How to Pick a Winner

and how to write a winning poem.

Do you know the Golden Buzzer? That big gold button that the judges press on Britain’s Got Talent so that some outstanding acts can skip the early stages and go straight through to the semi-final?

Well, there’s a poetry competition equivalent.

Or at least, there is for me.  As soon as Oliver Carmichael’s “You ask about my first kiss”, it joined the Winchester Poetry Prize longlist. The same was true for another of the placed poems, for three of the Commended poems; and two of the Highly Commendeds. That means seven poems out of 1956 announced themselves rapidly – choosing the other eighteen longlisted poems was a slower process.

I’ve just returned from the task for announcing the results of the competition to a hybrid audience which included nineteen of those longlisters. There was nothing like seeing the faces to bring home the responsibility of judging. It’s something I’ve felt keenly from the outset, and by time the results were announced, I’d developed a personal relationship with each of the longlisted poems. But that’s not true for every one of the 1956 entries – how can it be? It takes over 65 hours – around two working weeks - to spend just two minutes reading each poem.  That’s excluding the time you spend consulting with organisers, and the hours you spend on the shortlist, let alone the awards ceremony, or feedback.

How to choose? Well, first of all - it is fairly obvious when a writer doesn’t go to workshops, or seek feedback, or is entirely unfamiliar with contemporary poetry - self-consciously poetic or archaic language, clunky rhymes, use of abstractions, an absence of imagery, for example. And whilst it’s true that with talent and aptitude, passion and dynamism, someone who has never read or studied contemporary poetry can write good poetry. But it’s going to be flawed. And with 1956 poems competing for 25 places, there’s almost no room for flaws. Poetry is a craft as well as an art, and you need to learn it to be able do it consistently well.

As I worked through the huge pile, I sifted out a smaller mound of poems which needed a slower, second reading. At this point, I had to say goodbye to many which showed real skill. Sometimes, it was because I couldn’t see that the poem had another life beyond itself - a fluent or vivid description is not enough. Sometimes, it was because of the ending. A frustrating number of really strong poems were forced into a neat endings.  Be cautious about logical, tidy endings. Try to leave some looseness: some space for the reader, and for chance and magic. Some poems just needed a little more editing. And some poems are just not born to stand on their own – they need the company of a sequence, or a themed collection, to be show their full strength.

My first longlist was 130 poems long. Then the real work began. Repeated readings of poems which confused me, to check whether it was me or the poem at fault. Making notes on technique, form, line breaks; imagery; strength and uniqueness of voice. My shortlist shrank to 50, all of whom I have contacted with very brief feedback. Here’s some anonymous examples:

“I really hope you don’t mind me getting in touch – I’m Clare Shaw, the judge of the Winchester Poetry Prize. I want to contact those people whose poetry had particularly impressed me. Your poem made it on to my personal longlist – I loved it! It’s so delicate and haunting. I wonder if it’s part of a collection or sequence? I can see it working perfectly alongside other poetry exploring the personal narrative implicit within it …  Most of all, I just wanted to say – great poem!”

“Your poem made it on to my personal longlist – it’s so cinematic and so well observed – really evocative – and that last line really moves me. I felt that in places you could have lost some detail – just include the most necessary and urgent - perhaps aim to cut at least one line from each stanza. I really hope this is helpful – and most of all, just wanted to say – great poem!”

“Your poem made it on to my personal longlist – it’s really striking . I just wondered if it was a little too “on the nose” – and that actually, your vitally important point is best made when the reader – and the excellent poem - is allowed a little more space”.

I’ve wondered if it’s arrogant of me to offer feedback when it has not been asked for, and I hope no-one is offended or upset. But as a mentor, I work with excellent writers seeking publication, and I’ve heard them talk about how competitions are a major element of that process, and how hard it is to only ever receive the feedback of winning – or much more probably, losing.

And slowly, very slowly, I chipped away at the pile, until just 25 remained.

In my next post, which will be for our paid subscribers, I’ll offer a close reading of the winning poem, along with some writing exercises exploring similar themes and techniques. But for now, I’ll end with some of the feedback I sent to the longlisters.

If this whets your appetite, you can order the poetry prize anthology here  —https://www.winchesterpoetryfestival.org/product-page/winchester-poetry-prize-2024-anthology

PENNY SHUTT: No evidence of harm – Highly Commended

Unforgettably moving, tender and true. it makes me cry every time I read it – but it’s much more than just scourging pain of its subject matter. The deep insight and the point of view give it a particularity which just makes it powerfully universal, with the specific details and the brutal honesty making space for the straightforward, direct expression of emotion. It’s a skilled poem, with a dynamic form and flow, and a fluency of image and language but ultimately, it’s in that simplicity of telling – you were so kind -  that the devastating power of this poem lies.  

JENNY MCROBERT: Oslo June 2022 – THE KATHRYN BEVIS POETRY PRIZE

I am delighted that this wins the inaugral poetry prize in Kathryn’s name. Her poetry, like her, was alert and open, tender and loving, and utterly alive to the world. This poem is entirely its own creature, but there’s something of the strength of Kathryn’s poetry in its evocation of place and creatures, in its courage, in the way it turns towards and into what is painful and frightening, towards loss and regret – to face it honestly, and name it, and find in it something beautiful, loving and hopeful.

Post Script:

Winchester was Kathryn’s home city, and we remembered her in the readings, in the awarding of the inaugural Kathryn Bevis Poetry Prize, and at the drinks receptions afterwards, where, in the happy chat buzz, we remembered her laughter. Grief is a strange beast isn’t it, and it’s still got me in its jaws. Sometimes it bites down; occasionally, it throws me around the room. But I’m grateful to finish this blog with the knowledge that Kathryn is very present for many of us – in her work, in our pain, in our fond and funny memories, in the careers she supported, and in the community she built with such generosity and humour and most of all, with such love.