Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, May 8, 2021

Galloway Gate - free this weekend


About the Lune Gorge, and several pieces about Fell ponies and their owners and the land they belong to -
- go on, it's worth a look and costs nowt!

I've updated all my book prices too, and the full list is here: http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/prices.htm

While you're thinking, here's a sample from Galloway Gate.

Darkfall CV-19

Dusk drifts smoke-blue from the east.

Sheep nipnipnip at the frosting grass

(eat, eat before night). A distant dog

barks the same rhythm, with no message.


We have met no-one since dawn.

No bikers from the Devil's Bridge,

no walkers queueing for the mountains,

no chatty neighbours bringing eggs,


and for this we are thankful.

Only one con-trail, pink, in the west

draws a line at the end of the day.

The blackbird whistles the trees to bed.

The air is clear of everything but rooks

whose funeral wings wipe the sky clean.

 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0872GB6VP

Saturday, March 1, 2014

Covey

My backyard view
grew one, then two
grey partridge.
Pick and peck
some grainy speck,
some tasty smidge.
Three, and four,
five, six or more
plump, slate ridge-
patterned, seethed
around the floor
like woodlice when
you lift a stone.
Eight, nine or ten?
I lost count. One
saw the dog. Two
ran. All flew. Gone.

Friday, December 13, 2013

Bumble Bees

A queen mistook the dimness of our house,
but rescued with a glass and cardboard
she nested in the kitchen steps
where we passed by a dozen times a day,
and her furry children zigzagged out
to the bean rows in the garden,
the peas and plums and brambles,
the wild strawberry cascading down the wall.
Black sisters, fumbling white clovers in the pasture
or the purple heather on the moor,
they droned home bulked with pollen,
unloaded, flew another mission,
though the cat lay in wait to bat them,
and the swallows swooped on them,
and our grandchild tried to stroke them
when we barged through their busy airways.
They never stung. At the summer’s end
they just fell, all spent, leaving
one queen to autumn, winter, spring.
Yes, we might still have had a harvest
without their peaceful help; but only of a sort.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sue Millard's poetry collection, Ash Tree, is available from Prole Books and her novels can be found via her web site, Jackdaw E Books.

Friday, August 2, 2013

Ash Tree

"Missing", one of the poems from my pamphlet "Ash Tree", is expected to feature as part of Eden Arts' "Lost Tree" project at Brough Castle, Cumbria in August/September 2013.

I plan to remember my grand-daughter by visiting this installation on the afternoon of 31st August, which would have been her 8th birthday. I will have copies of "Ash Tree" with me. I would be very happy to see you there - though I suspect there won't be many from this group who will be able to!

However, I am very grateful to fellow poet and novelist, Janni Howker, who read many of these poems with me for a poetry project last year (2012) and I thank her for giving me permission to use two of the audio files on my web site, http://www.jackdawebooks.co.uk/ashtree.htm so you can at least hear a couple of them.

The pamphlet/paperback will be available from Prole Books, http://www.prolebooks.co.uk/ from the middle of next week (9 August 2013). It will cost £5 plus postage. (We may do a digital version later.)

Sue

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Getting My Eye Back In

I've spent the past week mostly writing specialised non fiction about horsey subjects. Single jointed snaffle bits, to be precise; not really on topic here, but if you are interested in an equestrian rant, try The Single Jointed Snaffle, and the effect of rein angles, auxiliary reins and nosebands. Yes, I did say it was specialised.

Between driving my Fell mare Ruby, and visiting the Old Git pony Mr T down at Millom, and attending the monthly harpers' workshop, and watching a game or two of Wimbledonnis, I've struggled to get any Proper Writing done. God, it's a hard life.

I've also been trying to get my eye back in for poetry, ready for Prole Books' launch of my poetry pamphlet, "Ash Tree", next month. I admit I'm being a bit lazy about this, so I've been teasing myself by writing little poems - probably the smallest there are, the Japanese Haiku. Haiku are primarily nature poems, and Cumbria is looking/sounding/smelling/feeling terrific just now. For now I'm simply lumping them under the title of Cumbrian Haiku, but if something better pops up I'll use it!

Here are a few haiku to be going on with.



black mares and foals drift
through a sun gold sea, eating
grass, not buttercups


smoothed by glaciers
boulders that crouch in the sedge
become moss gardens


rounded grey-lined stones
asleep on the ragged fellside
stand and graze as sheep


quick blue-black crescents
skim through the farmyard midges
swallowing beakfuls 

Arigatou gozaimasu.

I also have to polish my talk for next Saturday at Keswick, to the Cumbrian Literary Group: "Writing a Historical Novel." I hope it will go OK!

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

A Very British Blog Tour.

A Very British Blog Tour


Authors, Nancy Jardine, Mark Patton and Ailsa Abraham have invited a group of British authors to take part in ‘A Very British Blog Tour.’ 

Q. Where were you born and where do you live at the moment?


I was born in Cheshire, in the village of Bebington on the Wirral Peninsula which sits on the map like a tilted rectangle between Liverpool's River Mersey and Chester's River Dee.

Wirral is historically a marginal area, with placenames partly Anglo-Saxon and partly Viking. Wallasey, the northern corner, was quite separate and its name means "the Island of the Strangers" so I assume the earlier blokes and their families holed up there when the invasions happened - and that it's nothing to do with my Nanna living there!

People think of Wirral as a dormitory for Liverpool and Chester but it has a distinct character that in some ways is more related to the northern corner of Wales, where the local accent, for instance, is noticeably not Welsh but a mix of Scouse and Cheshire. For a while we were postcoded through Liverpool but it has now reverted to Chester.

There is an enormous list of famous people who were born or lived on Wirral in their formative years: it includes Daniel Craig (yes, Mr Bond), presenter Fiona Bruce, sportsmen Matt Dawson, Austin Healey, Chris Boardman and Ian Botham, poet Wilfred Owen, cartoonists Bill Tidy and Norman Thelwell, actors Eric Idle, Glenda Jackson, Jan Ravens and Pat Routledge; not forgetting Emma Hamilton, the mistress of Admiral Horatio Nelson; and Georg Frideric Handel who sailed from Parkgate en route to Dublin for the premiere of his oratorio Messiah.

That list is by no means comprehensive - so I have a lot to live up to.

Q. Have you always lived and worked in Britain or are you based elsewhere at the moment?


I've always lived in England. However, I was startled to find that I'm rather a mongrel! One of my forebears was a Lancastrian ironfounder, one a Liverpool shipowner, one probably of Irish descent who came from London to make candles at Price's Bromborough Pool Works, and still another was a German diplomat with a French wife, whose son (my great-grandfather) was by turns a coaling merchant in the Canary Islands, a newspaper editor, a foreign correspondent, and a Liverpool detective (a policeman, not a defective!)

Q. Which is your favourite part of Britain?


Where I live now, between the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales, though I'm very fond of Chester. I love the sudden appearance of the Howgill Fells when I'm coming home on the M6. They are strange hills, quite different from the cragginess of the Lake District or the limestone sweeps of the Dales. Alfred Wainwright called them "sleeping elephants" though for most of the winter their rounded, wind-scoured grasslands are lion-tawny in colour rather than the grey that A.W's phrase conjures up.

Q. Have you ‘highlighted’ or ‘showcased’ any particular part of Britain in your books? For example, a town or city; a county, a monument or some well-known place or event?


I set "Against the Odds" on the Wirral and in Chester, with a major scene taking place on the City Walls and at the Roman soldiers' shrine of Minerva on the other side of the River Dee at Handbridge.

The first third of "COACHMAN" is set in Carlisle, around the Cathedral, the Crown and Mitre coaching inn, the Post Office, McReady's Theatre and the Blue Bell. Of course the area has been re-built more than once since then. Of the theatre, only the facade survives, and although the Crown and Mitre is still thriving it doesn't look at all like the original.

The event that I showcased in the later part of the book was the opening of the London-based railways in 1838, which resulted in the now forgotten collapse of the horsedrawn coaching trade.

"The Forthright Saga" is more loosely set in "a" Cumbrian market town, but I refer to it as Dangleby and I'm not going to divulge which town it's based on!

Both "COACHMAN" and "The Forthright Saga" have been entered for the Lakeland Book of the Year Awards on the basis of their locations.

Q. There is an illusion - or myth if you wish - about British people that I would like you to discuss. Many see the ‘Brits’ as ‘stiff upper lip’. Is that correct?


I don't think it is. I am moved to tears by weddings as well as funerals, and very often by music, yet I know some people who are not touched at all by any of these things. People are people, with different upbringings and experiences, and they vary immensely in their emotional range and reactions. You can't paint all British people as being like public face of the Royal Family. Some of them are more like the family of Mrs Brown, the Royles, or Citizen Khan.

I am not saying I'm one of those who will confide personal secrets to strangers or strip their souls naked for TV cameras, but nobody watching a British football crowd or the spectators at the Grand National or the audience at The Last Night of the Proms would ever call them "reserved"! Still, my husband doesn't cry and there are times I'd really give a lot to be able to stand back like that!

Q. Do any of the characters in your books carry the ‘stiff upper lip’? Or are they all "British Bulldog Drummond” sorts?


I tend not to categorise them that way. They may be reticent about telling other people about what's going on in their heads - but that doesn't mean they are cliches who are unmoved by pain or unsympathetic to what others are feeling. My lead female character in "Against the Odds", for instance, suffers badly from being unable to verbalise her emotions. In "COACHMAN" the young wife has a secret that she doesn't tell her husband until a long way into their relationship.

Q. Tell us about one of your recent books?

In COACHMAN, George Davenport is a young English driver, born and bred to the trade, whose skills are at their height during the “Golden Age of Coaching” in the 1830s. He’s moved about the country to gain experience and better himself and at the beginning of the novel he is on his way from Carlisle to London hoping for a share of the lucrative trade in and out of the capital. For the first time in his life, though, he’s got someone else to consider – his landlady’s daughter Lucy Hennessy, to whom he has proposed marriage. Lucy has a rough background – how rough, George doesn’t find out until much later. The tensions in their relationship, and others’, are about the conflicts of work and money versus love and responsibility.  

Q. What are you currently working on?


cover of Against the Odds
I'm preparing to work with an editor on a poetry pamphlet, "Ash Tree" which Prole Books have accepted for publication later this year. I'd known Brett and Phil for some time via the Great Writing Web site which Phil and I moderate. They have published several of what I've called "The Naomi poems" about the terminal illness of my grand-daughter who died in 2010. I was reluctant to offer them the whole sequence for fear of seeming to presume on their friendship. However, they have been very enthusiastic and I'm looking forward to working with Brett to polish the collection.

Having re-released "Against the Odds" this year as a digital edition, I'm working on a sequel. Twenty years on, my characters have developed and changed. Then they were working in racing, and expecting to move from racing and training into breeding racehorses. That hasn't gone to plan, and they've had to move north into a less affluent agricultural area of Cumbria. With their children now in their late teens and becoming ambitious themselves, there is plenty of scope for explosions!

Q. How do you spend your leisure time?


When I'm not writing or designing web sites, I carriage-drive one or other of my two Fell ponies, Ruby and Mr T.

 I also enjoy playing the harp - not a gilded concert monster, I hasten to add! When I was a teenager I used to sing in a folk band, and this is a folk harp with 34 strings. It stands about 3 foot 6 (1 metre) tall and makes a most lovely sound.

Q. Do you write for a local audience or a global audience?


*whispers* I write for me. I write the books I would like to read, and just hope that other people also enjoy them.

Q. Can you provide links to your work?


Of course! All the following pages have links to purchase and/or read a sample on Amazon.

COACHMAN

The Forthright Saga

Dragon Bait

Against the Odds

One Fell Swoop

Hoofprints in Eden


Other authors who are taking part in this blog hop


Geoff Smith

Helen Riebold

Linda Gruchy





Saturday, January 19, 2013

Resolution



It’s the first of the year and I’m going to lose weight
so I’ll bounce out of bed when I wake.
I shall weigh all the food that I put on my plate
when I’ve had just one more slice of cake.

It’s the first of the year and I’m planning to write
in a diary backed with gold foil.
I have filled up my pen, but the page is so bright
I’m afraid it is too nice to spoil.

It’s the first of the year and I’m joining the gym;
I shall tone up from tiptoes to crown.
I shall stretch and lift weights and become fit and slim,
but first I shall have a sit down.

It’s the first of the year and I’m giving up booze
since last night, when I fell on the cat.
I’ll try to be sober. Can I be excused
to lift two or three glasses to that?

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

National Poetry Day: 4 October 2012

It is possible to "name a star" after someone. Since July last year, there is one called Naomi.



Missing

I missed you by a quarter of an hour.
I should have hurried through my morning shower,
missed eating breakfast in the sleepy sun
or read no emails, or replied to none;
denied the summery procrastination
of that prettier route to my destination.

I miss you from the house when I arrive –
everything silent that was once alive.
The nurses meet me at the stair. Their kind,
practised updating powerblasts my mind.

I miss you from that waxy sleeplike face.
Your thin hands curl without their living grace –
no mischief – tickling doctors, climbing trees
or treating dollies for your own disease.
It's you with self subtracted. And I wail
till my throat hurts me like a swallowed nail.

I'll miss your heart, the things forever not –
the family, the life you’d yet to plot,
the cure you’ll never find – the future star
that cannot now outshine the one you are.

Requiescat Naomi
31 August 2005 – 15 July 2011

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Thought for the New Year

An ex-actress friend, newly into writing, complained to me yesterday: “it just is not in vogue to have poems that have a regular metre or rhyme.”

I think she’s right - it is a vogue. Depends where you read, I suppose; magazines will sometimes publish the most godawful crap if it more or less scans and happens to have rhymes. It also has to have a commonplace, even saccharine message. (I have submitted poetry that rhymed, scanned, and had a sharp message and had it rejected with a preprinted slip saying that it needed to rhyme, scan and have a message. Duh? But that’s another story and probably The People’s Friend would reject that too.)

“Serious” poetry appears to have lost the skill of writing meaningful, rhymed, metrical work. I don’t include rap because it only (sort-of) works if it has a synthetic beat behind it, and like most doggerel it dies horribly if asked to stand alone. Somewhere along the line, “meaningful” has branched off into free verse, leaving rhyme and metre in the children's section. And that's a shame. It's like creating jewellery, but restricting your materials to chromium and rhinestones. Why not accept all the tools that language has to offer?