Literature Wales Poetry Workshop

So, on St David's Day we headed to Neath to attend a day of poetry performances and workshops funded by Literature Wales and Seren Books - all for £7!
Gillian Clark (The National Poet of Wales) also did a reading of some of her poems (two of which I absolutely loved) and a book signing.

Here's one of the poems that really moved me: Miracle on St Davids Day


I really enjoyed the day and it definitely inspired me to write more poetry.

I chose to attend a workshop by Rhian Edwards about bridging the gap between page and performance poetry. She gave us this exercise:

Think of an emotion, without naming it give it a (non-cliché):

• Colour
• Texture
• Smell
• Sound
• Effect on the body
• Animal
• Visual

(not necessarily in that order)

So this was mine:

It is a pearlescent sheen,

the scent of money,

it's copper smell,

a knot on smooth.

It trickles almost imperceptibly

a gradual waterboard.

It stifles and suffocates,

a gnawing worm, 

it's holes left gaping. 

 

 

(Answer at the bottom)

 

 

The next workshop was with Paul Henry and focused on writing from memory.

 

He encouraged us to fill a page with words and sentences inspired by the phrase, 'The first house I lived in'. We then read through the following poem together and then wrote our own inspired by it.

 

The Self-Unseeing by Thomas Hardy  

Here is the ancient floor,

Footworn and hollowed and thin,

Here was the former door

Where the dead feet walked in.

She sat here in her chair,

Smiling into the fire;

He who played stood there,

Bowing it higher and higher.

Childlike, I danced in a dream;

Blessings emblazoned that day;

Everything glowed with a gleam;

Yet we were looking away!

 

 

 

And this was mine:

 

 

 

Heol Y Coed

 

Here is the step where the dog sits,

stooping to peer through the clear, green frog

of the stained glass window,

an occasional eruptive bark,

pre-empting the doorbell.

Here is the bannister which I pushed my head through

and was stuck for what seemed like hours.

 

Here is the hall with its full length mirror,

which I cracked

with an ill-advised handstand.

Here is the kitchen door

through which I would listen to adult conversations

pyjama-clad after bed time.

It does little to blot out the noise.

 

Here is the kitchen table,

a stain or two from sodastream syrup.

Here is where they gathered en mass,

all high hopes and hair gel

before taxiing to town,

the dog's head left smelling of aftershave,

from many different hands.

 

Here is the garden,

with its lavender-lined patio.

A badminton net traversing the pre-chained daisies.

Here is the quince bush, heavy with

fat bumble bees

and crammed with owl and pussycat fruit.

 

Here is where we buried the guinea pig,

which the dog then dug up

 and brought inside.

 

 

 

The answer to the first poem was....envy!