Well, it has felt like a very slow week here. ‘Haulage’, I called it over on my @mwbewick Instagram account. And the world has hardly been light. Around this time last year I was in thick of compiling entries in a journal that became The Orphaned Spaces (see http://www.dunlinpress.bigcartel.com). The entry for 6 Jan wasContinue reading “That Friday feeling”
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Dunlin Press: Port submissions
As many of you are no doubt aware, alongside my own writing, I’m also a co-founder and editor over at Dunlin Press. Over ‘there’, we’ve recently opened up submissions for a book that we’ll be publishing later this year. The scope for the project is as follows: Dunlin Press is inviting submissions for a newContinue reading “Dunlin Press: Port submissions”
Bad bad poems. The worst.
‘Stories won’t fuel me. Feed me blank pages and I’ll score them like Hendrix. Have you seen my chickens? My chickens are in the forgeworks Popping their claws like corn.’ Chris McCabe, from ‘Campfire’, in The Triumph of Cancer, Penned in the Margins, 2018 or ‘this is not to say she’s like a fish sheContinue reading “Bad bad poems. The worst.”
The Orphaned Spaces
For the past year, between writing poetry, I’ve been busy with another project – and it’s launching this week. The Orphaned Spaces is a rumination on life and loss through the prism of liminal spaces – derelict land, brownfield sites, edgelands – caught between moments of dilapidation and regeneration. I’ve provided the words and a few photosContinue reading “The Orphaned Spaces”
Game of forms
What I admire in some poets is that they know what they want from their writing. They produce work to the same high standard, sure of the form the poems will take and precise in their vocabulary every time. They seem to be able to do this at will. And this means you can throwContinue reading “Game of forms”
I am not here
When we first moved to Wivenhoe, Essex, over six years ago now, my compass still pointed towards London. The railway was a thin chain, a line of landscape that linked our new home with our old home in the city. A combination of changing jobs, Network Rail’s interminable bus replacement services, and a general diggingContinue reading “I am not here”
From ‘Plant’
“The arms that thrust above the streets / bring visions of heaven…” “The arms that thrust above the streets /are the colour of blood…”
Elliptical Movements – Billy Mills review of Scarecrow
I’ve been rewarded this year by being introduced to the poetry of Billy Mills, whose recent The City Itself is one of those occasional collections that can make you question why you write the way you write. It simplifies the complex, and finds huge space for exploration in what is seemingly simple. It’s about place,Continue reading “Elliptical Movements – Billy Mills review of Scarecrow”
Two gigs
I’ll be reading from my book Scarecrow, and debuting a couple of brand new poems, at two nights in the next week or so. Thursday 25 May I’ll be doing two sets at Poetry Wivenhoe, in Essex, supporting Martin Figura and Helen Ivory – a home-town gig for me. Details here. The following day, Friday 26 MayContinue reading “Two gigs”
Scarecrow on tour
Scarecrow has been on a mini tour of the region since its launch – I’ve read in Wivenhoe a couple of times (at the Wivenhoe Bookshop launch and at Poetry Wivenhoe) and at Ipswich (as a guest of Suffolk Poetry Society) and at Bury St Edmunds (as the guest reader at Poetry Aloud). Thanks toContinue reading “Scarecrow on tour”
MW Bewick 