Sculptures by David Cerny, Prague, photographed by J. Mellor
I recently had the good fortune to receive a favourable review in The Manchester Review, which said: ‘what Mellor actually seems to be doing is playing poetry at its own game, using the ability of the poem to slip and slide around meaning, seemingly under the writer’s control, but not’ (Ian Pople). It was interesting that Pople picked up on this, because it’s a direction I want to follow. However, there’s always a fear that in playing with the meaning and trying, for want of a better expression, to disrupt it, the poems will amount to nothing more than games with words. I’ve just started reading Steve McCaffery, after seeing him read at Bank Street Arts in Sheffield a couple of months ago. He’s a poet who consciously moves away from what we might call the expected meaning, to confront and confound the reader. It’s experimental literature, but for all the difficulties it presents, what I love about it is the risks it takes. Like the Babies sculptures by David Cerny above, you have to think a bit before you can even decide how to read them, but they’re so open to possibility. I’m off to the Poetry Business Writing Day tomorrow. I don’t expect to write anything experimental because it’s not that sort of workshop, but I’m taking a new poem to share in the afternoon which tries to ‘slip and slide’ around meaning a little. It will be interesting to hear what the other writer’s make of it!
Horse statue by David Cerny, Prague. Photograph by J. Mellor.
The Honey Baron
The Honey Baron carries a jar of light in his pocket. He says, Look at this and tell me you don’t understand. He offers it as a cure for hay fever and says it was used to heal wounds on the battlefield at the time of the Iceni. The Honey Baron is a man who knows his history. He boasts, This jar bears my name and the substance it holds can withstand time. Open it 100 years from now and it will have lost none of its potency. He pronounces potency in a very solemn voice, like a man who wishes to be buried with his horse.
I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to share this photograph, which I took in Prague last Easter. Now the pamphlet is out, I’ve posted an extract from my poem The Honey Baron, to go with it. Of course, you have to buy the pamphlet to read the whole poem, although it first appeared in The Interpreter’s House earlier this year. The phrase, ‘a jar of light’ comes from reading Jacob Polley’s poem, A Jar of Honey, one of my favourite short poems.
Last night was the local launch of my pamphlet, Out of the Weather, and it was good to share the reading with so many local poets. Next week is the official launch, Tuesday 4th July at The Fat Cat in Alma Street, Sheffield. I’m reading with Suzannah Evans, starting at 7.30pm in the upstairs room. Free entry. All welcome. Hope to see some of you there.
Just a quick bit of self-publicity this week. First, news of a couple of readings I’m doing:
Tuesday 27th June, Penistone launch of Out of the Weather at Café Crème, High Street, Penistone. 6.00pm for a 6.30 start.
Tuesday 4th July, Sheffield launch at The Fat Cat, Alma Street, Sheffield (upstairs room) 7.30pm.
Both events are free and everyone is welcome to attend.
Secondly, I received a very generous review of the new pamphlet from John Irving Clarke of Currock Press. The review appears both on John’s blog on the Currock Press website and on the Write Out Loud Write Out Loud website in case you want to check it out, but in the meantime here’s a taster:
‘I read this collection in one sitting, although there were plenty of pauses to let images and significances register. Then I read it again, acknowledging Robert Frost’s definition of poetry which “begins in delight and ends in wisdom”. Julie Mellor’s poems are delightful, they are imbued with wisdom and they are certainly thought-provoking. This is a collection I will continue to read and re-read.‘ John Irving Clarke.
It was lovely to receive this but I won’t let myself get too carried away. I always feel as though it’s what I’m writing at the moment that counts, rather than what’s already out there. In an effort to keep the momentum going, I went to Suzannah Evan’s workshop at Weston Park Museum in Sheffield on Saturday. Suzie always provides some interesting and stimulating exercises and I came away with plenty of notes that might become poems if I’m lucky. I seem to be writing a lot about the mother/daughter relationship at the moment, which isn’t exactly ground breaking, so I’m hesitant to share any of that work yet. I’ve workshopped one or two, but I’m still feeling my way with them. Also, common sense tells me to sit on them for a while; I need that bit of distance before I can look at them with any sort of detachment!
I’m off to the Ted Hughes Festival next week. There are still tickets left I believe, so if you want an excellent programme of events (and excellent value too) have a look at the Ted Hughes Project website and treat yourself to some poetry in Mexborough.
It’s been a busy and varied poetry weekend. I went to hear two very innovative poets, Karen Mac Cormack and Steve Mccaffery, read at the Independent Book Fair at Bank Street Arts in Sheffield last night. It’s good to hear that sort of poetry – not narrative driven, sort of ‘outside the box’, at least in comparison to the work I normally encounter. Then today it was the poetry walk from Denaby Ings Nature Reserve, lead by Helen Mort. Helen gave some fine readings along the way and there was a lovely sense of friendship and community spirit which has become a trademark of the Ted Hughes Project. Hats off to them for keeping everything cheap and accessible. The main events are still to come, so check out their website for details.
Of course, although there was lots of natural beauty on the reserve (bee orchids, agrimony, a whole bank of hemlock) what took my eye was this old tree root behind a wire fence near the site of the former pit at Cadeby. There was a stock of new mattresses in the yard, wrapped in polythene but surely not immune to the weather, and in the top corner, a pile of old discarded ones. I don’t know if there’s a poem in that, but I think curiosity, the desire to look beyond the fence, is part of what drives us to create. Having said that, I’ll own up to having written very little this week, so I’ll leave you with the image of the tree root and try to get one with some writing.
Sheffield graffiti – photo by W. Marsh
The reason we couldn’t get closer to this fabulous piece of work was because the site is now cordoned off with construction fencing, due to imminent demolition. This ‘regeneration’ is the cause of the independent book shop, Rare and Racy, closing this month. Pubs and book shops – maybe they’ll form part of some folk myth we’ll be talking about fondly in old age. And where do poems sit in this climate of closure? Readings go down well in pubs (and bookshops of course) but sales of poetry books are generally low. Poetry’s a niche market I think. There’s probably not much money in it for most writers and maybe that’s okay. It means, as an art form, it can set its own agenda. Mainstream often means bland. Poetry is exciting (mostly). Certainly, there’s been lots happening around here recently: I’ve been to two evenings of readings as part of the South Yorkshire Poetry Festival, a writing workshop at the Poetry Business in Sheffield, plus two local workshops, all in the last ten days.
Also, my new pamphlet arrived at the end of last week, earlier than anticipated. This was a lovely surprise, and made me feel extremely grateful for all the help I’ve been given in putting it together. So, here are some thank yous. There’s Peter and Ann Samson at the Poetry Business, where a good number of the poems were written. I owe pretty much everything to them as I probably wouldn’t be writing poetry at all if it wasn’t for their workshops. Then there’s Helen Mort and Kim Moore who took the time to read and comment on the pamphlet. They are both incredibly talented and hard working, and generous too. They made space for me, and for my work, in their busy schedules and that means a lot. They’re both part of this year’s Ted Hughes Festival, so if you want to see just how amazing they are, why not go along to Mexborough, where poetry is very much alive and kicking.
It’s been an exciting few weeks, checking the proofs, agonizing over tiny amendments (those mole hills that suddenly become mountains) but I’m happy to say that my new pamphlet, Out of the Weather, is finalized and will be available soon from Smith/Doorstop (more details to follow). In the meantime, I’ve been writing what seems to be turning into a sequence of poems on the mother/daughter relationship. Nothing publishable yet, but it’s early days.
I went to Suzannah Evans’ writing workshop at Weston Park Museum, Sheffield, yesterday. I mention this because more than one poem in my new pamphlet was written in Suzi’s workshops (she ran a series of workshops at the museum last year). She’s a brilliant tutor, as well as an outstanding poet. I know she’s phenomenally busy with the South Yorkshire poetry festival at the moment. In fact, I’m not really sure how she finds time for her own writing. Still, if you get hold of her pamphlet, Confusion Species, you’ll see that she really has that knack of making you see things anew.
I’m looking forward to attending a couple of the South Yorkshire poetry festival’s readings next week, and for the next post I have a few more thank yous up my sleeve, but for now I’ll leave you with the cover image of Out of the Weather, in the hope that it whets your appetite.
Front cover of the new pamphlet, with an aquatint by John James Audubon
Sheffield graffiti. Photograph by J.Mellor.
There’s been a lot of discussion about the parallels between poetry and song. Same but different is my stance (a cop out, I know). It’s the creative process that has the most in common, I suspect. I watched Nick Cave’s 20, 000 Days On Earth last night (second time, I might add, but this time on my own, which makes a difference). Cave gives a fascinating insight into his creative process. He talks about needing to get deeper into his imaginary world/s in order to write the lyrics. At one point he says creating these narratives is like putting a child in a room with a Mongolian psychopath and just seeing what happens. If it needs more tension, send in a clown on a bike. If that’s not working, shoot the clown. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but in the end it’s about making something happen. And isn’t that what we’re aiming to do with each line of poetry? Writing’s not about letting ideas drift (although I do lots of that). It’s about working them, working on them, in order to make art.
So what about my photograph for this post? Well, it occurred to me that someone had a desire to make something happen when they climbed through this disused factory in Sheffield to write LOVE. And they were prepared to take a risk.. That’s why, for me, this is art, not defacement. Someone took a risk with a single word, wrote it large, made something happen.
If you don’t believe me, ask the pigeon perched up there curating the whole thing!