Picture This - Jocelyn Page 'Shadows Point East'

During my recent spell of ill health I assembled a portfolio of photographs, Still Life. I invited some high calibre poets to respond to these photographs for a project called Picture This. I have been overwhelmed by the beautiful work I have received. I also worked with photographer and film-maker, Craig Thomas, on a short film containing a selection of these images which you can enjoy below. I feel very lucky to know poet Jocelyn Page. I was overjoyed when she chose one of my more abstract photos to inspire her poem here. Her poetry quietly and confidently beckons me in, then wakes me up to seeing the world in a whole new light.

Jocelyn Page is an American poet living in South East London. Her pamphlet smithereens was published by the tall-lighthouse in 2010. She teaches at Goldsmiths College where she is working toward a PhD on the topics of inspiration and collaboration.

Shadows Point East By the time we get to camp and our unpacking, line setting horse staking, fast eating, fireside click-clacking is through - I finally get to the words, blazed in charred shadows in my head, by then the opposite of their brilliance, like the noon sun stamps itself in the deepest black on the backs of the eyes. So nothing I write tonight, dear, will come anywhere near the idea that I had, that I had to tell you this afternoon, out stalking the west.

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Pyjama Life

It's taken as a given that writers wear all sorts of things to write in, from top hat and tails, threadbare old cardigans to absolutely nothing at all. OK so I lied about the tails. The point I'm making is that it's broadly acknowledged that what you wear whilst you are writing the great novel, symphony or latest blog post has no effect whatsoever on what you are producing. Truman Capote famously described himself as an 'horizonatal author' saying "I can’t think unless I’m lying down, either in bed or stretched on a couch and with a cigarette and coffee handy. I’ve got to be puffing and sipping."

John Cheever declared "To publish a definitive collection of short stories in one’s late 60s seems to me, as an American writer, a traditional and a dignified occasion, eclipsed in no way by the fact that a great many of the stories in my current collection were written in my underwear.”

Flannery O Connor, who lived with lupus, noted “I write only about two hours every day because that’s all the energy I have, but I don’t let anything interfere with those two hours, at the same time and the same place.”

O'Connor's quote really resonates with me. My ill health means that my energy, and accompanying symptoms, vary enormously. Good (ish) days mean that I can sit here at my desk at 1030 am and begin to write this blog. On bad days after getting up and making breakfast I am back in bed before lunchtime my head spinning, limbs leaden and heavy, exhausted just by sitting up and not able to read or listen to music as everything sets off intense dizzy spells.

And that's why on the days I don't venture out of the house (which are the majority at present) I prefer to stay in my ultra comfortable pj's with my cosy dressing gown bought for me by a very kind friend. Another friend, not alone in his opinion, was well meaning but ill informed. He said he was worried that my experience of ill health (and my attitude to it) could be exacerbated by my choice not to get dressed. I know he was concerned that I would define myself by my illness and nothing else. For him, putting on sweatpants and an old t-shirt made him feel tired and less inclined to do anything.

In fact he does have a point. One of the reasons I wear pyjamas is because it IS relaxing. When my energy drops it feels like the floor has gone from under me and I have to lie down immediately. There's no energy left for undressing or for getting in to something more comfortable. It would be like getting prepared to faint. This way I know that whatever the time of day I am always ready to take care of myself. I am dressed for the job of getting well, or at least not getting more ill.

Conversely I have also managed to achieve a fair amount from my bed. Before this current chapter of ill health I worked from home as a freelancer. One of my many assignments was working in online marketing. I can now confess the majority of this work was undertaken in clothes that would make 'dress down friday' look like I was dressing for the Oscars. These days the majority of my creative output is undertaken without the formality of underwear.

There's an important point to made here about the bridge between those living at home with with chronic illness and writers who often work in solitude. It's this - there's a honesty and self care in both ways of being. For me, the knowledge that I belong to both tribes helps me realise that I'm not alone.

By now you'll have a pretty good idea what I'm wearing to compose this post. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Picture This - A F Harrold 'Just This'

During my recent spell of ill health I assembled a portfolio of images, Still Life. I invited some high calibre poets to respond to these photographs for a project called Picture This. I have been overwhelmed by the beautiful work I have received. I also worked with photographer and film-maker Craig Thomas on a short film containing a selection of these images. An empty chair has a poetry all its own. Today's poet, the highly esteemed A F Harrold, has written a touching and elegant piece that brought a tear to my eye when I first read it.

A.F. Harrold is an English poet who writes and performs for adults and children.

Just This

Autumn days seem longer when the low sun slinks,

before mists rise up and afternoon puts evening on.

There are spaces in them, crisp and airy where no bird sings,

which open simply into a long view of all that’s gone.

Picture This - Aisling Fahey 'Lock'

Since autumn of last year I have been unwell with chronic fatigue and have spent the majority of my time housebound. For someone who spent most of her days doing a hundred and one things (and now I realise a hundred too many) this has been a huge period of adjustment and not one I welcomed. As a writer and a photographer my creative expression has often given me stability in more fragile times. For the first few months of my illness I had little mental stamina and also suffered from 'brain fog'. My usual refuge of both writing and reading poetry was not available to me. I felt like I was stranded on a life raft with no sign of land. I finally had to learn to acquaint myself with stillness and silence. Previously my life had all been about movement and the constant preoccupation that I was not going fast enough. My fatigue put an emergency stop to all my frantic activity. In quieter moments I am grateful for this opportunity to stop and experience what being without doing actually feels like. Other times it is a hellish struggle and I mourn for the pleasure of being busy that, what is now, 'my old life' offered.

On better days I am able to pick up my camera and go in to the garden, or on short local walks. I have found the sublime beauty in repetition, something that I would have never encountered before. I have also began to enjoy getting really close to my subject matter, whether it be a dry twig in winther months or a brass hinge on the garden door. These forgotten details seem to say something about my current emotional and physical state. There is something very meditative about re-visiting the same subject matter and finding new ways to look at the familiar. I am learning that even when there appears to be no movement or change there is still transformation.

As the weeks passed I realised that I had created a portfolio of images on a theme. As any good hairdresser will tell you there is nothing like a good pun and so I entitled this portfolio 'Still Life'. I also worked with photographer and film-maker Craig Thomas on a short film containing a selection of these images. It was not long after I assembled the images in one place that I decided to invite some high calibre poets to respond to the images for a project called 'Picture This'.

The first poet to be featured is the inexhaustibly talented Aisling Fahey. Aisling has a way of telling the truth that breaks through the isolation of pain. I am honoured to have her take part.

Lock Perhaps you know where you are going, always have. Sceptics who call you lost don’t know that the ground is a map underneath your searching feet you will find your way.

Or perhaps this was all rushed - you left without a coat, keys in a heap on the floor, light catching dust particles through the slit in the curtain.

That is what makes me worry, that your compass is now a cross and you carry new destinations on your back like lead weight. You try to plan a route home, but the gravel gets caught underneath the heel of your shoe.

Happy Birthday 'The Conversational' on Reel Rebels Radio

Happy Birthday 'The Conversational' - a year old today on National Poetry Day! You can catch up on the archives here

Here's some of the wonderful guests who have appeared on the show:

Raymond Antrobus, Dzifa Benson, Matthew Caley , Nathan Penlington, Zena Edwards, Tim Wells, Salena Godden, Ash Sarkar , Inua Ellams, Francesca Beard, Tshaka Campbell, Jacob Sam-La Rose, Rob Story, Dan Cockrill, Richard Tyrone Jones, Joelle Taylor, Anthony Anaxagorou, Nick Field, Dorothea Smartt, Polarbear, Vanessa Kisuule, Karen McCarthyWoolf, Jacqueline Saphra, Courttia Newland, Aoife Mannix, Niall O'Sullivan, Kayo Chingonyi, Comfort Onit Cydelle, Gemma Weekes, Thabanittbone Nyoni, Aisling Fahey, Nadia Khomami, and Zionite Poet !

Listen to today's 'The Conversational' National Poetry Day Special at 7pm with star guests - Malika Booker, Anthony Joseph and Yemisi Blake.

Around Camden in 5 Photos - a photography walk

Around Camden in 5 Photos – A photography walk Sunday 9th October

Start the new Jewish year with photographer and teacher Naomi Woddis as she shows you how you don’t need to have extensive technical skill or a flashy camera to be a great photographer. On a walking trip of the more hidden parts of Camden we’ll be finding stories everywhere – looking at sequence and how to create meaning and narrative in our photos.

The workshop is not about technical skills but instead about developing a photographer’s ‘eye’ - you’ll find imaginative and unusual ways to capture how we look at the world.

Please bring your camera – any model will do - from SLR to iPhone to disposable… Naomi’s last walk was a sell out so please book early!

Book here !

Food for Thought - Writing with Letters

This is the first in an occasional series where I'll be looking at the work of writers, performers and artists I admire. This week it's esteemed poet Karen McCarthy Woolf whose upcoming workshop, 'Inside Art, Writing with Letters' will give experienced and less experienced writers a chance to explore how letter writing can contribute to the creative process. You can hear some of her work on a recent edition of my radio show 'The Conversational'.

Karen has been working with fellow poet Miriam Nash in a creative correspondence. I asked Karen a little about letter writing and what promises to be a very rewarding workshop. What is it about letter writing that is so freeing and expressive for the creative process ?

Writing a letter is inherently intimate and also direct. A letter is about something and addressed to a person. Letters also meander, often quite beautifully. The form seems to prompt people to talk in detail about their surroundings, their emotions, opinions, hopes and desires. I think this happens because letters are like conversations, but they happen over long periods of time. One of the joys of a letter is you get to have your say without interruption! Unlike email, or even text these days, you can't see a trail, and most importantly you have to wait. When you work with letter writing creatively, that waiting, and the letting go of the content as you send something off with no copies, can feel quite liberating.

How did the idea for this workshop come about ?

Miriam sent me an email about some 'snail mail' letter writing workshops she was running and I was immediately drawn to the idea. At the time I was recovering from a traumatic bereavement, and could barely go online. I received many cards and letters from people and I was deeply touched and also inspired by their content. I was also fascinated by the idea that people tend to send a physical object - a letter, card or flowers at these times. So I emailed Miriam with a note and invited her to collaborate with me in a creative correspondence on my blog (which was a commission from Spread the Word), which explores what happens when we share our creative process online. Our correspondence soon became one of the most important elements in my writing practice and Miriam and I have become dear friends. We send each other notes, poems, freewrites, drawings (mainly Miriam's, it's not my strongest suit) and lots of little presents and objects. The other day I sent Miriam a little packet of saffron from Spain. She has sent me sachets of sugar she collected from cafes in Geneva. We both wrote poems about our grandfathers. We also talk about our preoccupations as writers and it has been a very useful process in terms of identifying ongoing themes and concerns in my work. One of my letter poems, 'Wing', was recently published in Poetry Review and the poem only really 'found itself' once it was in the letter form. What can participants expect to get from the workshop ?

I can't promise people will write poems that get published in Poetry Review (!) but I do think that the workshops will be a rich creative springboard that will help writers of all genres develop their voice and to write pieces that are more intimate and authentic in tone. I hope that over the course of the workshops we will kickstart lots of new drafts or ideas for new poems, stories or creative collaborations. We will be corresponding with a group of writers from Singapore who are attending Miriam's mirror workshop. So we will send and receive letters to and from strangers overseas and there will be an opportunity to showcase some of our work on Open Notebooks. I am very excited about the opportunity to introduce letter writing as a creative practice and explore it a little as a form.

How close is close ?

For the past few weeks I have been taking photographs for my upcoming exhibition, Poetry Snapshots. It's got me thinking about what it is to take a portrait. I have the advantage of knowing some of the photographic subjects very welI and wonder how much this closeness contributes to the final portrait. I found this quote by one of my favourite photographers, Nan Goldin.I never took pictures with a long lens, it is always short and I have to get close to people I photograph.

Goldin's portraits are very close indeed, including a sequence of a couple's love-making. Although my portraits are not that intimate I realise I do look at the images I capture with a lover's gaze. I shoot a lot and spend hours post-processing poring over the subtle changing expressions in the facial musculature. I'm a bit of a face detective awaiting the moment the person is revealed behind the persona. For this reason locations are less important to me than the light playing on a person's skin, and in their eyes.

It's been very rewarding spending these pockets of time with some of London's best spoken word performers. The conversations have varied from the playful to the political with everything in between. And an exhibition of this kind would not be complete without a performance to launch it ! Come and join us.

Seeking Balance

It's new year and whilst some are fortifying themselves with to do lists and exercise I feel like I'm trawling through the undergrowth. A murky place where, nightly, I'm taken back to the moment on October 7th last year when I was thrown off my bike and dragged 30 feet under a car in rush hour traffic. I feel the weight of the car's bumper and bonnet on top of me again, the blood streaming in to my right eye from the deep gash on my forehead. But mostly I feel the icy terror of not being able to move, of not knowing whether these moments trapped under the front end of a car would be my last. And then on waking more nighmarish thoughts, my skeleton crushed under the wheels of a bus, a delivery van, even a decapitation. Me in pieces scattered, limb and bone, across a morning street. Last night I gave my final statement to the City of London police. They took me to my bike, a cage in a damp underground car-park, where abandoned bicycles slowly rusted. One bright green, red and white frame was knotted in on itself as if it had been made out of wax and not an aluminum alloy. It's rider had not survived. The cop who took my statement told me that most bike fatalities are caused by lorries. He also told me that he'd only had to deal with two serious accidents last year. One of them being mine, and that he was amazed at how few injuries I had sustained.

This could explain my flashbacks, I had a strong sense of being close to death. I wonder if for 35 years I was cycling on London's potentially lethal streets in permanent denial. Perhaps I just had an exaggerated confidence in my ability to avoid accident or injury. Not everyone is as lucky as I was. I wrote the paragraphs above before the tragic death of former British boxing champion Gary Mason in a cycling accident. I signed this petition today and I'd encourage you to do the same.

As a teenager I craved a sense of freedom and independence and knew that with a bike I could get to and from anywhere at any time of day or night without having to rely on anyone else. It was the truest form of feminist transport I could find. Riding across the Thames at night I was a pioneer, never losing my love for the sense of flying it gave me, seduced by a fluid dance of girl and machine. Cycling was everything to me.

A friend has lent me a 24 speed hybrid, light as a feather with gear changes that purr and breaks as quiet as a lover's whisper. But my heart shudders at the thought of riding it. I've been on it twice, along quiet local streets, nothing like the London-wide trips I was used to taking. My heart racing like a sprinter, every docile car I see chugging it's way over speed bumps is a dangerous tank. In truth my heart is a little bit broken, it's the first fight with a lover after the honeymoon has ended.

Cycling for so many years I had forgotten the silent joy of reading a book on the top deck of a bus, or a long journey on the tube. One of my favourite novelists is an Irish writer based in New York City called Colum McCann. I'm reading his most recent novel 'Let The Great World Spin' which uses Philippe Petit's death-defying tightrope walk between the Two Towers as a central image. Without even mentioning 9/11 the book is about the tangle of life and death, the collapse of the towers and the victory of the impossible against all odds.

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Petit is an exceptional man, his philosophy on living summed up by his comment "Life should be lived on the edge of life. You have to exercise rebellion: to refuse to tape yourself to rules, to refuse your own success, to refuse to repeat yourself, to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge - and then you are going to live your life on a tightrope."

In seeking balance one has to fall. Perhaps for all those years I was flying on my bike I was living my life on a tightrope. I just did not see it was there until I tumbled from it.

All That's Good

Perhaps you have over-indulged a little over the holidays or you are enjoying some well deserved chill out time, whatever you do why not feed yourself with all that's good for the soul and listen to 'The Conversational' on Reel Rebels Radio for those who love words in all their guises, presented by Jude Cowan and myself.

December's show features the wonderful Inua Ellams, Francesca Beard and Tim Wells, in DJ guise, playing some of his favourite tunes - Wednesday December 29th at 730pm.

You can hear it here