Short list

Some Things the English made the Cinnamon Press Novel Competition shortlist;
I couldn't be happier;
sincere thanks to Jan Fortune and all at Cinnamon Press;
and massive congratulations to overall winner Jennifer Young!

Ambit surprised

I am thrilled to bits to have made runner-up in the Ambit 2016 Poetry Competition, many thanks to judge Sarah Howe.

Rialto reality

I've been subscribing to The Rialto for years. I'm chuffed to bits to have work in a poetry magazine I genuinely enjoy and have aspired to be in. Huge thanks to Michael Mackmin, Fiona Moore, Edward Doegar, Degna Stone and The Rialto team for including "Cliff" in issue #86.

 

Picture credit: Jill Abram, @MalikasKitchen

Tiny tale thanks

It's a great pleasure to have my Tiny Tale "Frank Sargeson's Shed" among such huge talent. My thanks to Michelle Elvy.

Flash two

I'll be reading one of my two competition listed stories at Auckland City Library tomorrow, as part of the National Flash Fiction Day event, 5.30 - 8, Level 2.

Oluwale published

The Remembering Oluwale  Anthology is now available to buy here and includes my prize-listed piece "Summer in Winter".

Flash review

I'm very grateful to John Lavin for including my National Flash Fiction Day Competition long-listed story "What We Talk About When We Talk About The Treaty" in The Wales Arts Review Flash Fiction Special.

Two flash

Many thanks to National Flash Fiction Day Competition judges James Norcliffe and Elizabeth Smither for long-listing two of my fictions: "What We Talk About When We Talk About The Treaty" and "An Approach to Keeping Cacti". I look forward to reading at the prize-giving on June 22, at Auckland Central Library.

Valley good

My thanks to Miles Salter for including my poem "Immaculate" in this forthcoming Yorkshire Poetry Anthology, to be published by Valley Press with Arts Council England funding.

Oluwale

I'm honoured to have my poem "Summer in Winter" selected for the longlist of the Remember Oluwale Writing Prize.

All the longlisted entries will appear in an anthology published by Valley Press.

The Remember Oluwale charity was formed in response to a call for a memorial in Leeds for David Oluwale by Caryl Phillips.

Page ant

The Masque of Curtis

“I’ve been told I need to open up” reads the narration above the image of a box doing precisely that over the following four of six panels on page one of Neal Curtis’ The Talion Maker (Part One). In the final panel, the box is closed. The simplicity is striking. Page two introduces another metaphorical image: shards (glass?), which represent being told to “piece it all together”. The closed, empty box represents our protagonist, and the shards suggest we’re in for a fragmented narrative, but the effect is more like poetry than post-modernism. 

Over the course of Part One, the shards motif is repeated, urging us to remember that opening request to piece it all together, to work like the ants depicted infiltrating a crack in the wall on page 12, a device which works particularly well where panels don’t follow on sequentially. Then another image is introduced, a porthole in a cell door, its circularity echoed by a smiley face, loo roll, toilet bowl, moon, sun; the images build like “sediment” into a musicality in the same way sonic echoes develop in poetry. And although the title tells us this is a revenge tragedy, there’s a reference to Shelley’s Ozymandias on page five that hints at Romantic quest with a capital R.

As Ozymandias begins in ruins, so does our narrator and his narrative, but we are guided to piece together the fragments in what is redolent of another Shelley poem, The Masque of Anarchy. That poem arose from the Peterloo Massacre, as one of the first documented examples of peaceful protest, though peaceful protest seems unlikely for our narrator when he reveals a gun. 

Just as the allusions to poetry stack up, so do the references to conflicts: Che Guevara, Hitler, the Berlin Wall, 10 Downing Street, prisoners wearing jumpsuits and hood with their hands bound in the style of Isis captives, The Crucible (McCarthyism), Pop Idol. Yes, that’s right, Pop Idol. Because this isn’t just a story about large scale global issues, predominantly the refugee crisis, this is primarily a parable of British culture with a distinctly Brit-pop feel. It’s probably not accidental that the protagonist keeps his weapon in an Adidas shoe box. The latter detail and the panel lamenting “the last independent” bookshop tipping into bathos, but the contrasting levels, the small scale issues like bookshop closures intersected with globally recognised cultural threats, keeps the overall narrative’s feet on the ground and stops it becoming too far-fetched.

With Isis in mind, a reader interested in Shelley might now think of his poem “The Revolt of Islam” (1818). The epigraph on the first edition reads: “Hope is strong; Justice and Truth their winged child have found”. That poem followed the story of Laon and Cythna as they initiate a revolution against a despotic ruler. The reference may be a stretch, but thematically it’s a good fit. Both works are symbolic parables for revolutionary idealism. 

The Talion Maker is at the time of this review incomplete, so it’s not possible to come to any meaningful conclusion, though Part Two continues in a similar format. Considering the opening, I would hope to see the protagonist breaking out of those restrictive square panels, and for the various backstory pieces to be brought together in a manner that makes their purpose definitive so that the events alluded to in Curtis’ work are brought cohesion in a work that looks set to do what hasn’t been done for Peterloo, and stand as a tangible memorial to what Britain has lost during times of poor leadership.

Room to exercise

An Introduction to Screenwriting

UEA (University of East Anglia)

 

Introduction to Screenwriting: 2.6

An exercise to develop character outlines

For this exercise, I've stuck with the example of Emma Donoghue's Room that I've used in the previous units. I probably missed some important major actions, but I didn't over think the process. I was surprised how helpful the list was to outline Jack's character.

• Jack revisits Room and says goodbye
  Jack plays soccer with a friend
  Jack leaves the upstairs landing to play with a dog
  plays with the toys strangers have sent him
  timid in hospital when breakfast is brought in on a tray
  shouts help
  runs away from Old Nick
  practices rolling up in rug
  pulls apart the toy car Old Nick brought for his birthday
  heating goes off
  eats birthday cake
  physical exercise
  Jack makes himself breakfast
  from inside Wardrobe, Jack looks through a crack to see Old Nick
  
  From the off, Jack's view is one of inside, looking out. He has a literal understanding, expressed by his personification of nouns: spoon, for eg, is called Meltedy Spoon, as though a proper noun; Room is a character, etc.
  
  Jack doesn't understand the concept of being able to go outside. He is curious and intelligent but also timid. 
  A casual observer might describe Jack as feminine and timid.
  
  Because of his mother's depression, Jack has learnt to be independent, making his own breakfast, occupying himself for en entire day and finally putting himself to bed during one of her episodes.
  

Memo random

I recently reviewed Vanessa Gebbie's Memorandum, poems for the fallen, published by Cultured Llama. I thought it would be memorable to write the review on memos and post to Twitter under the hashtag #Memorandum. I was thrilled to see Cultured Llama have gone to the trouble to write a lovely thank you for my efforts, including "This has to be the most unusual and beautiful review format of any of our books." and this. But just in case you have trouble reading my handwriting, here's a transcript:

 

Memorandum

poems for the fallen

 

Vanesa Gebbie

 

 

 

Reviewed

by

Rachel J Fenton

 

 

 

Memorandum (memo)

from the Latin memorandum

est, "to mention, call to mind,

recount, relate,"

"it must be remembered (that)

a document that helps the memory by recording events or

observations on a topic, such

as may be used in a

business office

 

 

 

The title evokes

Tennyson's requiem

for his friend

Hallam, "In Memoriam".

 

 

 

Like Tennyson's poem,

Memorandum is a

meditation on grief,

mortality and nature

in light of the

man-made.

 

 

 

Cenotaph, the first

poem in the collection,

pays respects to its

literary heritage as it

sets down its themes.

 

 

 

"Under duress, " the poem

begins the process of

dissolving the elements of a

monument as though

describing the erosion of

crustaceans on the sea bed.

But these are "Veteran shells"

and the reader is presented with an

understated question about

the nature of war.

 

 

 

With Gebbie's guidance, the

reader undertakes an

imaginative journey into

the fabric of the memorial

itself. So subtle is the

transaction that the

realisation it has taken

place is as startling as

discovering the sea bed is

man-made.

 

 

 

There's irony with this act

of disarmament. It's only

with "Transfiguration" the

reader becomes certain

they are where their

guide intended:

"accompaniment to

serious alchemy".

 

 

 

Then it's "us" in "The

Soldier's ragged choir,

St Pancras New Church",

and here Gebbie's short

story apprenticeship becomes

evident in the colloquial

narrative via which she

demonstrated her aptitude

for ventriloquism.

 

 

 

From St Pancras to

Euston Station, these

poems are crafted like

inter-linked short stories

and could feel contrived

were it not for the

obvious emotional investment

the author has with her

subject matter, and the very

real people who inhabit it.

 

 

 

Gebbie's sincerity is

palpable in the care

with which she details

the employees of

Waterloo Station, Smithfield

Market's meat porter, and

"The Quarryman and the

Fusilier" - ordinary people

paid heroes' respect.

 

 

 

It's in the second section

of the collection where

Gebbie's mimicry comes

into its own. There's

no longer the feeling

of participation here

but witness.

 

 

 

"Suppose / Alf Norman

wasn't really here?"

(Alf Norman

Grangetown Memorial, Cardiff

p19)

But he was. And the

reader is and must be.

This is necessary

remembering.

 

 

 

Of the sixteen poems in "Other

Memorials" "Remembrance,

Sunday" stands out with

devastating singularity. Perhaps

it's an effect of "something

I wrote in blue biro", the

unpretentiousness of the fact -

for this is fact as opposed to

feigned inhabitation. Gebbie is

not imagining, she is

remembering her father, all

the more poignant as his own

long goodbye is revealed,

eleven poems in.

 

 

 

The final section of the

collection takes the reader

through "Western Front

Battlefields" and is more

in keeping with the war

poetry many readers may

be familiar with: Ivor

Gurney and Siegfried

Sassoon spring to mind.

 

 

 

A number of these poems

were previously published

in The Half-Life of Fathers

(Pighog Press) and are

familiar to this reviewer,

though it is a testament

to the richness of Gebbie's

writing that their placement

here channels new

readings.

 

 

 

It is in this final section

that the theme of cost

that has been steadily

building really begins to

weigh on the reader.

The book's central segment

now seems like a fulcrum.

Money is in one pan, in

the other the reader must

balance the cost.

 

 

 

There's a last echo to

"In Memoriam" in

"La Boisselle pastorale,

diversionary tactic,"

written in memorial of

Gebbie's "second father".

"A few short weeks and

Christmas will be here.

I'll miss my father's face at table

again."

 

 

 

Again and again, Gebbie

catches the reader off

guard with the intimacy

and familiarity of these

memorials. The headstones

may be worn but the

names, in Gebbie's hands,

walk among us long

after the book has been

laid to rest.

 

 

 

Like "In Memoriam",

these observations

are not presented in

the order they were

written, but it is

hoped they offer

the reader comprehensive

insight.

 

 

 

Tennyson emerges

from "In Memoriam" with

his faith in God

reaffirmed.

What does

Memorandum leave the

reader with?

 

 

 

After so many wars,

its a challenge for a

poet to say something

new about this too

often tried subject. It is

credit to Gebbie that

she not only manages to

bring war's aftermath

into fresh relief but that

she does so with such

 

 

 

sharp focus as to make

the reader  reconsider the

fallen as if knocked-off-

their-feet with them.

This is a meditation

for those of us left

behind. For whom do

we grieve the most?

 

 

 

These are poems

for the fallen

but not forgotten.

They will be remembered.

 

 

 

 

Cultured Llama Publishing

2016

ISBN 978-0-9932119-4-2

In her own (three) words

Massive thanks to Ellen Falconer for interviewing Indira Neville and me about Three Words for The Wireless: In her own (three) words.

You can read all about Three Words and see photographs of the Auckland launch here.

Island to Island

Five Days in Taipei

 

I am grateful to the Publishers Association of New Zealand (PANZ) and Creative New Zealand (CNZ) for making it possible for me to return to Taipei to promote Island to Island (Dala Publishing) at the Taipei International Book Exhibition (TIBE).

 I chose the title!

The book is the result of a collaboration between three artists from New Zealand and three from Taiwan: Ant Sang, Tim Gibson, Rachel Fenton (me), 61Chi, Ahn Zhe, and Sean Chuang, that began with the New Zealand Book Council's Graphic Novelists exchange Residency, in association with PANZ and TIBE, back in October 2014. 

As then, I kept a visual diary of each day, as well as a photo journal. My Five Days in Taipei begins at Auckland International Airport:

 

 

Day One

 

  

 Day Two

I recognise fans from last year. 

Intriguing messages appear on stands around the book fair.

 Upstairs, I am given my first copy of Island to Island in preparation for the workshop I'm about to take part in. I read as the room fills before me with graphic artists, cartoonists, art historians, university professors and students from all over Taiwan.

Sean Chuang's "gift" to me has me in tears.

 Then back to the Locus Publishing stand at the book fair for autographs.

 I'm not always comfortable having my photograph taken with fans.

 

But Aho is always nearby to make sure I honour my duties!

Day Three

  

Before catching a taxi to my next event, I wait for Aho, my publisher, at the Locus book stand and photograph people reading Island to Island.

 

Chinese New Year is just ending but no one seems in a hurry to end the celebrations.

A quick cab ride across the city has me and Aho in the part of town where he lives. The streets are narrow and the shops varied and of interest to the students who live here to be close to the university.

 Just before the event, Aho takes me for something to eat before we meet Yang Chia-Hsien, an acclaimed Taiwanese poet who is going to discuss graphic poetry with me and 61Chi.

I've read several of her works in translation - we exchanged poems - and I feel very honoured to have her praise of my poetry.

  

 

We talk about some of the differences between Chinese traditional poetry and Western poetry, and note some similarities between formal poetry and graphic poetry. Island to Island is an unusual collection because of its poetic nature.

61Chi's "gift" to me, for example, has no words. It is left to the reader to interpret the interplay between the non-sequential pictures and work out what they might mean.

As an example of my own graphic poetry, I have taken along posted sized pages of "Alchemy Hour".

 I make a new friend - Kevin is also a poet.

 

Then I take a taxi back to my hotel.

A van transports a box printed with the word "HEART".

The taxi passes The Grand Hyatt, the hotel where the NZ Guest of Honour delegation stayed last February. 

I promised Tina Makereti I'd Tweet a photograph for nostalgia purposes.











In the seating area, a young man has his head in his hands,
elbows on knees. He appears to be crying.

 I don't press send.

 

Day Four

I get up early, eat an extra large breakfast

  

  and head across town to deal with some unfinished business.

 

The city is pretty deserted at this time.

 It's only as I approach the mountains that I start to see signs of life.

 Hikers pause to appreciate one of the many temples on the route.

I watch a dog practicing yoga - early morning is the best time, for ying and yang - but I'm distracted by a man shouting "Foreigner". His name's Geoff and he wants to give me a tour of the temple.

 He tells me about the goddess, urges me to take pictures because, "You're a foreigner, you're ok."

 Stray dogs gather in front of the goddess.

 I ask Geoff the way to the mountain. He tells me to take the left every time the road forks.

 A dog wearing a coat runs to greet me.

I hop behind a couple, ask if they mind me walking with them. They laugh, tell me they have a child who lives in Canada. They say their English is very bad. I say it's better than my Mandarin. I'm very funny, apparently.

 I leave them when the road forks. Now the mountain talks to me.

 All the way up the mountain I hear dogs, their barks and howls mingled with the sound of singing from the temples.

Another temple. Each time I see one I pass a message to Buddha.

 

 

 I make it to the summit where there are "People, people, people".

 I'm so happy, I run part of the way down.

 

I meet 61Chi at the Metro station outside the Taipei 101 building and she takes me over town to have afternoon tea with Lawran, our translator from last year. In lieu of rose milk tea, I celebrate with hot chocolate and lemon pound cake.

Day Five

 

My final event is a group interview in Theme Square.

My room is on the 12th floor. Breakfast is on the 3rd. There is no 4th floor. The word four in Mandarin is similar to the word death.

  

 劉宜其 林嘉萱 關婷勻 張敏慧

After the event, we go for a last meal together: spicy hotpot.

 

Then 61Chi takes me to see her neighbourhood.

On my last night in Taipei, I eat cookies gifted to me by Lawran, and do not sleep. A couple sit together all night on a bench in the alley between the building site and my hotel. Mostly they talk, but at four am, one takes the other's face in their hands, tilts it to the left and kisses them.

My flight leaves  at one pm. I eat breakfast and go for one last walk.

I take a happy photo outside the Grand Hyatt. People are eating breakfast in the ground floor restaurant where I once watched a poet asking for an apple. They don't see me.