Spotlight on Priest and Poet Ian Tattum

I have long been a fan of writer Ian Tattum. Ian is incredibly intelligent and a keen observer. Ian’s poems have been published in a number of magazines and it’s easy to see why. Ian’s talent is outstanding and his poems stay with you for a long time after you have read them. I cannot recommend his poems enough, nor insist enough that you keep an eye out for what he does in the future.

It was hard to find just three poems to publish here. I loved them all. One such line ‘for a bruised heart will kill first what others love’ had a huge impact on me. Ian’s poems are full of truth and beauty. He is a fantastic nature writer and a wonderful person. May we may have more like him. Now. Thank you.

Ian Tattum, poet, priest, nature, writer

Nativity

I didn’t croak, I cried.
Long armed and long legged,
and long breathed.
It was not an amphibious belch,
but a human yell
as I left my pond for the world.
And my arrival wasn’t
a leap but a tumble.
I was not smooth and green,
but red and wrinkled.
My mother objected when my father said, ‘he looks like a frog’, but looking closer she saw his point, and kept her silence.

For my mother
JOAN TATTUM

Landlocked at Olney

The Ouse lives up to its name,
slowly winding through a gentle valley.
Overlooked by the modest high point of Clifton Reynes,
and windmills that march without moving.
It floods less now, hardly a boot covering but
wild swimming still provides the odd drowning.
A snaking mirror of the sky and trees,
of barely rippled blues, greys and greens.
Where a damselfly’s stained-glass wing or a sudden kingfisher
can arrest your attention without troubling it.
A place for a closer walk with God,
where the breeze curtains out the traffic
as it did for Cowper the noise of industry and cart.
But the river leads to the sea,
one hundred and forty-three miles east.
To a place where the water and the sands move,
footing is unsure, and the tides are wilful.

Attic Verses. Cowboys and Indians

I rarely felt the cold in those days before central heating,
when the coal fireplace in the front room was only lit
for necessity and the kitchen harboured the hypnotic
skin-searing paraffin stove.
When my bedroom was icy my mind was warmed by travel.
I knelt on the carpet moving my soldiers across prairies,
and over rivers and hiding them in clefts in the rock.
Some would take refuge in a cardboard stockade,
while others whooped from plastic horses,
in circling menace.
In TV Western Land even when it snowed
it was always temperate.
There were countless deaths, but no one ever died.
Until my brother, proving how wrong Wilde was,
instituted an irreparable massacre by beheading;
for a bruised heart will kill first what others love.

Ian Tattum is a priest in the Church of England, who writes mainly about nature, local history literature- including a recent essay for Little Toller’s ‘The Clearing’. His poetry has previously been published by Spelt Magazine , The Pilgrim and Black Bough Poetry. He is a Fellow of the Linnaean Society. https://stbarnabas-southfields.org.uk/essays-and-
reviews/
Follow Ian on Twitter at @ITattum.

Free Poetry Book To Celebrate National Poetry Day

poetry, poetry book, poems, women authors, Scottish writers, poetry book, female writers,Today is National Poetry Day and to celebrate you can get a copy of What Do You Think? A collection of poetry from Catherine Balavage, Frost Magazine’s owner and editor-in-chief. One of her poems is below.

 

Loved person

Broken promises I knew you could not keep
You only ever tried to love me and in gratitude I lay at your feet Because I was in love too, but my love was different

My love was the notion of life, a good one
All I wanted from ear to ear; a smile from my own mouth
It did not work
You loved me so selflessly I could not leave
Although I know now it was only through your love for me that I loved you You lost your own identity
You chose mine but I wanted mine to keep

Still. Here I am
This time only crying at your ever loving feet
I owe you too much to leave
So for the rest of my life. If I never find the courage I will be the living, loved dead
Even though I see
Your love in an otherwise cruel world binds me Forgive me. I doubt for all that I was ever worthy

 

Get your free copy of What Do You Think? now.

Frost Magazine interviews acclaimed Instapoet, Arch Hades

High Tide, the debut collection of poetry by the Instapoet, Arch Hades, is making waves in poetry and social circles. In this Frost Magazine exclusive, we find out more about the writer behind the verse.

By Lucy Bryson

Q: Were you aware of the ‘Instapoets’ concept when you first began writing? Have you witnessed any snobbery from traditional literary publications towards ‘Instapoetry’?

A: Yes, I was aware of the ‘Instapoets’ concept. I can’t say I’ve experienced any snobbery (I, of course, only speak for myself). I’m just a poet who shares some of my work on that platform. We live in a sharing society, Instagram has done wonders for poetry, not only has it helped people re-connect to this form of expression, it has done so very successfully and on such a large scale that I will gladly applaud the medium for this revival.

If anything, I hope traditional literary publications rejoice at this new-found popularity of poetry and especially the new-found interest people express in their own publications. 

Q: Your work is personal and emotional – did you feel any vulnerability when you first published your poems online? Are there any experiences you would say are out of bounds in sharing with readers?

A: I can’t say I felt particularly emotionally vulnerable when first sharing my poetry. I’ve always been very honest with people and very open. I don’t see the point of not saying that I mean and not meaning what I say. I want to continue being raw and open and emotional, I don’t want to shy away from it, I want those who do share in loss and heartbreak to feel they are not alone, I want to connect with them and support them.

Q: Can your Instagram followers expect to see new, previously unpublished work in High Tide? 

I only began posting online after the publication of High Tide, so far I’ve only posted fragments of poetry, and I am grateful that the reception has been warm, so yes, I will estimate that the vast majority of High Tide is yet unseen by my followers (apart from those who bought the book already).

Q: Have you always sent postcards while travelling? Did you have any reservations about sharing this personal correspondence in your book?

A: Sending postcards is an old sentiment of mine that originates from my school days. I spent seven years in an all-girls boarding school where cell phone use and access to social media were very restricted. However, we were allowed to post letters and that became my outlet. Handwritten letters and postcards are a form of art in themselves. When you have a limited amount of physical paper to write on, suddenly, you have to be concise, thoughtful and eloquent. It was a challenge at first – when you can write anything, but, you can only write a few sentences. It’s a beautiful game. One doesn’t easily discards letters too. You write your girlfriend a letter, I promise you, whatever happens, she is going to keep that forever. I began writing to my best friend Bobby more than ten years ago, who attended an all-boys boarding school, and we’ve kept it up ever since. 

Postcards, I would say, aren’t particularly personal, at least not my own. I use postcards to capture a momentary state – the external and internal. How wonderful it is to then read again and be transported back to that moment and my frame of mind during writing. I want to encourage more people to write postcards. Not just for future nostalgia, but because at the time of writing it helps you to be present and reflective. 

Q: Poetry is often viewed as an elitist and difficult form of literature for the ordinary person. Do you think this is a fair assessment, and do you feel that the new wave of online poetry is encouraging young people to become interested in the art form? 

A: I understand how people in Britain might perhaps feel estranged to poetry. The most famous British poets are traditionalist like Shakespeare, Byron, Blake, war poets like Aldington and Blunden and more recent poets like Larkin – who are all brilliant and I admire them greatly, but their writing can alienate readers in terms of language, and also in terms of the topics that they wrote about, that the young generation may be alien to. I’ve had conversations about poetry where someone will comment – Shakespeare isn’t for me, poetry isn’t for me. So perhaps poetry can strive to be more inclusive, and perhaps there needs to be a greater awareness of how broad poetry is. 

I of course celebrate new mediums like Instagram, that have certainly made poetry more accessible and have also encouraged so many young people to pick up their pens too. Poetry is a beautiful form of expression and I want to encourage it to all and any. 

Q: In what way was writing the poetry ‘cathartic’? Does your new poetry reflect a more peaceful state of mind, and how does that affect your creativity? 

A: Cathartic is an appropriate word here. My grandfather (also a poet) used to tell me that a problem well stated is a problem half-solved and I can honestly say I used this form of expression to help me through some difficult times. Unfortunately, I have not found my peace yet, but that doesn’t limit me to writing only about turbulent, sad times, there have always been serene moment of love and peace, I just have to focus on those at times and remain hopeful for the future. 

Q: What would you say is the poet’s function in society?

A: In 1825 Pushkin declared that ‘the history of the people belongs to the poet’. They say if you want to know what happened, ask a historian, but if you want to know what it meant, ask a writer. I doubt I’ll be writing history or what it meant, I just want to capture what’s going on around me and how it’s changing. 

Q: Why do you think your work resonates so strongly with others around the world, and how do you think reading your work can help others heal their own heartbreak? 

A: Emotions are universal, we’re all human, we all have feelings and we all don’t like feeling alone. In times of heartbreak, loss, lethal love, unrequited lust and failure, we feel a touch of redemption and solace when we feel we are not alone, that somewhere out there someone also felt that way, and hopefully they don’t feel that way any anymore. It brings us peace, it strengthens us. If that person conquered it, so can I. Luckily, when I started sharing some extracts of my writing, the reaction was very positive and I’m so grateful for it. I’m so glad people find my obscure sorrows and heartaches relatable and when they tell me it helps them feel less alone, it helps me feel less alone too.  

Q: Finally, what three poets, classic or modern, would you recommend to people wanting to discover the joys of poetry, and for what reasons?

A: Three is difficult, as there are dozens I admire. It’s no surprise that I will recommend the confessional poets of the 1950s – Anne Sexton in particular – whose style I believe is very relatable and accessible. 

A traditional poet I would recommend – Alfred Lord Tennyson – ‘The Eagle’ is a nostalgic favourite from my school days, that warmed me to poetry in the first place. 

And something more Instagram friendly – R H Sin – wonderful and warming. 

High Tide: Poetry & Postcards by Arch Hades is an original collection of poignant and relatable poetry about love and loss, which capture a troubled year in the life of the author. It is available now on Amazon UK priced £5.99 in paperback and £4.99 as an eBook. Follow Arch on Instagram @archhades. 

 

What do you think?: A Collection of Poems Extract #nationalpoetryday

poetry, poetry book, poems, women authors, Scottish writers, poetry book, female writers,To celebrate National Poetry Day here is some extracts from my poetry book What do you think?: A collection of poems. I hope you enjoy them.

 

Thieves

Littered broken hearts

One million men

Tearing me apart

Vestiges of

What I used to be

Leaving behind

All different parts of me

Traces

Chunks

Bits

Intellectual property

All stolen from me

And I will never be complete again

And the waiter came around with decapitated roses

 

 

When women are mean girls

Another barb

To bring a smile to your face

You think it wounds

Not quite

But I will confess it grates

How a woman can act like a mean girl

Time and time again

Her insecurity and bitterness

Coming out in bitchy comments

I guess I should feel sorry for you

That your life has led you to this

Vile and wrapped up in your own bitterness

But woman like you give women a bad name

Lashing out, attacking, trying to cause pain

I know you just don’t like my happiness

That it causes you pain

That your jealousy is like your other face

Sneering, ugly and plain

I take it as a compliment

That you can’t just keep quiet

That you cannot become the adult you are

That you have to let your hate perspire

I move on, of course

And I smile as I do

Because although you bore me and disappoint me

I am happy, because I am nothing like you

(This was written in 2016. I wish it wasn’t as relevant as it is. I do have to point out that men can be bitchy too, but sometimes it just hurts more when it comes from another woman).

 

 

Motherhood

They say that after this I will be a woman

But I feel I already earned that long ago

Long before the waves and the pain

My dues long paid up

Unlike those other dues

This one will be worth it

They say this will change me.

And it irks me that they are not wrong

One bouncing baby

To change the melody of the song

Half a stone of giggles and crying

To bring a joy

That could bring back the dying

 

 

Loved person

Broken promises I knew you could not keep

You only ever tried to love me and in gratitude I lay at your feet

Because I was in love too, but my love was different

My love was the notion of life, a good one

All I wanted from ear to ear; a smile from my own mouth

It did not work

You loved me so selflessly I could not leave

Although I know now it was only through your love for me that I loved you

You lost your own identity

You chose mine but I wanted mine to keep

Still. Here I am

This time only crying at your ever loving feet

I owe you too much to leave

So for the rest of my life. If I never find the courage

I will be the living, loved dead

Even though I see

Your love in an otherwise cruel world binds me

Forgive me. I doubt for all that I was ever worthy

 

 

All poems taken from What do you think?: A Collection of Poems by Catherine Balavage is available from Amazon. 

 

Catherine Balavage’s Poetry Book What Do You Think?: A Collection of Poems Free Until 27th January

poetry, poetry books, poet, female, women, Catherine Balavage, what do you think? writer

Some good news for poetry fans, you can get Catherine Balavage’s poetry book, What do you think?: A collection of poems, for free until the 27th January 2017. It is free on Amazon Kindle across the world. The book has received good reviews and has reached no 1 in the women’s poetry fiction chart on Amazon. Get your copy of What do you think?: A collection of poems here.

Peace and Plenty and Annie Freud by Maya Pieris

Annie Freud– teacher, embroiderer, painter, poet and brilliant party giver- is the daughter of Lucian Freud, great-granddaughter of Sigmund Freud and grand-daughter of sculptor Sir Jacob Epstein. She is also the proud owner of a new studio at her home, Peace and Plenty, in the heart of Dorset. Here from a window seat, which I would describe as more window bed, she has a view of fields, her husband Dave’s sheep and the slow train to Bath.

pic 1 frost annie imgpic032

The studio “is a first” and, along with a dedicated space for Dave means their interests which involve “paint, mud and dirt” aren’t a problem. And she’ll have the occasional sheep for a neighbour in the adjoining animal pens. It is now also home to her father Lucian’s easel which she inherited following his death in 2011 and on which currently she has just painted a “portrait” of The Fox and Hounds Pub, her local and home to the Cattistock Poets.

I’ve got to know Annie over the last 5 years through the Cattistock Poets which she started and leads, encouraging writers to find and listen to their own poetic voices, “to make it better..and to take it seriously”. She has also been responsible for organising some fabulous poetry readings to which she has invited a variety of other published poets.

Peace and Plenty and Annie Freud by Maya Pieris2

Her latest collection, The Remains, published this summer, contains 2 of my favourite poems – Aubergines and Abbotsbury, the latter which I heard Annie read in a beautiful, small, ancient Dorset chapel as part of a Christmas carol service. The Remains is her fourth collection and has established Annie as one of an exciting new group of poets – and a performer firmly committed to poems being heard.

The Remains is , however, proving an artistic turning point- another first- combining 2 loves, the visual and literary, the book illustrated by Annie with original paintings, some inspired by the Dorset landscape. When “I started writing poetry..I thought I would embroider in the mornings and write in the afternoon” but she found that this wasn’t working so put the visual to one side though found this “painful” needing this element to produce “something I would try to make more solid. I’ve painted all my life with pleasure but without enough self-belief but The Remains changed all that.” I asked her if her renewed need to paint was a rearrangement of two loves but she said that “was too easy, that one should not have self-limiting views of who you are or what you can do” and that painting fulfilled a physical need.

frost annie pic 3

But whatever the medium Annie is committed to work that will “move, disturb or delight”  the point being “what it is doing to other people”. She has also had another first this December with the setting of her poem The Sun Looks Forward to Winter to music by Benjamin Tassie for three female voice and hopes this time next year to see her first London painting exhibition happen.

As for Peace and Plenty- not her own invention but the name of the 2 cottages which form her very peaceful and plentiful home.

 

 

Ross Mabey Poet And Song-writer By Margaret Graham

Ross Mabey is 72 years old and was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease (PD) in November 2005. He was living in London UK for 15 years before returning to Australia in June 2014 accompanied by his wife Linda. Their son Jonathon, 28 years old, returned to Australia in 2012. During his working life Ross was employed in various roles in the Telecommunications industry in Australia and later in the UK. His interests include writing poetry, lyrics for songs and family history. He is also interested in researching to help find a cure for PD.

We published his feature on his work, and life a few days ago, with a promise of his poetry, and song-writing. Here it is. Enjoy.

Ross Mabey's poem and song

Poetry, A Song Of Life.

Poetry is a very personal thing,

That can lift your heart and make it sing.

Its rhythms can have a beat, like a song,

That makes you move your feet.

Or, it can be an intellectual panacea,

For those who seek life’s perfections,

Expressed in words of structured verse.

Which soothe the ripples, of this Universe.

Or, it can be a song of life,

That speaks of truth, love, joy, toil and strife.

Whatever, captures your imagination,

It can be the emotion, that adds to the tapestry of life.

Whatever appeals to your Universe,

Is hidden in words, rhymes and verse.

Their potency is felt by those,

Who feel the need to write, in anything but prose.

Copyright © 2006. Ross James Mabey.

Ross Mabey's poem cowriter

Song lyric – Montana Mountains.

By Ross Mabey and Jeffrey Ullsperger.

Verse #1

Montana Mountains, your son has come home,

Through majestic forests and valleys I now roam.

I look upon your mighty peak’s, towering above,

Their grandeur is what I can’t help but love.

montanamountains

Chorus

Montana Mountains, reaching for the sky,

Take me to a special place,

To nature’s perfect high.

You’re beauty captures my heart,

I will be yours faithfully.

So Montana Mountains won’t you,

Please speak to me.

Verse #2

By the campfire’s glow, at night all alone,

I am comforted knowing you’re part of my soul.

Surrounded by your beauty, every night and day,

The sun, the moon and stars do light my way.

montana

Chorus

Montana Mountains, reaching for the sky,

Take me to a special place,

To nature’s perfect high.

You’re beauty captures my heart,

I will be yours faithfully.

So Montana Mountains won’t you,

Please speak to me.

Bridge

When I die one day,

And home is Heaven above.

I’ll ask for a room with a view,

Of the mountains that I love.

Instrumental

Chorus

Montana Mountains, reaching for the sky,

Take me to a special place,

To nature’s perfect high.

You’re beauty captures my heart,

I will be yours faithfully.

So Montana Mountains won’t you,

Please speak to me.

Montana Mountains won’t you,

Please speak to me.

Copyright © 2009. Ross Mabey / Jeffrey Ullsperger.

 

 

Trelinnoe Park With the Live Poets By Geni Ray Johnston

Frost is delighted to introduce the first of our features from Geni Ray Johnston, who lives in Taupo, New Zealand and is a member of Live Poets.

Along the old Coach Road off the Napier-Taupo Highway is a little piece of Paradise, Trelinnoe Park, created by Brian and John Wills. The Live Poets from Taupo and Hastings met there in October, the start of New Zealand’s spring, because that is the best time to see the rhododendrons in flower.

The weather forecast wasn’t hopeful, but we decided that nothing less than the road being closed by snow would stop us. After all, all manner of challenges had done nothing to prevent the brothers from turning the waste scrubland they acquired in 1956 into this glorious landscaped park. Ten poets set off in the bus from Taupo and arrived at Trelinnoe in time to grab a quick cup of coffee.

2genicafe

The weather appeared to be improving so we set off to explore and found the yellow iris at their best, growing in profusion around the man made lakes. A glorious splash of sunshine on a wet day.

3manmadelake

We walked on and found ourselves emerging onto wide swathes of lawn, and more blossom. The lawns and trees are a structural feature of Brian and John’s design, and which give a feeling of space and perspective. This space works particularly well when set off by the slopes of woodland planting, the soaring tall trees, and of course the rhododendrons, and Magnolias (we were told we should have come in September to see the full range of Magnolias)

4geni

Every corner revealed another vista. But gradually the rain became heavier much as it does in Cornwall, ( or so Margaret Graham tells us) where Brian and John’s grandfather lived, on a farm called Trelinnoe, before emigrating. We buttoned our coats tighter and pulled up hoods. We were still having fun. In the rain the greens were greener, and the flowers brighter.

5geni

Conversation flowed, time passed. Shirley, Vic, and Liz took off ahead, Teresse, Joanna and I took a slightly different route. Shirley’s group had the map and we spotted them through the trees, but detouring to where they were seemed like back tracking. We forged on regardless and came upon things that amazed. This tree belongs in Lord of the Rings, I think.

6geni

I sometimes have trouble walking if I am gallivanting for too long and the café was beckoning, so Joanna and Teresse took an arm each and we carried on.

7genisculpture

We saw a sculpture which was Herculean in concept, so rain not withstanding, we had a bit of a photoshoot. It was at this point a white knight on a quad bike appeared to whisk us in turn, away to the café – Bruce Wills to the rescue. I took first trip.

Away we went up hills and round bends until I was disembarked with great aplomb, back at the café and into the midst of some of the poets who had arrived back via different routes. They were well ahead with their lunch, not to mention their poetry reading.

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Bruce mounted his charger again, and returned to scoop up the rest of the missing poets, Jo, and Teresse, though I feel they would both have been happy to be ‘lost’ for a while longer to explore the riches of Trelinnoe, especially this orchid we found.

9geniyellowflowers

John Wills has Parkinson’s disease and also writes poetry so he was delighted to come and join the poets and to share one of his poems. As I said when I finally dried out enough to share a poem or two ‘Anyone can walk through the park in the sun, but come in the rain, it’s much more fun!’