Read – James Nash

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March 2024March 5, 2024

Cymru am Byth. It’s St David’s Day and on this date I always feel a bit of my Welsh heritage nudging me. My Welshness is probably on a level with that of my great poetic hero Edward Thomas, Welsh parents but brought up in London. If only I had his genius.

It manifested itself to me as a child in various low-key ways. Watching rugby rather than football on the TV. Feeling a kinship with Welsh actors in films. Having a genetic disposition to love Welsh choir music; the Treorchy Male Voice Choir was on repeat in our west London house on Sunday mornings. My lovely, troubled Dad who never lost the Welsh cadence to his voice, I celebrate his sensitivity and the love of reading which he gave to all his children.

His story of St David’s Day was going to school in Ferndale wearing a leek [he was born in 1909] and having eaten it by lunchtime. Nothing hungrier than a ten year old.

In March I’m hoping for some bardic spirit to infuse me as I carry on with thinking and writing for the next poetry collection. I’m hoping for the inspiration of Dylan, Edward, R.S [all the Thomases] to help me on my way.
February 2024February 19, 2024

One of my favourite occasions every year is the presentation of the prizes in the East Riding Poetry Competition. This year’s day, Saturday 3rd February, proved no exception. It was held in the light-filled North Bridlington Library with a morning workshop by East Riding Poet Laureate Cassandra Parkin, and just before the announcement of the winners in the afternoon, electric performances from local poets Catherine Scott and Amanda Crundall.

Fellow judge Wendy Pratt was with me to announce the winners and runners up and to read the entries from any winners who couldn’t make it. It was inspiring to hear so many fabulous poems on the theme of My Perfect Place. Particularly to have our triumvirate of woman poets to take all the adult prizes and to be there to read them in person. The audience were very appreciative, and I came away feeling replenished by the warmth and creativity of the day.

A full list of the prizewinners and their poems can be found by clicking here.

On a personal note it was so lovely to be able to cycle on a sunny day from our Bridlington base, past the beautiful priory church, to the library. It almost felt like Spring.
January 2024January 3, 2024

Every published poet and writer can remember the breaks they are given occasionally. I got one back in 2005 when I interviewed poet Lucy Newlyn about her poetry collection ‘Ginnel’ for a Leeds arts magazine. We had a brilliant telephone chat where she talked about her love for the poet Edward Thomas whom I also adore. Lucy found out I was a poet and asked me to send her some of my poetry. I sent her my collections ‘Deadly Sensitive‘ from 1999 and ‘Coma Songs’ from 2003.

To my astonishment she contacted me a week or so later and had picked two of my poems, one from each volume, to appear in a book she was editing with Guy Cuthbertson entitled ‘Branch Lines: Edward Thomas and Contemporary Poetry’. I was to be among a very august company. Gillian Clarke, U A Fanthorpe, Andrew Motion, Seamus Heaney and Paul Muldoon were some of the terrific poets represented who claimed the influence of Edward Thomas in their work.

I felt very humble.

Here’s my poem, originally written twenty five years ago. I think It has a fitting seasonal feel to it.

Aubade

Waking slowly, I look
through the window
at the silver sky and fields of frost,
reflections of each other,
where nothing moves,
where lines of wall and hedge converge,
and at their corners
large trees see out the final
chilly disciplines of their watch.
I carefully clasp my mug of tea
as if it holds your heartbeat,
your dreaming breath.

A dog barks on a nearby farm,
the sky becomes the faintest blue,
and cattle move stiffly
out of a frozen enchantment.
The machinery of morning is starting up,
and I stand there, considering,
trying
to trace
your sleeping outline in the hills.
St Michael’s ChurchyardDecember 5, 2023

We nose amongst the gravestones, dog and I,
Inside a choir sings a Christmas song
While I read the names of lives gone by,
Sometimes the past and present get along.
The old church music always comforts me,
I hum along to carols that I know
Amongst angels of stone and memory.
The dog just wags her silly tail. The flow
Of choir and life practice are much the same,
Follow the line, attempt to read the tune,
And if we stray, lose ourselves, try again;
Here my path is steady, I’m nearly done.
Trusting the faithful find what they might seek,
I feel the lightest feather brush my cheek.

James Nash © 2023
NovemberNovember 2, 2023

There was an ad some time ago [probably longer ago than I think], ‘I can’t believe it’s not butter’, and in the same vein I hear myself thinking, ‘I can’t believe it’s November already’.

October was spent doing many things that I love, slowly getting a collection together to share with my publisher, hosting half a dozen events at the fabulous Ilkley Literature Festival [now in its fiftieth year], and then a holiday in Spain, not far from Malaga, to celebrate a friend’s special birthday. A golden year for both of them.

Getting poems together that I’ve written over the last few years, some in the last months, is an emotional journey. The Inner Critic [a complete bully] reads every poem over my shoulder with a lot of scornful heavy breathing and tutting. Occasionally we both realise that a poem is alright, and I sense the IC’s disappointment. They’re nearly ready to dispatch, and I will wait [as I always wait] fingers crossed to hear whether they are worth publishing..

Ilkley this year was very special. The same crew of event and stage managers, the technicians and the Festival team who produced a stunning programme this year; it all feels like I’m working with old friends. Audiences were large and enthusiastic, ready with questions and enjoying the lovely ambience that the festival generates. The Grove Bookshop, always there with festival books to sell and the stunning venues from the intimacy of Ilkley Playhouse, the splendour of the Parish Church to the glory of the Kings Hall all delight me as ever.

I interviewed Anton du Beke about his series of novels set in the world of ballroom [the latest ‘A Paris Affair’], and he was greeted by the audience with loud cheering, a very popular and entertaining visitor, always at the ready to spring from his chair to demonstrate a dance move, funny and engaging, I can’t remember an hour going so quickly.

Helen Rebanks and Lev Pariakan, shone with their books about farming and flight, Emma Young hosted the best cheese and wine tasting, based around her fascinating book ‘The Cheese Wheel’. And how quickly it seemed that
after a few sips of wine the event become louder and more convivial.

The Reverend Fergus Butler-Gallie talked about his book, ‘ Touching Cloth’ aided in our discussion by the Bishop of Leeds also on the platform with us. This was a brilliant event, heartfelt and honest, in which the audience truly engaged.

Mijas, near Malaga did not disappoint, meeting up with friends old and new, many shared meals and gatherings to celebrate the birthday. We stole away for a day to visit the Picasso museum in Malaga, and found much to enjoy there. As ever I found a few paintings to sit with and to enjoy the thoughts and feelings they promoted. How contemporary so many of those paintings and sculptures still look. A feast for the eyes and the mind. Poems will appear as a result I’m sure.

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