I’m very pleased to have been shortlisted for the Aesthetica Creative Writing award and published in their annual anthology for this cheery poem. It - or a slightly different earlier version - was also commended for the Acumen prize and first published in that journal.
marcwoodwardpoetry
"Stories of moonlight and wildlife in the strange, small wildernesses of the South West." (Ink, Sweat & Tears). "Beautifully crafted poems...that sing in the dark of darkness" (Canto Reviews)
Wednesday, 9 December 2020
Leaving Switzerland
I’m very pleased to have been shortlisted for the Aesthetica Creative Writing award and published in their annual anthology for this cheery poem. It - or a slightly different earlier version - was also commended for the Acumen prize and first published in that journal.
Thursday, 3 December 2020
Ottery Dragons
In 2019 West Country film maker Danny Cooke held a competition for poems to accompany his fantastic video of the ancient tradition of the running of burning tar barrels round Ottery St. Mary on November 5th each year.
The resultant two videos, one by Jason Butler and one by me were released in 2019 and 2020. I was pleased to see mine included on Moving Poems - a website devoted to the best video-poems on the web. You can find more of Danny’s excellent films by visiting his website: https://www.dannycooke.co.uk/
Meantime if you need a reminder of what a crowd of people in close proximity to one another and a non-COVID hazard looks like, well here it is:
The Rewilding of Stonelands Farm
Riptide Journal, the Exeter Uni literary magazine, has themed their 2020 edition around Climate Matters to tie in with a series of seminars taking place virtually this year. I’m honoured they’ve chosen to include my poem The Rewilding of Stonelands Farm in the publication. They also asked if I’d make a video reading to accompany it and to be shown during one of the seminars — so I put this together using photos taken locally in Devon. For some years I’ve taken to photographing fly-tipped sofas and images of rural decay, well a man has to have a hobby doesn’t he?
Sunday, 18 October 2020
Daffodils in Acumen
I’m delighted to see my poem Daffodils from The Tin Lodes published in the Autumn 2020 edition of Acumen.Literary Journal
Monday, 28 September 2020
Book Launch in a COVID window
In between the easing up of COVID restrictions in the Summer and their reintroduction in September, Andy Brown and I managed to sneak in a couple of ‘socially distanced’ live readings for our new book.
I think people were delighted to have the opportunity to get out to a live event again, albeit with appropriate safety measures in place. Sadly it looks like a long winter of living rooms ahead...
Wednesday, 12 August 2020
The Tin Lodes goes out in the world
Sunday, 7 June 2020
THE TIN LODES - PUBLICATION
Saturday, 6 June 2020
May the Fifth 2020 (There is no melancholy without rain)
Thursday, 4 June 2020
Hide Songs reviewed in The Blue Nib literary journal
Monday, 1 June 2020
Lovers in the Elephant Grass
Sunlight stripes us through the wavering canes
Friday, 1 May 2020
Eels in The Creel - and news
I’m delighted to have received a commendation in the Acumen International Poetry competition for my poem Leaving Switzerland.
And my poem A Photographic History of Tractors was commended in the local competition at Teignmouth Poetry Festival.
Also my poem Eel Catching was included in an anthology of eel related poetry entitled The Creel from Guillemot Press. I would link here but the book has already sold out. However they asked me to record a reading for them so here’s a video version. Enjoy:
Eel Catching
sucks quietly on the ploughed field,
wetly kisses the upturned sod,
whispers from the river mouth
the fetid smell of marsh decay.
The moon and stars, obscured by mist
stare upon other worlds tonight.
Time passes with no sense of motion.
The Earth lies still - except for me,
by the river, waiting for eels.
Now into this brackish reach the tide is running.
Sliding through underwater grass,
current tracers in the blind depth,
I can almost sense them: the eels are coming...
The small bell on the rod end rings,
I strike and take a fat one on -
shiny with slime, a liquid figure of eight.
I haul it to the bank, blackest in the blackness,
thrashing fiercely in the torchlight,
as if in tongues before the priest.
Later, as I walk through the wet grass
knee high by the silent river,
the eel still twists in the plastic bag
flapping briskly at my side.
On the back door step I do the act.
So much dark blood, like thick red oil,
flowing out toward the ground.
Still the eel moves in defiance,
blood without and blood within,
this deathless, lifeless thing.
Tuesday, 14 April 2020
Grip
I once met the Obamas visiting the program
the way celebrities do. Clint Eastwood too.
Shutters clicked and when they’d gone
we wondered why they’d bothered coming.
I have to tell you: the Earth is huge,
like nothing anyone has ever seen.
The Space Station - several boosts away
and everything else is prehistory,
remote as pigswill and slurry
in my grandpa’s Virginia farmyard;
the viaticum in rural sick-houses.
Even my wife pursing her lips
to kiss or fret is an undeciphered scrawl
in the dust of a desert cave.
Sure, I could see your house from here
if it wasn’t for the weather
but I’m not looking anymore.
I’ve closed my eyes against the overview
and all I can think is how soft, how perfect,
Michelle Obama’s hands are,
how surprisingly strong her grip.
First published at Visual Verse 2019
Music by Robin Brown and Bill Lusty - search YouTube and Facebook for more of their music:
The Robin Brown 4