BLURB: On Literature brings together selected key articles written about the author's local creative writing scene (Bradford, West Yorkshire) as well as creative writing in general. From poets waxing lyrical to poets getting down right political, some tantalising excursions with the muse are explored in the following 'pages'. So dip inside and be inspired; there's more to literary living than you might think. ### On Literature Selected Journalism by Mark Cantrell Smashwords Edition ISBN: 978-1301-5501-1-1 This e-Book Edition Published April 2011 First Edition January 2004 Copyright (C) January 2004/2011. Some Rights Reserved. The moral rights of the author have been asserted under the provisions of the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act (1988). This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License. To view a copy of this licence, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/uk/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California 94105, USA. Email: tykewriter@supanet.com Web: www.markcantrell.co.uk ### Table Of Contents Chapter 1: Foreword To This Edition Chapter 2: Introduction Chapter 3: Type Into The Altered State Of Mind Chapter 4: The Naked Verse Chapter 5: Taking Bradford By Storm Chapter 6: Tales Of Asylum Chapter 7: Marking Two Horrors With Poetry Chapter 8: On The Road For The Cross Cultural Espresso Chapter 9: Muses From The Primordial S[ub]lime Chapter 10: Don't Publish My Collected Works! Chapter 11: About The Author ### Chapter 1: Foreword HANG out among poets for any length of time and you'll eventually encounter the chapbook. This is a self-published tome, typically an A5 staple-bound home made effort, that has long been an essential element of poetic circles. One might almost say they are swapped around like business cards. These days, the words of a poet have so many other potential outlets, courtesy of the internet and digital publishing, but when it comes to mingling in the social milieu of the poet – at lit fairs, open mics and writers' groups – the chapbook remains an important tool. Call it hardcopy file-sharing if you want, but one where's there is at least some kind of fair trade partaken if not an actual cash transaction. So, like many a social poet, supping beer at the venues, I self-published a handful of poetry chapbooks. I did the same for some of my essays and prose writing, such as this volume, cheaply binding them, and touting them to peers. I published, they sold in the small numbers I produced (as is par the course for chapbooks – their rarity is perhaps an essential aspect of their purpose), and then they passed into the backstory of time. Until now. It seemed an apt time to dust off the old DTP files and re-issue the old paper chapbooks in a PDF ebook format, retaining the old look and feel as much as possible. So, here we have On Literature presented as a digital second edition. There's more where this came from, so why not give them a try? Mark Cantrell, Manchester, 29 September 2009 Chapter 2: Introduction HERE we are again, another year another salivation of words and another book for your delectation. Or at least to fold in two and stick underneath that annoyingly short table leg. Hey, I'm here to serve. Before you do that though, take a moment to scan through the pages. There might be a word here and there that catches the eye and provokes the urge to read. In fact, why not do just that: read before you use it to prop up that wobbly old item of household furnishing. That way, you get double the value. On Literature focuses on the wonderful world of the local writer. From poets to poetry events and writers getting downright angry about the state of the world, there's something for every literary groupie out there. It's all in here. Somewhere. Mostly. Now journalism isn't the kind of writing intended to last longer than a day, but that's not to say some of it can't have a long lasting appeal. The same is true of the articles in this book. The events and the times have moved on since pen first tickled paper, but the moments still linger in living memory. And with these words, the moments will live a little longer beyond even that. We can live in hope. For now, enjoy a little taste of literature past, and maybe get inspired for literature tomorrow. I know I did. Mark Cantrell, The Love Apple, Bradford, 2 January 2004 Chapter 3: Type Into The Altered State Of Mind EVERY session at the keyboard is a journey to unknown places. So too are those times when I sit with notepaper and pen. My body might reside in the here and now of the physical universe, but like the ancient shaman high on exotic herbs, my mind – or soul depending on your inclinations – is away elsewhere. Not to the gods. Or the spirits of animals and ancestors. Elsewhere. To that place that somehow reaches back to this world to manifest itself on the glowing screen or the coffee-stained paper. It's a hard place to reach. Some, again, we're back to shamans, have preached the wondrous facilitator that is illegal drugs. Pop a pill, snort some neuro-chemically interesting powder and open the doors to perception. Others might swear by various concoctions of alcohol. And yes, there's always the boring swot who preaches the virtues of hard work. They overlook something. Not that hard work is not a given, whatever substance you abuse or none. And it isn't sleep deprivation either, which can sometimes be a wonderful hallucinatory mind-swirling phenomenon for the creative writer out for a quick nib. No. They forget. That writing itself is an altered stream of consciousness. The words themselves, and the fizzing incandescent ideas they dance to represent, can themselves open that mystical doorway to perception and otherworldliness. I think, drugs aside, those ancient shamans knew that little secret too. These days they have a phrase for it. Typically boring. The kind of label that only someone who's spent years using their mind to learn the theories and hypotheses of what makes the brain work rather than the mind itself could come up with. Hey, let's take the essential mystery out of the mind, they might have declared. Then thought even that's too scintillating and figured let's just map the neurons and stick a few electrodes in to see how they mechanically behave. They call it the hypnagogic state. It has different brainwave patterns apparently, quite distinct from phases like REM or deep sleep, or various neurologically and experientially interesting substances. I suppose as writers we forget this too. We just say we were on a roll. On a whole roll of flying carpet, maybe. Because that's when we're flying. We've got there without chemicals. Only the most powerful drug known to man: words. Opening the door might be hard work. We might stare at the keyboard or at the paper for ages. Frustrated. Grumpy. Wondering why we bother. And then the idea detonates in the head, or else we get 'back into the flow' and suddenly we're there. Not at the table or the PC. Not in the café. But out there. In whatever world we're struggling to create. Once we're there, the outside world, the mundane place, is gone. It's beyond our perception, because – temporarily at least – we have moved on to a higher plane of existence. So sure, it exists only in the mnemonics of words, but mathematicians express the entire complexity and beauty of the Universe in the mnemonics of numbers and algebra. Why should ours be any less real because the mnemonics assemble in our heads and are encoded on paper by the mechanics of the motor cortex, bones and muscle. Oh yes, and the pen (or keyboard). The Muse is out there. Hiding, and giggling coy in the cosmology of our altered state. And we search in strange places every time we sit at a desk. So be adventurous. Don't just push at the doors, fling them wide and see what's out there. You might be amazed at what comes back with you. Writing is metaphysical, spiritual cosmic exploration, without never a need to worry about the vice squad a'calling. Unless, that is, you like to wind down with the old prohibited stuff. Me, I'll just stick with the words. December 2003 Chapter 4: The Naked Verse IN a fourth floor flat on a run down council estate in Bradford, the camera is watching two people strip and climb into a coffin. This isn't some kind of low-budget necrophiliac porn, but the photo-shoot for the cover art and illustrations of Love, Sex, Death & Carrots, the latest anthology of poetry and prose produced by the Interchange writers' network. The models are members of the group who volunteered to flaunt more than just their words for the sake of literary and visual art. It's the group's first anthology since Flak Attack seven years ago, and it was produced with the aid of a grant from Yorkshire Arts. Its 80 pages are packed with the fruits of those years; poetry and prose and even a little music, courtesy of veteran journalist and broadcaster Karl Dallas. In total, twenty Interchange stalwarts grace the pages of the book. Many have been active in developing performance poetry throughout West Yorkshire and beyond. They include Seema Gill, Andrew Penwarden, Patrick Blues and Bruce Barnes. For all their diverse activities, they do concede this latest volume has been a long time in the making. "I'll tell you why we haven't produced an anthology since 1993 -- we've been too busy," says the group's chairman, Howard Frost, in the book's foreword. "Poet members have read their work in the UK, USA, Australia and Canada. They have read at festivals in Edinburgh, Cheltenham, Ilkley, Bristol, Sheffield, London, and in Austin (Texas) and Cape Cod (USA)... Other members working in the realm of novels, short stories, play and film scripts as well as song writing have also achieved success in their chosen genres." The book was finally launched at the Interchange @ the Melborn performance poetry event. This is one of the group's regular venues: an open mic session that occurs every last Wednesday of the month. A similar event takes place on the first Wednesday of every month at the Monkey Bar cafe in Wakefield. And these will form the backbone of the book's marketing strategy. For Phil Wainman, artist and one of the editorial team, his challenge was to produce artwork that would match the theme of the book. The title is derived from the nature of poetry, most relating to love or sex or death. The rest deals with everything else, which goes some way towards explaining the carrots. "One of my biggest worries for the cover artwork was that I wouldn't be able to find anyone to pose nude – especially in the coffin," said Wainman. "When I finally got four volunteers, plus myself, I was really pleased. It's not an easy thing to pose nude for photographs and still manage to look natural. I was extremely impressed by how professional everyone was." Despite the nudity, it's all tastefully done. Not a –female – nipple in sight, so there's anything to offend those of a more sensitive disposition. That said, some might find the coffin a little disturbing, even though it was cobbled together from scrap wood and an old wardrobe by Wainman's sidekick Joedot (his 'professional' name). "I had this idea for the front cover, which was to have a nude couple in a coffin, surrounded by carrots with love hearts floating around," Wainman added. "I liked this idea, because it properly reflected each aspect of the title in the image. It was at this point that I started working with Joedot, because not only is he a great artist but he also had the necessary skills to both design and build the coffin that was needed." Originally the plan was to use a proper coffin, but nobody was prepared to loan them such a grim item, even after an advert in the local press. That left them no choice but to make their own. "I had this old wood affect chipboard wardrobe," said Joedot. "It was going to cost about £150 to build a coffin big enough to fit two people from scratch. So the wardrobe had to go. This [and some scrap wood] cut the coffin's cost to about £40. We built it over a few weeks." With a coffin finally to hand, they were able to collect the models and take the shots. "I was a bit nervous seeing naked friends walking about the flat, but they looked quite beautiful," Joedot added. "We soon got used to it and began to enjoy staging this art." The visuals might have been a challenge for Wainman, but as part of the editorial team he also faced the tough process of sifting through all the submissions to create the finished volume. As with the photographs, he didn't face this task alone. He worked alongside chief editor Lynette Shaw McKone and Rahel Guzellian to ensure they picked the right balance among the diverse voices on offer. "Selecting work was very difficult," said Shaw McKone. "We devised a complicated scoring system, and had three 'elimination rounds', selecting the works with the highest scores. We worked hard to be as fair as we could to ensure that everyone who submitted work had some included." Now that the job is complete and the book out, alongside the pride in a job well done, she confesses she feels 'strangely empty'. "It took up so much of our time that for the first week after it had gone off to the printers, I seemed to be in limbo," she added. "I swore I would never do it again, then chewed the carpet waiting for it to come back. I can't wait to do another one now. I think I've got the bug." February 2001 Chapter 5: Taking Bradford By Storm (A preview of a multimedia and literary celebration of the Bolshevik Revolution that took place on the 13th November 1999 at the then Priestley Centre for Arts. First appeared in the Morning Star newspaper…) EIGHTY-TWO years ago this month [as at the time of publication], the Bolsheviks led the Russian workers and peasants into the limelight of history. They took the Winter Palace, Russia and the world by storm. This was an epic performance, and rehearsals were a luxury they could not afford. For the two grey-bearded men plotting in a mildew-scented basement somewhere in Bradford, that's not such a problem. One is stern of face as he meticulously goes through the plan of action. He mercilessly drills the other man, who has an enthusiastic gleam in his eyes from contemplating their plan becoming reality. For them, rehearsals are an absolute necessity as they prepare to follow in the footsteps of the Bolsheviks and take the city by storm. Fortunately, for the theatre-goers of Bradford, director Howard Frost and producer/performer Karl Dallas are not plotting insurrection, although the latter is a self-confessed revolutionary. Instead, they are putting together a stage performance to celebrate the anniversary of the Russian Revolution. Some will undoubtedly ask why anybody would want to celebrate the Russian Revolution, particularly ten years after the symbolic demolition of the Berlin Wall, and the subsequent collapse of the Soviet Union. Yet, the world today would be horribly familiar to the Bolsheviks. Their battle-cry of 'Land, Bread and Peace' still carries a dreadful resonance for millions of people living in a world of unprecedented disparities between rich and poor. The dust has settled on the bones of the Soviet age, but its builders in 1917 still speak to people today. The words of Lenin and Trotsky and Marx - voted Man of the Millennium - still inspire hope and struggle for a better world built from the bottom up. And this is the reason for the celebration that is Red October. The show is a literary performance described as a multimedia experience. Computer generated slides and music by Stravinsky will play alongside performances and readings of poetry and prose. Featured authors include Akhmatova, Bertholt Brecht, Hugh MacDiarmid, Mandelstam, Mayakovsky, Lenin, William Morris, Pasternak and Yevtushenko. The performance is to be rounded off with a reading of J B Priestley's They Came To A City. The centrepiece of the evening, however, will be a complete performance of the narrative poem The 12, written by Aleksandr Bloc in 1918, and translated from the original Russian by the producer. Its warts and all depiction of a bunch of Red Guard patrolling the streets of St Petersburg generated much controversy in its day - as did its depiction of Christ leading the way with the Red Flag held high. A Christian sub-text, such as that depicted by Bloc's poem, is an important element in the show, which the more secular-minded might miss. This isn't simply an expression of the producer's personal religious convictions, they are also an expression of his politics. "Christianity, like communism, has been perverted for oppression, but in its true sense Christianity is a revolutionary movement. To me Christianity and communism are just two sides of the same coin," Karl says. In preparing for his stage debut, Karl is benefiting from the acting experience of his director Howard Frost, a poet, actor and opera singer with experience of over 250 dramatic productions. He agreed to work in the role because of its challenging nature. "It's always a challenge to do a one person show," Howard says. "Karl won't mind me saying that acting is new to him. The challenge has been to create something worth watching for its own sake without overtaxing the abilities of the actor, at the same time as giving someone who lacks previous experience of acting an idea of how to approach his subject. It's working. I think at the end of the day we'll both be able to say that we've achieved what we set out to do." When he shuffles out before the lights and the audience at the Priestley Centre for Arts on Saturday, Karl will have realised a ten-year-old ambition. "I've been wanting to put on this show since I first came to Bradford in 1989," he says, "but it was met by a lack of interest from the local communists when I suggested we do something to celebrate October. Then I mentioned it to this group of 'non-political' poets and they agreed to do it." The group of poets in question is the Bradford Interchange Writers' Network, of which both Karl and Howard are members. Several of its regular participants have agreed to perform work, though some have misgivings about the subject matter of October, or indeed its secondary aims of raising funds in support of the Morning Star newspaper. Such misgivings haven't dampened their enthusiasm for the project, however, and several admit to finding the project thought-provoking and informative. "The poem I am reading is very much about the relationship between poets and the way that poets are shaped by their society," says performer Bruce Barnes. "Also, it's about what happens to poets when they confront the system. It's made me want to read a lot more Russian poetry. I think it was some of the finest work that was being written in Europe at that time." In the main, as might be expected from a group of writers, it's a love of literature that is firing up the performers. From the selected works and the rehearsals it is clear that a tantalising selection of literature has been chosen, promising a good night of enthralling entertainment. But, and this probably won't embarrass him in the slightest, the willingness to help with Red October is a testament to Karl's popularity at the regular Interchange meetings. A celebration in literature is certainly unusual, at least for those not overly-familiar with life in the Soviet Union. Poetry was taken immensely seriously during its 75 years of existence. Ideological battles raged through the rhythm of poetic thought and action. "The audience is in for something different," Howard adds about the 12. "It's a different presentation of the subject matter from what I've usually come across. Previously the October Revolution has been done either through out and out drama, or purely in documentary terms. This is more a dramatised presentation of a poem rather than a full blown drama." The assemblage of poets and writers selected for Red October were chosen not just for the celebration of a political event but also for a celebration of the literature. Indeed, many of the works show that the two go hand in hand. Like the aspirations and the dreams of ordinary people that lay at the heart of October, the writing has a contemporary feel and a modern resonance. It would give too much away to provide even a cursory run-down of the works that the Interchange performers are to bring into life on Saturday. Suffice to say the show promises to be entertaining and thought-provoking. It explores both the human and the inhuman faces of the Soviet age, its successes and its mistakes, its contradictions and, of course, its creator's vision of its importance to the history of this century and beyond. Red October commenced at 7.45pm, Saturday 13th November in the studio theatre at the Priestley Centre for Arts, Chapel Street, Little Germany, Bradford. Proceeds were shared equally between the venue and the Morning Star. It got a very respectable audience for the Studio Theatre and proved to be a great little show. On the basis of this article, someone apparently travelled all the way up from Liverpool to see the show. And as someone said to me on the night: "I've never seen so many Tankies in one place..." (but that's another story.) November 1999 Chapter 6: Tales Of Asylum ASYLUM seekers get a raw deal in the British press. They are harbingers of disease, crime, poverty, moral decline, and every kind of imaginable foible intended to whip up the xenophobic fantasies of the 'liberal' Middle English. Hell, asylum seekers probably wiped out the dinosaurs too. Or at least so you might think from the more salacious and shrill of the country's media. So it's refreshing to hear the sorry saga of displacement and asylum from those at the sharp end. And in their own words too. In November [2003], Biasan (Bradford Immigration and Asylum Support and Advice Network) published Dispersed, a book by asylum seekers living in Bradford. The book is written in French and English, and presents a diverse range of poetry and prose, as well as fiction, drawn from people displaced from all over the world. The book also features a foreword by the Bishop of Bradford and an afterword by Terry Rooney MP. Content ranges from a harrowing account of a young boy's journey to this country to a collection of Kenyan proverbs. It presents the human and individual tragedies masked by the smear campaign that passes for objective coverage. Tales of human hardship, but also hope, from people who have been dispersed by the Government's policy of spreading them through the country, but also dispersed from their homelands. "It started with just one piece," said Richard Hargreaves, who co-edited the book along with Kenyan refugee Waiharo Gibson. "Some months ago, some Africans started coming from the Congo and a young man showed me the beginnins of a story about a girl suffering in the Congo. It was in English, which is his fifth language. The book grew from there and enough was produced to develop our first book." Hargreaves is a volunteer with Biasan and teaches English. From the classes there emerged an ad hoc, irregular writers group, which he hope will develop further, but the trauma's of the asylum experience can make it difficult at time. He added: "I think that some of the asylum seekers are really quite depressed and being able to write might help them. I hope [the book] will encourage more people to write and express their experiences. It's good to write and people have stories to tell that will help people to hear and understand." For contributor Liliya Sazanavets, empathy would be a good way to express what the book hopes to achieve. As she said: "All people are human beings, so it's very difficult to talk about groups of people. But I think that if someone decided to leave their country then it's a very difficult decision, so we have to think about it. To understand us you must put yourselves in our position, then I think it will be easier to understand what happened to us." Biasan launched the book during an afternoon of cultural events organised to highlight and celebrate the experiences and achievements of asylum seekers in the city. Prior to the book launch, when contributors read extracts of their work and which took place on the main stage, Banner Theatre presented its acclaimed production of Migrant Voices. The event ended with a showing of Dana Jalal's award winning video Rights of Passage. The play is based on in-depth interviews with Iraqi Kurdish refugees and asylum seekers living in Salford and also members of the host community. The show combined live music and performance, with video interviews and documentary material to show some of the harsh realities behind the media coverage of the asylum issue. Migrant Voices has toured in the UK and Canada during the spring and summer of this year and it is now touring again. Audiences are presented with a compelling story abut people who have fled their homes to escape torture and persecution, only to become the victims of racist abuse and intimidation in the place where they believed they would find sanctuary and a little compassion. It also provides some insight into the causes of global instability that uproot people from their homes. "We hope to raise the profile of asylum seekers through the book and put ourselves firmly in the context of Black History Month and international struggle," said Biasan's Deb Collett. "I think we have achieved what we set out to do. We have got a really diverse group of people together. This is another expression of people getting together ad making their voices heard. You might have missed Migrant Voices at the Priestley, but at least you can hear – or rather read – the voices of Dispersed. November 2003 The above article first appeared in Print R@dio Chapter 7: Marking Two Horrors With Poetry SEPTEMBER 11 has left its indelible mark in human consciousness after the horrifying destruction of the World Trade Centre that killed thousands. Mostly forgotten now, but no less horrifying, is another event that killed thousands, though its shock waves were a little more restricted to the country and continent where it occurred. That's a date, many senior politicians and commentators might like us to forget. Like the Twin Towers, it was a murderous attack on democracy, for on 11 September 1973, the democratically elected government of Salvador Allende was smashed by General Pinochet's coup in Chile. Allende himself died in the presidential palace after an aerial rocket bombardment tore the place apart. The United States government, far from deploring 'terrorists' looked on approvingly, as a man they had backed and could do business with, installed himself in power. Two terrible events separated in space and time, but linked by the same ignominious birthday. One way or another, both were the direct or indirect results of superpower machtpolitik. Poetry also bound them together during an evening of performance, held at Bradford's Love Apple cafe. Poetry For Peace & Justice was held on September 11 to commemorate the victims of both atrocities, but also to ensure that the latter would not be forgotten in the understandable grief and trauma surrounding the first. It was organised by Sam Jackson. At the start of the evening, he told the audience: "September 11 is a big thing in people's minds for the criminal attack on the Twin Towers, but we are also thinking about the victims of George Bush's war on terrorism. The date is also significant as the 30th anniversary of Pinochet's coup against Allende in Chile." Sam is former student at Bradford University, where he recently gained a PhD in literature. When he is not looking after his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, he does some teaching at the college. Like many people, he got involved in activities protesting the war in Iraq and joined the Stop the War coalition. He organised the night's event as an individual, but combined his anti-war stance with his interest in literature. And it was a night of politics in poetry. As John Sugden of the Beehive poets said at the start of his act: "It's a rare chance to read political poems." Much of the poetry was indeed political. But it was also poignant, thoughtful and thought-provoking and full of humanity. Whether the poets (and singer-songwriters) lamented war, or expressed their deep-felt political outrage, together they formed a powerful amalgam of entertaining poetry with a message. "It's really important that the coup in Chile isn't forgotten because it happened on the same date as the criminal attack on the Twin Towers," Sam added. "Hopefully [tonight's] event will draw the link in people mind's between the two and the total hypocrisy, not out of disrespect to the people who lost loved ones in the Twin Towers." Part of his inspiration derived from an organisation called American Families for Peaceful Tomorrows, he said, which includes families who lost people in the World Trade Centre. The group's attitude, as he explained it is: 'I won't respond to terrorism by becoming a terrorist myself'. "It's worth drawing the link between this in people mind's without ramming it down people's throats," he added. Many of the performers were contributors to a book of poetry launched in response to the horrors of 9/11. Sundoves, Bumblebees & Blue Streak Bananas (ISBN:0-9535626-1-1) was published by Poets4Peace, a.k.a Seema Gill and Richard Heley in the summer of last year. It was intended as a cry for peace in a violent world. Some of the performers read their contributions out on the night. Among the performers were Gerard Benson (of the poems on the Underground fame), Bruce Barnes, Steve Wilkinson, Karl Dallas (former Human Shield), Steve Bindman (accompanied on African drums by Moses Ekebusi), Joe Ogden, Kevin Flaherty and many more. Sam adds: "There seems to be a lot of poets in Bradford who have been inspired by certain events from September 11 onwards. I get the impression there's a 'democracy of poetry' out there. A wide variety of performance poets, folk singers and classical poets like Gerard Benson and Steve Wilkinson, and I hope they overlap tonight into a kind of sharing of ideas and viewpoints." Though the event was free, a whip round was held for Peace Not War, which raised over £72 for the activities of this two-man production duo, after DJ Disorientalist gave a small talk on what they are and what they do. Peace not War was a two CD compilation of music that raised over £25,000 for non-violent anti-war and peace campaigns. The duo behind it, Kelly and Mudge are planning another fund-raising CD compilation to be released next year on the anniversary of the global anti-war demonstrations: 15th February 2004. Among those taking part are Fun-da-Mental, Mark Thomas, Billy Bragg, Asian Dub Foundation, Chumbawumba, DJ Spooky and many more. "We would prefer exclusive tracks," the producers say, "because it would mean fans would have to engage with a peace group to buy them. We will not be publishing songs whose lyrics call for terrorist nor other violent means to stopping war, although we encourage all other kinds of 'radical' lyrics." Poetry has a long and noble history of dissent. Though in itself it can do nothing to shape the world, it can shape and challenge and inspire human consciousness. Even the simplest verse can contain the seeds of outrage and inspiration fit to rock the world. And in Bradford, there was a small rumble that joined the wider rumblings of anger and discontent around the globe. Sam adds: "As Billy Bragg said with music, it's like a culture of discontent. Poetry can be a part of that." September 2003 The above article first appeared in Print R@dio Chapter 8: On The Road For The Cross-Cultural Espresso Oscar Wilde once observed that the British and the Americans are two peoples separated by a common language. Here, two Bradford writers discovered that the language of poetry can bridge the divide... BRUCE Barnes and Lynette Shaw McKone are no strangers to performance at West Yorkshire poetry venues, but their latest tour took them a little further afield – across the Pond (the Atlantic Ocean) to southern Texas in the United States. It was the trip of a lifetime for Lynette. Ever since she was a child she has wanted to visit the States because her birthday falls on the 4th July – American Independence Day. Thanks to Yorkshire Arts funding, she was able to realise her ambition in style, and found a vibrant poetry scene waiting to adopt her. For Bruce the reasons were more complex and personal. He enjoys travelling on the US freeways, and is fascinated by what he considers the 'informality' and the 'weirdness' of the place. He also feels it is somehow unavoidable, because as, he points out, it exerts such a large influence on contemporary English culture. Here is an alien land, so familiar yet so strange. An excellent place for the poet to express and explore the strange affinity that exists between the English and the Americans. "Poetry is huge in Texas," Lynette says. "It seems to be almost the national pastime. In particular jazz poetry and cowboy poetry, which are quite rhythmical and are art forms in their own right. At every venue there was a mixed bag of performers and a diverse range of writing. The American poets were so supportive and welcoming that we were virtually adopted in the extended circle of writers." It's a daunting experience, travelling abroad to perform, especially for someone who only started their performance career 18 months ago, but Lynette was in good hands. Bruce is a veteran performer and has travelled in the States before. In 1999 he went as part of the Bradford Six – a group of West Yorkshire poets who toured with their anthology and CD of performance poetry – Release the Bradford Six. Both also benefited from the experience of Thom the World Poet, an Australian resident in Austin, who organised the venues during their tour. He is a frequent visitor to Bradford and he was instrumental in persuading Lynette to take the plunge at becoming an international poet. Thom wasn't the only international poet they performed with. They shared the stage with Richard Healey from London, Rupert Hopkins, the Bristol poet responsible for the 'Waste Warriors' project, and Australian poet Pauline Brooks. In the first week they covered 700 miles, performing across southern Texas – from San Antonio to Houston, from Austin to Temple and Georgetown. Many of the venues were the familiar café or bookstore, but some were unlikely places, such as their readings at a New Age Church, a Bedouin tent and a 60s fancy dress party. For Lynette, one of the highpoints came at a genuine speakeasy in Austin, the Victory Grill. "A woman who was a poetry fan but not a poet and who had never performed before, got up in front of the audience and performed one of my poems," Lynette says. "Just the thought that one of my poems touched someone so much that they did that, well, I found it a very emotional experience." The pair were struck by the vibrancy of the US scene – an event every night in the week in Austin for instance – but at the same time, they found the differences enlightening. "I think there is a much clearer delineation between 'page poetry' and 'performance poetry' in the US," Bruce says. "I rarely heard anything that I would describe as a page poem being performed. To me page poems are more cerebral, and are to be mulled over: they don't arrive at the mike to meet you." Local poets also noted the differences between styles and delivery as practised on either side of the Pond. According to Bruce, one Texan poet, Jean Guthrie told him that English poets 'always seem so much more talented and cosmopolitan and witty'. "I don't believe this displays an inferiority complex, more a recognition that performance poets in Texas have their own agendas," Bruce explains. "These include a recognition of the immediacy of 'white' history, the importance of vernacular story telling in building that history, and the need to express the vitality of the working class American experience. When I listen to Texan performance poets I am often reminded of Raymond Carver's short stories." If he was impressed by the quality of the poets, Bruce was also struck by the quality of the venues during his tours. Used to slumming it in Bradford's 'boozy and potentially noisy' places, he finds the Stateside experience refreshing. "Austin and its venues seem made for performance poetry – small, intimate, good acoustics, low noise levels. They have good coffee and snacks too – after all, poets don't live on words alone," he says. "But I have to accept that I am not comparing like with like. Austin is one of the fastest growing cities in the US, whereas Bradford is teetering on a knife's edge between sink city and slow revival." Despite the differences, a connection was made. As Lynette explains: "The best thing about the trip was discovering that poetry is a universal language with a beauty of its own. It cuts across the barriers, regardless of age, sex, creed, colour and any other man-made barrier. It gives everyone who wants it the chance to say what they think and feel about their world, their lives, and their planet." Bruce put it slightly different: "I returned from the afterburn of freeways with some photos, a wedge of chapbooks, happy memories and a recognition that behind the hype of a grasping superpower there are folk who are downright hospitable and generous." The trip proved to be a rewarding – if exhausting – experience for the both of them. It boosted their confidence and developed them as writers and performers. "I feel that people do want to listen to what I have to say and I developed a more relaxed performance style," Lynette says. "I felt able to talk about my poems, explaining the events behind them, and also discovered that I am a closet comedian – that I could make people laugh with some of the sillier experiences that have sprouted poetry." Bruce adds: "I think the more you perform, the more confident you are in reading and in providing the extras, like hanging around afterwards to talk to people from the audience and explaining just what you meant in that last line. I love performing, but I still dread the extras so each time I do them it's aversion therapy." Both Bruce and Lynette are looking forward to their next trip in 2002 and are already making plans. Bruce hopes to try different parts of the States and take in a few colleges. He intends to take much more 'page poetry' and hit his US counterparts with some English cerebral experiences. "I'll be there for the first event next year," Lynette adds. "Who knows, perhaps I will be 'discovered' and become the new overnight success. After all, it's only taken me 12 years to get this far." May 2001 The above article first appeared on UK Authors Genres Chapter 9: Muses From The Primordial S[ub]lime HIDDEN in the labyrinth of the Internet, lurks a 'genetics laboratory' that is seeking to evolve and breed poetry from a 'primordial soup' of random words. The Muse is being modified quietly and slowly and nobody knows what will emerge from the fermenting vats of literary science. Are the world's poets about to get their own up-close-and-personal GM scare? Only time and [un]natural selection will tell if the Darwinian Poetry project will bear fertile fruit, but if you fancy playing mad scientist with the nature of such words then visit the site at: http://www.codeasart.com/poetry/darwin.html. The unlikely poetic Frankenstein behind the project is one David Phillip Rea, a senior technology associate with General Atlantic Partners, Greenwich, CT in the USA. The project is the mating of two of his interests: poetry and genetic algorithms. But behind the scientific curiosity of this symbiosis is another -- more primal -- motive. One that is a much more traditional urge to wax lyrical: Rea admits that he initiated the project to impress a girl. Aside from that, Rea hopes to gain some serious results from the project (as well as provide a bit of fun for visitors to the site). "One of my long term goals is to increase my understanding of evolution," Rea says. "I've been playing with genetic algorithms for a decade and it has given me a sense of the power and slipperyness of evolution in a way that a textbook never could. It is fascinating to read the comments on the site's message board because they show a disturbing misunderstanding about Darwinian theory and how it works. I hope to correct that." There might be misunderstandings about evolution, but the project has also stirred disagreements between what might called the inspirationalists (poets) versus the evolutionists: "Random words are just that but finished poems arise from a vocabulary that has developed over the span of a poet's life," says one visitor. "These words are then selected, filtered and arranged by the hearts and minds of the authors to relay some type of message. Computers can suggest words and spellcheck, but only humans can do the real editing. Rather than waste time on this fluff, why not take a real poet our for dinner and drinks?" In defence came the reply: "While we think of poems being created in one person's mind over one life, with vocabulary that is learned, these can in fact be thrown into an evolutionary system, like the one here, and so 'evolve' when natural selection is applied to them... The 'environment' the poems are subjected to is people's likes and dislikes, subtle meanings of words that people find attractive, and other characteristics like poem length that are either selected for or against. We humans are simply choosing; the evolutionary system is producing the new products. This is not 'fluff', but an interesting exercise of designing an evolutionary system." This might sound like an arcane argument, but it's worth considering that whether a 'poem' is developed by a living mind or by randomly selected words as on the Darwin page, a kind of evolution can still be see to be at work. The fittest in either case in this argument are selected on the basis of human taste and whim. So, think of the visitor to the site as a predator, pulling down and killing the weak poems while the stronger ones escape and pass on their traits to the next generation. The genetic algorithm behind the project is a programming technique that 'evolves' the best program for a job. A 'population' of different programs designed to achieve the same end is tested for 'fitness'. The weak ones are killed and the strong ones are 'bred' together. The process is repeated through successive generations until the goal is achieved and the most successful program emerges. "The techniques have been used successfully to solve complex problems such as gas pipeline control, factory floor scheduling and analogue circuit design," Rea says. But can they successfully 'breed' a worthwhile poem that will ignite hearts and minds? "I am not sure if any complete and valuable poems will result," Rea admits, "but already after a few generations some great phrases, rhymes and uses of words have appeared. Things I might never have encountered otherwise. I don't think poets have anything to worry about, though. First of all evolutionary systems only produce results within a limited domain. You'll notice that evolution never produced the wheel, even though it's a tremendously useful design." On the other hand, it might be argued that evolution did come up with the wheel, albeit by proxy, when it evolved humans and their inventive, creative thinking. So, maybe it did create poetry too but that's another story. The starting point for the process was a 'primordial soup' of words. These were taken (together with a calculation of the number of times particular words crop up) from the Iliad and Shakespeare. In the second version of the program, the works of poet Simon Koppel were scanned to add to the verbal cocktail. From this the original 1,000 poems were created randomly and then subjected to our – the browsers – selection pressure. Browsers are presented with two of the 'poems' from a population of 1,000. They select one to live, while the other becomes 'extinct'. The difference between a living poem and an extinct one could be as simple as a liking for one word. This process is repeated down through the generations. The program kills the deselected individuals and then 'breeds' the selected poetry. "The software relies primarily on a mechanism called 'crossover'," Rea explains. "[It's] similar to the process that operates on chromosomes in biological evolution, except here the basic units are words rather than nucleic acids. When the program sees there is room in the population for new poems because the unfit ones were culled, it randomly chooses two surviving poems to serve as parents. These poems are then crossed over to produce new offspring." Crossover works by selecting random 'snip points' in each poem. This creates four 'half poems' which are then merged together. It's a complicated way of evolving poetry compared to the time honoured method of inspiration followed by perspiration, but maybe it provides a way at last for a battalion of monkeys to finally get round to completing their recreation of the works of Shakespeare. On the other hand, maybe it's the foundation for Orwell's nightmare vision of the Ministry of Truth's story generating machines. Perhaps now is a good time for the world's literati to get together and form a 'virtual' asteroid to blast these primordial poems out of existence before they lurch forth to take out the competition; survival of the fittest (poets) might demand nothing less than such an apocalyptic response. As for the girl, Rea confesses that she is no longer 'really talking' to him. Oh well. C'est la vie. Perhaps she was a poet. August 2003 The above is an expanded version of an article that first appeared in Tyke Writer Chapter 10: Don't Publish My Collected Works! EVER tried calling the future collect? It's difficult, and I don't mean because the person at the other end refuses the charges. I couldn't dial because I didn't know the number, and as yet there is no Directory Enquiries for phones still to be. So instead, I sent this plea as an email. Not that this is a perfect solution because I don't know who it's for. But I can guess at the address and hope that it makes its way to the right recipient. For those who don't know, the address is the-guilty-party@the-future.co.anywhere. That's all I know, other than the resonant echoes transmitted on the retro-tachyon carrier wave emitted by my words. I know from these distant echoes that it's some time in the future, as far away from the here and now as possible (thank you very much), where I am in my grave and not feeling too happy about it. My mortality, however, is way beside the point. More important is what is happening in this parallel universe that, for me, is yet to be. I have to tell you that a terrible Crime Against Literature is about to be perpetrated. So I send my message, in the hope that I can prevent a shattering travesty. You see, something shocking has happened in the future: I made it as a writer. My words stood the test of time to survive beyond my death. Amazing. Now that's not the problem (other than finding as way to collect the royalties in the next world). This is: some bright spark has hit on an idea. It's a real money-spinner, or so this bloke hopes. He wants to cash in on my post-mortal success by publishing the Collected Works of Mark Cantrell, author extraordinaire of the early 21st Century. Okay, fair enough, it's some kind of acclaim and I am gracious enough to accept the compliment even it's from some money-grubbing bastard out to rob my tomb -- but it's also a total disaster. I mean this individual cannot be serious, right? I hope you see my problem, or at least the first inklings. Then again, looking at your face I can see you're in some doubt. Hang about, you say, I'm dead so my opinion just can't hack it. Well, that's the reason for this -- ultimately posthumous -- message. So stop picking over my corpse and I'll explain. Now, when I was breathing I tended to be prolific; I'd heard it said that a writer should strive to write something every day. I did my best to live up to that (and in death I'd quite like to die up to that, thank you very much). I wrote articles, news, comment, stories, poems, novels and stuff I couldn't make head nor tail of. And now this bright spark wants to pull it all together? Are they mad in this future world? Do they have specially reinforced shelves? They obviously have no idea just how much crap they are about to unleash on an unsuspecting public. Nor do they seem to care about the bucket of shit they're about to smear all over my reputation as a writer. I mean, to create the gems that made my name I had to wade through a lake of slurry. That's the nature of the writing game. My life as a writer was not a phenomenon. It wasn't a singular event. It was a process, which like a story had a beginning a middle and an end. And contrary to narrative causality, my beginning wasn't a great hook for the reading public. In that literary beginning, I may have got lucky with my words but sooner or later lucks runs out. A writers' development must leave luck behind (in the creation of their words) and develop their craft. And so I did. Learning with each assembled sentence, each completed passage each rejected (or published) manuscript. My first words as a literary creature were but the proud products of a newly-potty trained toddler. A milestone in life, a necessary step to onward development, but still essentially a potty full of shit. It takes time to hone and develop the scribing skills and it is a learning process that goes on for a lifetime. Even the best of us are but journeymen. As for the end, so maybe I got lucky and died face down on that final conclusive manuscript, or truly unlucky and my brain turned to still metabolising jelly. In this worst case scenario, I lost my skills and spent my final years as a dribbling geriatric infant. 'Nuff said on that score, lets focus on the middle. The realm of the great journey. Here is where I produced my great works; the ones that caught your eye and emblazoned my name on your souls. This is the realm of my literary life, of so many days spent thinking and living and writing. All of it now to be collated and collected. So let me ask you a question, and please think very hard. Was everything I wrote a gem? No. No it was not. Others will tell me the proportion, the ratio of crap to gold, but you in your quest to cash in on my fame seem to have lost your ability to appraise. So I say to you, be a prospector, pan the stream of my work and separate the gold from the dross. If I have made my name sufficient for you to consider throwing every word I ever wrote upon the publishing pile, then your task cannot be that difficult for the appraisal has gone on throughout my life. Don't, I beg you, poison my work, my legacy, my reputation by polluting the good with the bad. Sort them. Judge them. Edit them by all means, but don't mix them up to make a weak alloy. Junk the dross where it belongs: in the backroom archive, a dusty repository of interest only to academics studying my development. For in my life I wrote much that was good, but also much that was bad and indifferent. That is the nature of the literary beast. We have good days and we have bad, great words and drivel. We scribes are not Engines of Perfection. Nor should we be. So don't poison my oeuvre. Publish the selected works by all means but don't collect every last words I ever wrote. It would bury me far heavier than the earth that holds my bones. And I have no wish to spend eternity in my grave spinning dizzy with shame. February 2003 First published in Tyke Writer Chapter 11: About The Author MARK Cantrell is renowned for seeking the muse in pubs and cafes throughout Bradford, where he might be frequently seen staring into space with a fag in one hand (at least before the smoking ban) and a pen in another. That's when he's not typing furiously into his portable writing machine, or Gizmo as he likes to call it. He has trained and worked as a journalist, has been politically active, helped out with campaign work and generally sought to cannibalise whatever he can in the search for inspiration. Predominantly a journalist and novelist, he has nevertheless penned a few short stories that have been published. He also applied his hand to poetry and has self published a number of collections. These days he lives in Stoke-on-Trent and commutes to work in Manchester, where he earns his crust as a journalist for a publisher of trade journals. ### "Language is a virus from outer space," William S Burroughs "Words are the most powerful drug used by Mankind," Rudyard Kipling " A room without books is like a body without a soul," Cicero "A poet can survive anything but a misprint," Oscar Wilde ### Thanks for downloading this humble collection of words; I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you want to know about further publications then visit my website www.markcantrell.co.uk. For more of my works on Smashwords visit: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/WordZero and if you've enjoyed this collection why not share it with others by leaving a short review. tykewriter@supanet.com Contents Chapter 1: Foreword To This Edition Chapter 2: Introduction Chapter 3: Type Into The Altered State Of Mind Chapter 4: The Naked Verse Chapter 5: Taking Bradford By Storm Chapter 6: Tales Of Asylum Chapter 7: Marking Two Horrors With Poetry Chapter 8: On The Road For The Cross Cultural Espresso Chapter 9: Muses From The Primordial S[ub]lime Chapter 10: Don't Publish My Collected Works! Chapter 11: About The Author ###