Poetry Diary feat. a poem by David Tait

By Kim Moore

I’m writing this whilst riots and violence are erupting in various cities and towns in the UK. I feel sickened by what I’ve seen on social media, repulsed by the way that mainly white men are behaving on these videos, not just the violence, but the way they enjoy it, the way they seek out opportunities for it. I can’t stop thinking about my friends who live in those cities who might be scared to leave their homes, to go to work.

It’s probably not a coincidence that I’m writing this tonight then, finding a way of retreating away from social media and into poetry land, which I think is perhaps both a form of cowardice, and necessary survival.

So the month has flown by since my last Poetry Diary. We are already in August, and I’ve survived, and actually enjoyed a whole two weeks of the summer holidays. I’ve been juggling work with childcare since my daughter finished school, so it’s been busy, but busy in a different way - full of day trips that will please a five year old - a trip to Gulliver’s World near Warrington, and to Thompson’s Park in Burnley, and Eureka in Halifax, and also of course our local park a few times as well.

I went to Gulliver’s World with my friend and her daughter. The day before I found out that I’d been promoted at work - from a Lecturer to a Senior Lecturer. We decided to take some celebration photos, full of maturity and the academic intellectualism that has clearly helped me be promoted…

Celebrating my promotion to Senior Lecturer

Shortly after my last post, I attended the Manchester Metropolitan University graduation ceremony - one of my favourite days of the year! Here is a photo of me and my lovely friend and colleague Anjum Malik.

I am proud to say I only cried twice this time - once as my student walked on stage and the second time when a dad jumped up in the audience and shouted That’s my boy! as his son came up to get his certificate.

I took part in the Northern Poetry Cabaret in July in Haworth, reading alongside Michael Stewart, Steve Ely and Clare Shaw. It was a lovely gig - a few of my friends who I’ve met via Ally’s new school came to listen, as well as a member of staff from Trafford Hospital where I was a Writer in Residence last year. Clare and I went to the pub for a quick pint afterwards, and managed to leave without talking each other into running a festival or any other equally mad idea so we were quite pleased with ourselves. ]

A couple of days later I went to another lovely event - this time as an audience member. Seni Seneviratne performed her Unknown Soldier show, drawn from her poetry collection of the same name. The poems and the show explore the life of her father, born in colonial Ceylon. He became a Royal Signalman in the North Africa Desert War, and then married a Yorkshire woman in Leeds. I found this event very moving and would definitely recommend getting the collection, and going to see the show if you ever get the chance.

I ran a repeat of a sold out workshop for Verve Poetry Festival this month, which was again a great experience - full of highly talented poets who were so generous with the sharing of their work.

Last week I had another reading in York at the Rise Up! poetry night - if you are anywhere near York, get yourself down for the next event. This was a really wonderful night - Liz and Nicky who run these events have done an amazing job of building not just an event, but a community. The next Rise Up! is September 25th with the queen that is Malika Booker, who will be reading alongside Lillian Akampurira Aujo and Rachel Bower - click here for more information.

Amongst all of this, I’ve also been doing some private mentoring work and some supervision of MA students - and some planning work for an exciting series of events - more on that very soon. So perhaps not quite as quiet as I originally thought.

I’ve also had two house guests this month - one was my sister’s Cocker Spaniel, Willow. He’s been with us for a week, which was pretty full on. Here he is, refusing to look ashamed after eating a giant moth that I couldn’t rescue in time.

My second house guest this month was my friend and poet David Tait, who is currently over in the UK on a visit. David and I met when we were both doing an MA in Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University many years ago, and stayed friends ever since. We developed as poets alongside each other - I think David won the Poetry Business Pamphlet Competition one year, and I won it the next. I won an Eric Gregory Award one year and he won one the next year - I think his first collection came out in 2014, mine came out in 2015. More importantly than those external markers though, is our friendship - the hours spent sharing our work and editing each other’s work, and the long walks, and the laughter. All this is to say David and David’s poetry have always been incredibly important to me - so I’m really excited that he’ll be reading at The Bookcase in Hebden Bridge on the 13th August. Clare Shaw, Amanda Dalton and I will be reading a poem or two to warm up and then we’ll be handing over to David for the main event. There are only 14 tickets left so if you would like to come, please book a space as soon as possible! You can book a free ticket here

And for those of you who can’t attend, or who are deciding whether you might attend - here is a poem from David’s most recent pamphlet By Degrees, published by Smith/Doorstop in 2021.

I think “Nocturne” has so many hallmarks of David’s style - there is a beautiful lyricism here that is placed next to gritty reality. You can see this in the strangeness of the first line - the lyricism of “the street of violins” is contrasted with roadworks, and later in the same stanza, the clouds don’t just float above the city, they float like ‘grieving voices’ whilst the leaves are ‘slowly dying in the trees’.

This atmosphere of great beauty mixed with sorrow, mixed with a world falling apart at the seams continues throughout the poem. The second stanza, with the man who ‘looks out into the stillness of the street’ made me think of Carol Ann’s probably most well-known poem “Prayer”. In that poem, her man stands “stock-still, hearing his youth / in the distant Latin chanting of a train”.

In David’s poem, the man also time travels in a way - but even though he can stare across ‘time itself’, he has forgotten where he is in time. He cannot hear his youth, and so his face is ‘a ruin no-one visits’.

It’s interesting as well how the violins in stanza 1 become fiddles in stanza 3 which conjures up a more communal and improvisatory type of music-making, one that perhaps takes place in bars or in pubs, which fits with the sensual detail of the breath of the lover which ignites ‘air like wood-smoke’.

This seems to be a poem about loneliness and relationships, about how you can be lost even when you’re surrounded by people, how art can take us away from the world and also keep us connected to it. The violinist carries on after all, even though they are lost to the world in the final stanza, perhaps the melody they are playing, that insistent counterpoint to the noise of crowds and the drilling is a thread back to the world.

If you would like to order a copy of David’s pamphlet By Degrees, you can order one direct from the publisher, Smith/Doorstop.

NOCTURNE
DAVID TAIT

There are roadworks on the street of violins
which is another way of saying there is sorrow
in October, the clouds floating above the city
like grieving voices, the leaves slowly dying in the trees.

In the window of a shop called Noble Linda
a man looks out into the stillness of the street.
He has forgotten where he is and stares across
time itself, his face like a ruin no-one visits. 

I remember us when we were first together, how stars
would take our photographs, how the music of fiddles
would trickle through the alleys, how your breath
ignited air like wood-smoke.

It all seems long ago – and I realise now I’m staring. 
The street is suddenly filled with people and drilling, 
but, across the road, carrying on, lost to the world,
a lone man plays a violin.