Read – James Nash

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July 2024July 2, 2024

Performing

As far as I know Byron didn’t go to open-mic poetry events in pubs or slams in libraries. Let me rephrase that; I’m pretty sure he didn’t do much of that reading in public stuff at all, but I’m prepared to be corrected by a more erudite person. It’s my feeling that performing your own work in public is much more what we poets and writers do these days, the business of sharing with your peers and a wider audience allows us to try out our work and come blinking out of our solitary, writing burrow for a while.

And it is terrifying.

When I work with young people and adults in workshop situations I always talk about three stages of writing for me, which are the first ideas, and then the editing and redrafting and finally the sharing with other people. It’s the sharing that feels very exposing, but over the years I’ve got better at it. It’s a combination of being prepared [having a set-list if you like] and speaking so that you give every word its proper value and weight. Fight the impostor syndrome. Fight any slight note of apology in your delivery. Be proud of your writing. Try to stop [in my case] your left leg from shaking.

This is all very pertinent in the light of the next week when I’m reading in Bingley and then at Heart in Headingley. I’m already thinking of what story I may try to tell in my set-list, the narrative that a series of poems might show. And then the balancing act of not saying too much between each piece, but just enough.

Byron and Homer were in my mind. Byron because he was a rock-star poet who happened to live for a while in Metaxata, in Kefalonia where we were recently staying. The bust of him is in the village square. And Homer because all poetry leads back to him, whether it’s the divine Louise Glück, Adrienne Rich or W. H. Auden and his poetry would have been performed to gatherings of people, just as Beowulf would have been, in a pre-reading, oral tradition.

Cross your fingers for me..
June 2024May 30, 2024

Here is the cover for my next collection due out this autumn. It is by the fabulous Jacky Fleming who has illustrated two previous books. It may change a little when Valley Press use it for publication, but I am sure it will be pretty much like this.

I’m submitting seventy-five new poems and two old favourites to publisher Jamie by the weekend. So fingers crossed everyone!
May 2024May 5, 2024

I’ve been rather quiet of late, thinking, writing and editing my poetry. And yesterday this new poem came almost fully formed, ripe for my new collection ‘Notes of Your Music’ due out in October from Valley Press.

As a poem it’s pretty much first draft, so will probably change substantially by publication date. But it’s how I’m feeling today.

Spring (they/them)

Spring comes mooching around the corner, late,
Does not apologise but does that trick with green
Where trees and hearts light up, inflate
With joy and I mark them in as seen.
For I keep the register, and they’re here
With a coronation-type flummery,
The something special scenting the air,
This yearly fresh leafing ceremony.
My blood is far slower to heat these days
And winters can feel so hard, dark and long
But sitting on my step, the vivid haze
Of growth, the blue sky, the black bird song,
All will be well, my aching bones will warm,
Forget the days of rain and winter storm
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.

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