I Advertise Poetry

I make a habit of getting involved in the organisation of poetry events - this coming Sunday, I'll be introducing and listening to over thirty poets and musicians as part of a celebration of Wenlock Poetry Festival - the festivals that have happened in previous years, and the ongoing work which happens, with less of a public flourish but with as much dedication, in-between times.

At these events, I am always amazed at the different and complementary ways in which poets express themselves - the variety of styles, the emotional range, the sense of commonly experienced life events expressed uniquely.  I know Sunday will be no different - it's why I keep on getting involved.

This week, I've held a new born baby, sat with someone who's in the depths of depression, congratulated a friend on her marriage, heard of the death of a friend, and yes, done housework, run for a train, seen cherry blossom, despaired at the news from Syria, and felt warm in the sun and cold in the wind.  Life is full, life is hard, life is amazing, life is tragic, life is hilarious - forgive these clichés - but I use them here to illustrate why I have this habit of getting involved in organising poetry events. For me, it's in listening to others make their own sense of these things that I can begin to do the same, and on Sunday, this sense will be made in word and music.

If you haven't already got tickets, just come along on the day, or follow the advertised links below.  It'd be lovely to see you there. 

I Write A Present

Travel Advice

For Anna Dreda to celebrate her birthday, 

and wth thanks for her many kindnesses

The decision about whether or not to set off

in the first place, whether to sit it out, to wait

for better weather seems ludicrous

in retrospect. 

                         Three inches of snow either

disappears into grey by lunchtime, or expands

to make things impassable.   A tree might stand,

or fall, laden, across the tracks.

                                                          

So, I’m sitting here remembering, by turns,

the sorrows of the ones who told me so,

as they waited to drag me out of the ditch

before I’d even set off,  

                                          and the kindness

of the ones who say, "Snow falls, and it melts,

and in any case, a tree can become logs,

a landslide can be shovelled away." 

With love from Liz xx