The prompt for this episode was 'Words and music, perhaps', a misquote from W B Yeats who was himself, reputedly, tone deaf. I have always had reservations about putting poetry and music together simultaneously, feeling that the poem should find its own music. However, I am persuaded that a poem accompanied by music can be an interpretation or reading of that poem, or even in its hybrid nature, a different form of art. Equally, I am aware, as Malcolm Atkins reminds us, that poetry traditionally was accompanied by music in many cultures, including ancient Greece and Rome. Something which emerges is the place of music in communal or shared experiences of poetry, both on occasions where poetry, music and dance may feature as separate parts of a programme, or where poems may be accompanied by an improvised or composed musical backing. The Confluence Collective in Oxford meets once a month at the 'pop-up' Confluence Cafe as a space where muic, song, dance, poetry and even food from different communities and cultures in Oxford are shared in a safe space. Poets can read their work unaccompanied, but it is also exciting to see musicians reacting to and providing a backing for a poem, creating a ssense of community and collaboration which extends to and includes the audience. Poetry, like heaven, has many mansions and in this episode we make a quick visit to one of them.
The episode includes an extended interview with Malcolm Atkins, who is a founder and organiser of Confluence, punctuated by his own settings of texts and by work created by members of the Collective. More information and links to various different performances can be found below. In addition, we have an extract from Book of the Exe, a long poem by Sarah Acton, which was recorded with a musical accompaniment by Emma Welton, as a podcast for River Radio in September 2024.
When I was planning this episode, I contacted Diana Sanders who, with her poetry/music collective, contributed to early episodes of PWH and asked her if she would put together something for this one. She has curated a selection of poems, music and soundscapes for the podcast. More information appears below about the poets, musicians and the forthcoming book, I Am Nature: Environmental Poetry due to be published by Veneficia Publications this Spring.
We also have some poems which are not accompanied by music, but in which music is very important. These are from Paul Stephenson, Derek Sellon and Claire Parker.
This has become rather a long episode but it really deserves to be heard. If you can't manage it all in one go, take it in stages, but please do listen. It is all about sound.
Paul Stephenson
Redecorating
Once the ties and belts and shoes were gone,
and the inhalers had been binned, the carpets
hoovered cleaned of dust, psoriasis, flaking skin,
the hand-sprung mattress that hadn’t much use
was upended, protector-sleeved, put into storage.
After the walls were repainted and parquet laid,
new windows put in, the corners were filled
with keyboards and guitars and a music stand.
There were songs, movements, favourite scores.
People practised, his old room a symphony.
Tape Cassettes
Then one day my mother took off
her wedding ring. She was pouring
six o’clock tea and my father noticed,
bit his tongue. Replacing the cosy,
her retreat was a tray with handles.
She removed herself to the confines
of the kitchen, peeled and listened
to her tapes, kept turning over.
Phantom of the Opera, she played
at night, all afternoon John Denver.
Paul Stephenson’s debut collection Hard Drive was published by Carcanet in 2023. It was shortlisted for the Lambda Literary Award and Polari Book Prize. He has three pamphlets: Those People (Smith/Doorstop, 2015), The Days that Followed Paris (HappenStance, 2016), and Selfie with Waterlilies (Paper Swans Press, 2017). He co-edited Magma issue 70 ‘Europe’ with Susannah Hart. Paul has been involved with programming the festival since 2018. |
Malcolm Atkins and the Confluence Collective
All music composed, recorded and produced by Malcolm Atkins
The Windhover (Gerard Manley Hopkins) - Lizzy Spight Vocals ; Malcolm Atkins Piano.
London (William Blake) and HELL from Peter Bell the Third (Percy Bysshe Shelley)- Ciaran Walsh Vocals and Reading , Lizzy Spight Vocals, Malcolm Atkins Instruments and Vocals
How Can We Comfort Them (Jenny Lewis) Lizzy Spight Vocals Malcolm Atkins Instruments Jenny Lewis Reading
CNN etc (Omar Sabbagh) Malcolm Atkins Instruments Omar Sabbagh Reading
Gaza Lament ( Nuzhat Abbas, Lynn Hawkins, Malcolm Atkins, traditional, Refaat Alareer) Lizzy Spight Vocals Malcolm Atkins Instruments and Vocals
London
by William Blake
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear
How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
from Peter Bell the Third, Part 3 by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Hell is a city much like London --
A populous and a smoky city;
There are all sorts of people undone,
And there is little or no fun done; 150
Small justice shown, and still less pity.
There is a Castles, and a Canning,
A Cobbett, and a Castlereagh;
All sorts of caitiff corpses planning
All sorts of cozening for trepanning
Corpses less corrupt than they.
There is a ----, who has lost
His wits, or sold them, none knows which;
He walks about a double ghost,
And though as thin as Fraud almost -- 160
Ever grows more grim and rich.
There is a Chancery Court; a King;
A manufacturing mob; a set
Of thieves who by themselves are sent
Similar thieves to represent;
An army; and a public debt.
Which last is a scheme of paper money,
And means -- being interpreted --
"Bees, keep your wax -- give us the honey,
And we will plant, while skies are sunny, 170
Flowers, which in winter serve instead."
There is a great talk of revolution --
And a great chance of despotism --
German soldiers -- camps -- confusion --
Tumults -- lotteries -- rage -- delusion --
Gin -- suicide -- and methodism;
Taxes too, on wine and bread,
And meat, and beer, and tea, and cheese,
From which those patriots pure are fed,
Who gorge before they reel to bed 180
The tenfold essence of all these.
for more See https://knarf.english.upenn.edu/PShelley/pbell.html
The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins
To Christ Our Lord
I caught this morning morning's minion, king-
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing.
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!
No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
Jenny Lewis's poem How Can We Comfort Them appears in her recent collection, From Base Materials (Carcanet, 2024).
You can hear Omar Sabbagh's poem and read the text here: https://soundcloud.com/user-581077880/cnn-etc?in=user-581077880%2Fsets%2Fadnan-and-friends&fbclid=IwY2xjawH8Y0BleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHVJm13AOw4LIRs-DM9VCABk5IbosUQzU7QR8cv0Q75pypuBKb_e7Q_g-nA_aem_22xX67VvYhKK7g2ArL4CzQ
Omar regualrly posts poems from Beirut on Facebook and his most recent collection is Night Settles Upon the City, Daraja Press, 2024
If I Must Die
by Refaat Alareer (1979 - 2023)
If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze–
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself–
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale
Malcolm Atkins writes: Confluence Collective is a forum for sharing all the cultural outputs of all the communities of Oxford so many of whom are marginalised by the pervasive class division of the city and the connected racial divides. I initiated this in 2013 and the principle we operate on is that the expressions of all communities are equally valid and valuable. Poetry has become a particularly important focus for Confluence - with so many brilliant poets joining us, including Adnan Al-Sayegh, Jenny Lewis, Omar Sabbagh (joining us online from Beirut) Song Hun Song (joining us from Seoul), Nuzhat Abbas, Razia Ebrahimi and Sylvia Vetta amongst many others. Poetry is often accompanied by improvised dance and music. To get involved and help organise or share your work please contact my number below. We meet monthly 2-5 pm at St Lukes Church off Abingdon Road. The Westbury Peoples' Gallery is a community art gallery in a suburban front garden in Westbury Crescent which I set up during lockdown. This film explains the rationale behind this as a collective expression of art that seeks to change and challenge. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTcRSYOE2IE&t=34s The gallery is working towards an exhibition of solidarity with the victims of genocide in Gaza and of oppression all over the world - 'How can we comfort them ?' - named after Jenny Lewis' powerful poem that was featured in this podcast. The gallery has an online presence that includes film and recordings (some played in the podcast) https://soundcloud.com/user-581077880 I work in the Littlemore Community as a musician for the Littlemore Church and their soundcloud which I maintain has poetry settings as well as sounds and stories gathered from the Littlemore Community https://soundcloud.com/littlemore-church If you would like to be part of any of this work please contact my number below. 07872 991287 |
Derek Sellon
Hiromi Uehara, Jazz Pianist
she is all verb
she knows the piano outside and in
dives wrist-deep under the lid
tweaks music from the strings
leans into the keyboard kneels on stool stands
bounces
on toes
slams hammers prowls the keys
smiles in ecstatic play dips face, hiding in her hair
sighs, mutters, scowls,
idles note by note loops lazes trills tinkles ripples
– pounces – triggers three SHOTS of sound ! ! !
the piano is her roller-skate her spaceship,
her trampoline her trapeze,
her vaulting horse her show pony
her kayak her rapids her shady pool,
her place to play to ride to be to do,
be be do
she is all verb
Derek Sellen lives in Canterbury and has performed his work in the UK and Europe. His poems have been published widely and recognised in numerous competitions, including Ironbridge Festival, Richmond Arts, Poets Meet Politics, Poets Meet Painters, Poetry on the Lake. He has twice been Canterbury Festival Poet of the Year and three times winner of O’Bheal (Cork). His collection The Other Guernica was a finalist in the Poetry Book Award 2020. |
Sarah Acton Book of the Exe
Book of the Exe was Sarah's final commisison piece as summer writer-in-residence for Quay Words at the Custom House Exeter in 2024, and was first broadcast in collaboration with musician Emma Welton as a podcast on River Radio in September, produced by Art Work Exeter.
During the residency Sarah engaged with the theme of Vessels through embodied writing, walking repeated circular routes, together with research at the local archives and collecting conversations and memories on route and chatting to visitors in the Wharfinger’s office at the Exeter Custom House about the Ship’s Canal, Exe River waters and stories of Quayside ships, goods and workers.
This original spoken word piece weaves fragments; voices and conversations real and imagined, and explores memory as relationship to this place and the past – alive in the present. River remembers everything it has witnessed and experienced and speaks in response to the ghostly voices that still inhabit the quayside and buildings.
Sarah Acton is a writer, poet and performer passionate about place, nature, and people through collective memory, oral storytelling traditions and the heritage of natural and post-industrial working landscapes. Sarah has worked with Dorset, Blackdown Hills and East Devon National Landscapes and has had frequent commissions from Stepping into Nature, with long-standing partnerships with regional museums, libraries, and memory cafes. Her heritage book, Seining Along Chesil (Little Toller, 2022) captures memories, voices and stories of Dorset Seine fishing traditions. Sarah took her Seiners spoken word and music show on rural tour of the South West last year, commissioned by Sound UK with film by Common Ground and live musical accompaniment from musicians Becki Driscoll, Julie Macara and Emily Burridge. Sarah founded the ongoing Heart of Stone oral history project about the stone industry and quarrying on Portland, moving into Purbeck this coming year with a new spoken word and book project, Sounds of Stone: Dorset Quarry Lives + Distant Voices. Much of Sarah’s work explores relationship between natural environment, human culture, asking how physical landscape holds memory and shapes ours, and the communal and individual construction of identity and memory, connections between landscape, myth-making and the stories communities remember and tell about the past, and their place in the world. Sarah lives in Devon, swims in the sea and is a gig rower. |
Claire Parker
Song for the Beloved
Beloved, what is our song?
Is one written that we could sing?
Shall we write a song in our own key and tempo?
I thought of innocence and experience.
Were we a thousand kisses deep too soon? Were we carried away?
Was that love? Being carried away?
I heard your broken lyrics yesterday,
Singing with accusation of love distanced by a necessary space.
Singing of the hurt and the cooling. Love’s heart left
outside, a child without clothes, wanting to be warmed.
Outside is not love, outside is not carried away.
Beloved, hear me sing a fragment of a song
that’s not of general truth or universal fact of life but
a little truth. A sliver of subjectivity
that one of us, by chance me, needs space within our unity.
A twist of space-time. My time. Not for unravelling but accepting.
Could we sing this song?
And you, beloved- what of you? Your infinite longing for arms to hold you?
Your fear unto death of being left outside? Outside in the cold, seemingly pushed.
Is this a little truth of you? Not for unravelling but accepting?
Are distance and love inversely related for you?
Why then such sadness in the nodes of love’s ecstasy when closeness is one?
Is this an impossible song?
Could we improvise? Could you find the lyrics you need me to sing? Could I learn them?
Could you learn mine? They are not hard and unloving,
not if trust grows within our space like clover in a fallow field.
Beloved, in my dreams my space is not rejection.
My space is simple, like that of a foal playing in a meadow of long green grass.
Claire Parker writes: I have been writing poetry for many years- but never shared it beyond friends and family. My life as a GP, former medical researcher, writer on health and wellbeing and more recently, during and immediately after the Pandemic, as a Wellbeing Advisor in two Oxford Colleges, has left little time to share my poetry more widely. Now, I am taking that step- listening and learning from the living poetry of others and beginning to share some of mine. What a privilege to do so! How lucky we are to be free to do so! |
Diana Sanders, Leaf Pettit, Andrew Sumner and Patricia Sumner
The following poems form part of a collection called ‘I Am Nature: Environmental Poetry’ due to be published by Veneficia Publications this Spring. The poets in this collection are Leaf Pettit, Diana Sanders, Andrew Sumner and Patricia Sumner, all of whom live in North-East Wales. The hope is that ‘I Am Nature’ will instil in the reader a sense of oneness with all living things so that we can move towards a more caring and hopeful future for the planet and its diverse inhabitants.
COLLISION* by Patricia Sumner
Andromeda speeds towards us.
Eventually, our planet, sun, galaxy
will all be gone.
Yet, as I write, someone
is planning their lover’s murder,
an insult is slipping from practised lips,
a fist strikes a tender cheek.
Andromeda’s course is set,
its path inevitable.
Meanwhile, rent rises
and starving families sleep in cars,
social media sneers publicly,
another soldier needlessly dies,
bombs turn homes to rubble.
And as Andromeda
races on, I know for certain
that love, in the time that we have,
is air and equity,
that kindness is food and peace,
compassion is dignity;
that as this gleaming blue-green sphere
whirls through uncertainty
our sharing, caring and striving
are life and law;
that as knowledge and story
are extinguished
in a mighty galactic blast,
as heavenly bodies separate
to float alone in icy dark,
the crackling hum of expanding emptiness
will forever hold
the word of love.
*The Andromeda galaxy is approaching Earth at approximately 190 miles per second (but it will still be a few billion years before it reaches us).
FRAGILE AS A THREAD OF SILK by Andrew Sumner
Fragile as a thread of silk, our pale flame,
conceived in the tiny raging of a match,
licks delicately at dry birch twigs.
We add more sticks found beneath the yellowing tree.
Cautious cracks, pops, hissing, as our flame begins
to writhe in raiment of garnet and amber.
We pause and let the new-kindled
creature, diaphanous and fey,
frolic and leap for joy.
Damp wood releases swirls of smoke,
vaporous, warm-pungent,
entwining with soft zephyrs.
Our dancing child of autumn is slowly fed
with rain-soaked leaves, more twigs, rose prunings,
bean haulms and scented stems of lavender.
We stand back a while in watery sunlight
and watch maundering smoke, seeping
and roiling upwards from earth-bound mould.
Our child has grown assertive in our care.
We pile on more to fuel its insatiable hunger,
while around us the day is tarnished by the dusk.
Shadows rise, an evening tide that floods the land,
and yellow birch leaves lose their radiance,
but our fire grows hotter, keener, crueller.
We see dancing flames transmute base matter
into heat and light that reach to heaven,
but we starve the flames to let them know that
despite their power, they too are mortal.
TO A SMALL MAGPIE MOTH by Leaf Pettit
Late evening, worn thin,
I’m as fragile as your wings;
fearful for the future.
Still you are here, in my kitchen,
where this morning you sat motionless
on the windowpane, held back,
not understanding glazing,
your pied-freckles lit like stained glass,
now a shadow on the ceiling.
I waft a tea towel; you beat your wings.
I waft again; you flit about,
seeking the light of celestial orientation.
Finally, finding the dimly lit slit
of doorway, you disappear
into the livid sky,
bruised by the rough hands of day.
Flutter free, my friend; night flier, dusk dweller,
environmental barometer,
sail with the tide of the moon―
a crescent scar rising in the east
amongst pinpricks of planets.
I gaze up, imagine every star
attracting an eclipse of moths, a milky mist,
a protective gauze encircling the earth.
I release a prayer into the obsidian night,
that we too shall be guided by light.
PILGRIM by Diana Sanders
It is the hare who is the spirit of this place.
Still as the Maen Cred stone, she is the way-marker,
nudging me towards places of welcome.
Our eyes meet, animal to animal.
Hers mirror the dew-bronze morning―
separateness falls away I feel as she feels
colours are brighter sounds sharper
I know the secret places hear the rustle
of a vole in the next field we drink
from gold-mirror pools and when the shadow
of a hawk blackens grass we lie silent
under scented gorse until trouble passes
then on moonless nights we find our way by stars
and trust remembered paths to cross the untamed moor
(The Maen Cred stone, found in the forest above Llanfihangel Glyn Myfyr, directed travellers in the 17th century to a nearby farm where travellers and pilgrims could get supper, bed and breakfast.)
DRAGON ROCKS, CARSAIG* by Andrew Sumner
One wind-filled afternoon
when larches sang of spring
and sea shouted shattered glass
and tussled with boulders,
we took the breeze-path.
A rain-wet rock pavement
of sea-battered basalt.
Edged by woods and shore,
a scintillating sea
sliced the basalt cliffs.
Our pavement, once beneath
a dark and ancient sea,
baked beneath molten land,
spewed out in volcanic rage.
Modern waves roll landward
where once a million years
of solid mountain stood.
Now, only fissures intrude
upon the igneous plain.
But insinuating
from a crack is a thrusting,
writhing, rhyolitic
spine, a dragon carcass
laid to rest, ribs and limbs
torn away, its head beneath
waves, tail winding
among rounded stone―
a prehistoric creature
or broken aeroplane.
*A fictional name for a long basalt intrusion on the coast of the Isle of Mull
THE MAN WHO CALLED BACK THE FISHES* by Diana Sanders
He began at dawn, playing reef music
whilst planting coral polyps in rock crevices
under the rippled, sunlit surface.
He purred for shoals of angel fish,
grunted for male frillfin gobies,
played the güiro for the spiny lobster.
The volume rose in a steady crescendo
through the day until it peaked at dusk
In his dreams he painted outlines of eels,
filled in the colours of damsel fish
and the others who lived here before
the cyclones, before the bleaching.
Rhythms rode ocean currents,
skirted islands, entered caves,
followed rafts of driftwood.
Ray by ray, fish by fish, urchins,
triggerfish, shrimp, parrotfish,
whitetip sharks, reef octopus,
manta ray, barracuda, trumpetfish,
yellowtail snappers, glassy sweepers
and starfish came back for his music.
They joined in with an eruption
of pops, howls, chirps and grunts,
whistles, snaps, bumps,
buzzes, squeals, heartbeats,
teeth-gnashing, tail-slapping,
gill-flapping and staccato clicks.
He floated in this new oasis,
turned off the music
and listened.
*The ideas in this poem are based on the work of Dr Tim Lamont and Dr Stephen Simon who, as part of their research on coral reef restoration, play sounds of a healthy reef on underwater speakers to encourage sea creatures back to the reef.
SUMMER SOLSTICE VILLANELLE by Patricia Sumner
braid my hair with dog rose and meadowsweet
lace my neck with bindweed and briony
bless my head with midsummer’s shining heat
wrap mosses and bracken around my feet
stitch me a gown of oak leaves and sweet pea
braid my hair with dog rose and meadowsweet
fill up my nostrils with moorland’s rich peat
or verges of wild garlic and tansy
bless my head with midsummer’s shining heat
feel the green woodpecker’s fast-pulsing beat
as he taps on bark hidden in ivy
braid my hair with dog rose and meadowsweet
fashion a belt of stitchwort and cow-wheat
with buckles of buttercup and daisy
bless my head with midsummer’s shining heat
dance along shorelines of thrift and sea beet
weave me a shawl of yarrow and pansy
braid my hair with dog rose and meadowsweet
bless my head with midsummer’s shining heat
BEYOND THE BLUE by Leaf Pettit
Beneath a filigree of unfurling oaks,
an abundance of bluebells grows,
almost violet and nearly blue,
the colour of tranquillity
flooding the woodland floor.
A haze of ultramarine, shimmering
like a fine sea spray. I pause at the margin,
the swell of bells at my ankles.
Each nodding flower salutes the sun
and chimes its love to the rising moon
as dappled light dips to twilight.
Between the chiffchaff’s evening chatter
and a robin’s dreamy lullaby,
a silvery tinkle sings; “please enter quietly
as you leave the world of illusion behind”.
I cast off my outer self, lay it down,
folded with my shoes at the shore.
I enter, barefoot,
slip under the rippling indigo surface
and surrender my body to silken flora.
I lie enveloped in coolness,
surrounded by the gentle lap of swaying stems.
Breathing with the leaves,
I inhale the verdant scent of gratitude.
Exhaling, I release,
sap rising in my veins, pulsating with the pulse
of plant and tree and earth.
I am the woods, and the woods are me.
Leaf Pettit has loved poetry and been writing with purpose since she was a girl. She has a BA and an MA in Creative Writing from Liverpool John Moores University. She lives in rural North Wales with her husband and children whom she home educates. Much of her poetry explores the interconnectedness of our existence and our relationships, with one another, with nature and the universe.
Diana Sanders is a musician, composer and award-winning poet. She is the composer of six published works for flute and has curated several events that combine music and poetry some of which have been on podcasts and local radio. Her poetry has been published in magazines and anthologies in the UK, USA and India. In partnership with her friend, Patricia Sumner, she runs a monthly writing group in Ruthin.
Andrew Sumner grew up near Stroud in Gloucestershire and studied Landscape Architecture at University. Andrew has plied his profession across England and Wales and while living in Chester, he attended Creative Writing classes, tutored by the poet and author Dr Gladys Mary Coles. He lives in rural North Wales and his poems have been published in group anthologies and poetry collections. He has also illustrated a children’s book and enjoys exploring the countryside.
Patricia Sumner used to be a teacher, specialising in English, but she now runs her own writing, editing and proofreading business (pat-cilan.co.uk). In partnership with Diana Sanders, she teaches creative writing to adults. Pat is a published poet and children's author who has won awards for some of her poems and plays. Much of her poetry is inspired by the beauty of North Wales, where she lives. This Spring, she's due to run a workshop in the "Curious Minds" children's literary festival in Worcester.
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A lot to take in. The podcast is at https://creators.spotify.com/pod/show/kathleen-mcphilemy
Please listen and share.
The theme for the next episode is 'rule making and rule breaking'. Please send recordings of up to 4 minutes of unpublished poems with the texts and a brief author bio to poetryworthhearing@gmail.com by February 18th, where you can also send comments on this episode and suggestions for future episodes.
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