to the planet. As we transform ourselves so we transform the world and the opposite is true. This is what is meant by dialectical.  

After the mediation this morning our teacher, talked about how animals adapt to the winter and how we are part of nature and nature is part of us. Those who visit parks or walk in nature may have a greater appreciation of this. Feel it’s worth embracing this idea, I’m not suggesting we all fly south or hibernate but as the days get shorter we can draw in, gather our strength. 

This “unprecedented” time I believe is asking us to adapt in our ways in a profound manner. Despite the fears in can induce it gives us opportunities. To become more flexible and agile in body and mind, more discerning, confronted with the blizzard of untruths emanating from power; the government and corporations. “Fear is the mind killer” as the novel Dune suggested and with so much distrust, violence and atrocities in the world I figure we need to be both curious and discerning.

Perhaps the greatest gift of this time is the opportunity and indeed recognition of the need to transform fear into love. It sounds kind of abstract until you think; well, can I change, “I’m afraid of getting/my loved ones getting Covid,” into “I will look after myself/my loved ones as best as I can at this time.” In any interaction or situation where there is fear, that means you care or love about yourself or the other. Find a positive solution to situations that seem so fearful. Gently.

As we witness how society fails in the care of the most vulnerable we in turn understand what it is to become kinder, more empathetic. It’s time also to become more loving of ourselves, more forgiving. Learn to respond rather than react. Again baby steps, if you falter, fall down, that’s ok, get up carry on. Every now and then glance back you will see how far you have come. I fervently believe if practiced these things becomes second nature then it becomes revolutionary and evolutionary; literally there is evidence to show new synapses are created.

Despite the apparent polarization in the world at this time I do believe a new world is in the making. We have struggled so long, fought so hard for so long, for millennia. Every new movement goes global, struggles for democracy around the world bring millions to the streets. I see a new consciousness from XR to the COP 26 coalition to grassroots organizations in the USA and Global South. In these new movements self care is put front and centre and demands are made for respect and dignity, indeed appear on the banners. Love has enters the struggle. And as Maureen, from Poets Know it, used to say way back,  “Nothing can defeat the power of our love.” 

#LoveIsTheWay #AnotherWorldIsPossible #AnotherWorldIsOnHerWay

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper

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Diary: December 2020

Diary: December 2020

As what we used to call autumn approaches winter we come out of lockdown only to enter tiers. I get the impression few understand what it implies, I too am a little hazy though I understand we can still carry our tasks for On Our Radar who are collaborating with Groundswell, the homelessness team, gathering stories of those in precarious housing or with none at all. The vote in the Commons over tiers happens later today. Wouldn’t hold your breathe after all recently the government gave us the logic defying ruling over the Christmas Break

In other news Poets for the Planet have a new YouTube Channel and you have find the first offering here https://youtu.be/MB_8P3IyeUE a screening of FRESH: An EcoPoetry open mike. 

Sunday December 13th Joining Poetry From the Grassroots on the open mike This is a zoom event join at https://us02web.zoom.us/j/3998944394?pwd=Smtzei9EeWpudU5weWoxTDQ2a2k0UT09 Drop a line to grassrootspoetry@outlook.com to sign up for the open mike. 

We are all virtual now, there are many other events that look interesting and can be joined from your sofa see more at https://poetrylondon.co.uk/listings/ here’s one that looks interesting 

December 6th 7.00pm to 8.30pm 

Poetry Lit! 

“Poetry Lit! is a monthly online reading series for international poets… and their fans. Each month Poetry Lit! hosts a Zoom event where folks share in poetry.

Each month there are two featured poets who’ll read a selection of their work. After that there’s an open mic where about 6 poets step into the limelight.

If you want to join our open mic, please send and e-mail to poetrylitonline@gmail.com. Open mic spots are 5 minutes max.

If you want to attend and listen to some great poetry…. welcome! Please register, so we know how many people are coming. We will send you a link to join nearer to the event.”

A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here

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On writing: William Faulkner

On writing: William Faulkner

“Read, read, read. Read everything – trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it’s good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out of the window.”


–William Faulkner