Knocking the Dust Off - Reading Out

Plus a poem about Scarborough, Spelt launch news and Dawn Chorus dates

Last Friday I had the absolute pleasure of reading at a Dreich event in my home town of Scarborough. Organised by Charlotte Oliver, it was one of those events that despite a good crowd (about forty five people in all) felt intimate, like being amongst friends.

From Top Left: Charlotte Oliver, Rowen Oliver and Adam Carpenter musicians, the wonderful audience, bottom left Katy Mahon, Felix Hodcroft and Rowena Somerville

I was delighted to read alongside Katy Mahon, Felix Hodcroft, Rowena Somerville and Charlotte Oliver. Emerging poet Eliza Carpenter also read but I didn’t manage to get her photo. She’s one to watch - strong poems.

The reading was at Koda Cafe on Northway, which I’d never actually been to, but will definitely go to in the future; a small, cosy, stylish space absolutely built for events like this.

This was the first in-person reading I’ve done in a long time. I’d forgotten how bad the nerves are when I read out. Getting the collections off the bookshelf and going through them, choosing what to read was like going backwards in time, like looking through photos and seeing images of previous selves. I literally had to knock the dust off them, especially the early ones. I have five collections in all: three full and two pamphlets and I have another full collection coming out next year. You’d think by now I’d feel reasonably confident in my abilities as a poet but for some reason, poetry is probably my main area of intense feelings of imposter syndrome. Often I get so nervous before a reading that I’ll spend the whole day beforehand stuck in ‘waiting mode’ feeling sick with nerves. But I think something might have changed this year, the nerves are definitely not as bad. I think it’s since I signed the book deal contract on my nature-landscape-memoir. I have spent a year writing about belonging and what it is to belong, to feel you have a place in the world. I feel like I have spent a year validating my right to exist in the arts sphere, and other places, my own landscape, my own skin. The difference between having a poetry collection published and a main stream trad published non poetry book is immense - I’m going to write a post about it in the future - and it helps that there’s a team working with me, all of us working towards getting the edits finished, getting the book landed and absolutely shining. I don’t know what it is I’m trying to say - something about being taken seriously as a writer, but also, that self recognition, the finding of inner value in your own work…you have got to have that to grow.

Anyway, I think because the nerves were less debilitating this time, and because I didn’t have books to flog or a course to sell, I think because I was simply taking part (not organising for a change - the relief!) I was able to enjoy the evening more fully, I was fully present. I chatted to poetry friends, I got the gossip on other sectors of the arts world, I enjoyed, oh fully enjoyed, the readings by the other poets and when I came to read I felt a genuine connection with the audience. As I sat watching the night draw in on Northway, listening to the musicians between sets and watching the good folk of Scarborough going out into the town, or coming in and out of the SJT theatre opposite, the shop lights and the street lights glittering, the sound of traffic moving through the town, I thought - this could be anywhere. We could be in London, we could be in Manchester, but here we are in Scarborough.’ It pleases me to see cultural events like this springing up in the town, and I’m pleased to just be a tiny part of that.

Photo by Sergey Tarasov on Unsplash

I finished my set with this one, it seemed a nice way to finish the evening. This one is in my current collection, When I Think of My Body as a Horse.

Love Letter to Scarborough on a Saturday Night

You are a smear of girls in high heels 
and of seagulls wheeling. The castle,
with its sleeping beauty slope,
is constantly above us all
and all the lasses cling and stagger,
lads bellow like bulls down the high street.

You are burgers at Chubby’s,
the mock chic of the casino, 
someone fighting outside the Christian Centre. 
You are a lass in a white dress sitting on the kerb, 
shoes off. You are the lads tripping drunk 
down the slope to the sea.

You are first light, littered streets,
runners on Marine Drive,
coffee, smudged mascara,
a hard come down, stomach hollowed,
you are nineteen-year-old me, you are
waves like a cool hand on a hungover brow,
you are the optical illusion that makes waves
into dorsal fins; always the promise
that something beautiful might swim beneath the grey. 
 

Over on the paid subscriber version of Notes from the Margin, this week we’ve been looking at growth and how we might push the boundaries and break writing habits with a couple of writing prompts. Come join us!

Spelt News

Good news everybody, I’ve had the proofs from the printers and Spelt 09 looks phenomenal.

We’ll be launching it on the 28th September 6pm-8pm UK time. Book your place here:

And in further excellent news, Spelt 10 is now open for submissions. Have a look at the guidelines here:

Dawn Chorus

The Dawn Chorus returns next month on the 9th October.

To find out more and to book your place…

Thanks for reading, until next time x