ISSUE 303 Date: 13th September 2013

LIFE OBSERVATIONS

You would be amazed what you can achieve merely by not being afraid to ask for some-thing nicely. (Notice I refrained from splitting that infinitive.)

A friend and I had a great time seeing Leonard Cohen at the LG Arena in Birmingham ... it was like sitting above field of nodding grey headed dandelions. The flower-power children of the 1960s had suddenly gotten old and were forgetting finding peace-and-love, finding the loo had now become the greatest pre-occupation for some. New babies are VERY small, but the noise they are able to make is out of all proportion to their size! When two groups of senior citizens are holding workshops in the same small space at the same time it is obvious bedlam will ensue. Insults do nothing to adhere govt contracted administrators to the local electorate. Noticed with fascination a young man who took out a snack-sized box of raw broccoli and preceded to munch it with relish as he worked on his laptop on the late night train out of New Street. Clearly the five-a-day message is getting through ...

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Transference n in psychotherapy, the unconscious tendency to assign to others in one's present environment feelings and attitudes associated with significance in one's early life,

especially the patient's transfer to the therapist of feelings and attitudes associated with a parent.

In psychoanalysis, the process by which emotions associated with one person, such as a parent, unconsciously shift to another, especially to the analyst. Transference was first de-

scribed by Sigmund Freud, who acknowledged its importance for psychoanalysis for better understanding of the patient's feelings. (Analyst Related: see also counter-transference)

A) the shifting of symptoms from one part of the body to another, as occurs in conversion

disorder. B) (in psychiatry) an unconscious defence mechanism whereby feelings and attitudes origi-nally associated with important people and events in one's early life are attributed to oth-

ers in current interpersonal situations, including psychotherapy. The phenomenon is used as a tool in understanding the emotional problems of the patient and their origins.

Writers can use transference in exploring complicated interpersonal relationships. There was an example I came across recently in a piece of writing when a small person showed

aggression towards a weaker person in a confined space because of their own fear of two unknown people who were strangers from another country and belief system and thus to-

tally alien to the protagonist‘s previous personal experience. Obviously, they couldn‘t attack the two alien unknowns so they transferred their fear and aggression onto a more familiar

weaker and totally innocent victim. It didn‘t end well for many of the characters. Transference is usually done unconsciously and is unrecognised by the perpetrator or their

victim who only sees and responds to the actions with no knowledge of the reasons behind it. Bullying is often a sign of transference of a multitude of emotions: rage, fear, anger etc.

Cover

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2013: RBW FREE e-books PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu.com

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=78

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Steph’s & Clive’s FREE e- books published

on

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and on RBW main site

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

2012: RBW FREE e-books

PUBLISHED on RBW and issuu.com

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=52

http://issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

Random Words: time, circuit, sage, campaign, walking, splurge, coincidence, denouement Assignment: Craft

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=79

Pray good sirs if our verses did offend Worry not, no more we‘ll send If our ditties weren‘t up to snuff Tell us no more, once was enough. Taking offence that‘s what we‘ll do For we don‘t give a fig for you There ain‘t much trouble now at Mill But Midland voices ring out still Just ‗cos them clever folk in southern climes Don‘t know our tongue with our strange rhymes On the net we‘re right well known 55,000 readers on laptops and iphone So take your rejection of our book and place it in any receptacle or nook where it will comfortably fit. Sincerely Yours, an Aged Wit.

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Submissions for the RBW 2014 Short Story Collection

Roads Less Travelled are now invited.

All contributors must be registered with RBW Library Workshop or be weekly

email

pdf recipients Submit in the usual way.

Closing date for submissions 30th Nov 2013

RBW team are delighted to announce the RBW

2013 comedy, King Harffa and the Slightly Ob-

long Table of Trentby, which has a knavish

chuckle at the expense of our Arthurian heritage,

has now been published as a free e-book on

Facebook,

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and the main RBW website:

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=78

RBW team are delighted to announce the

RBW 2013 memories collection, has

been published this week as a free e-

book on Facebook,

www.issuu.com/risingbrookwriters

and the main RBW website:

http://www.risingbrookwriters.org.uk/

DynamicPage.aspx?PageID=79

Have you sent in your submissions for FOOTPRINTS the RBW 2014 poetry collection?

Joy Winkler's new verse/drama TOWN Autumn Tour Nantwich (Sept 25), Chester (Oct 4), Alsager (Oct 15), Manchester (Nov 9)

Rosie knows that her questions are dangerous. Aunty will hang them out like dead moles on the back fence. The stench will turn milk sour.

―Alan Bennett would have enjoyed it.‖ TOWN is the moving tale of Rosie’s quest to find her birth mother, helped by a

stranger and the magic of the town‘s annual Festival. Dragons on bicycles, devils playing guitars and ‗a bit of magic after all these years‘. This is only part of what the Festival brings

to town and what makes its Midsummer parade a glittering backdrop to a story which will warm your heart.

―Lively, bawdy, a verbal Beryl Cook fleshes out the secret worlds pulsing under the surface of an ordinary county town.‖

Joy Winkler performs her innovative verse/drama with live music accompaniment com-

posed and played by Andrew Rudd. Both former Cheshire Poets Laureate, Joy and An-drew toured recently with the groundbreaking shows 'Bunch of Fives' and 'Fourpenny Circus'.

―Tremendous performance of great narrative and immediate imagery. A triumph.‖

―TOWN expresses everyone‘s inner desire to discover who they truly are.‖

Film backdrop produced by Ian Coppack features additional artwork by Carl Longmate and Karen Rossart. TOWN was directed by Kevin Dyer and supported using public funding by

the National Lottery through Arts Council England.

AUTUMN TOUR DATES

Each event features a performance of TOWN after a poetry reading by Andrew Rudd. SEPT 25th, 7.30-10.00PM, Willaston Social Club, 7 Wistas-

ton Rd, Willaston, NANTWICH, CW5 6PU –Tickets £5/£4. To book: email nantwich.poets@btconnect.com or call 07808

902300. Kindly hosted by Nantwich Poets @ Willas-ton. Performance followed by an open mic session. OCT 4th, 7.30-9.30PM, St Mary's Church. Crewe

Road, ALSAGER ST7 2EW - Promoted by Alsager Music and Arts in conjunction with Biddulph Literary Society. Tickets: £7.50 including refreshments, contact Craig Pickering

on bidliterarysoc@hotmail.co.uk or 01782 523277 or call Alsager Library 01270 375325 OCT 15th, 1.00-2.00PM, CHESTER Town Hall - Tickets £5. Come

along for a lunchtime performance of TOWN only (running time 45 mins) via Chester Literature Festival or in person at Visitor Information Centre near Town Hall.

NOV 9th, 7.00-8.30PM, IABF, MANCHESTER M1 5BY. Tickets £6/£5, To book: call 01625 612527 or 07710 409080

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Winter Is Coming.

As it is starting to get colder at night and winter is rapidly ap-

proaching, there isn’t much left to harvest now on my plot

with all the more tender crops already removed. Most of the

root vegetables will stand being left in the ground for a while

yet with some best being left in the soil until actually wanted,

even when frosts are about. This is true of the Jerusalem Arti-

chokes that I have started to dig, although I have taken the

tops off in case of frost that would have caused rot to set in and might have affected

the tubers. We are rapidly eating the larger tubers as they are being dug up and

some of the smaller ones are being left in as seed for next season. Perhaps each

plant has not produced as much crop as a potato would, but they did go in late and

haven’t done too badly. The small number of spare, little seed tubers, are being

passed round the site as people express an interest in them and want to try growing

some themselves. Jerusalem Artichokes are not frequently seen on sale in Garden

Centres and can be quite expensive to buy initially. Once you have set them in your

plot though, you will have them forevermore as they are almost impossible to eradi-

cate! If you do plant some do remember that the leafy tops grow a lot taller than po-

tatoes, easily up to 5 or 6 feet and put in the wrong place will cast shadow on other

plants.

Now that my plot is emptying, I am thinking about next year and where things are

going to go. I am trying to plan it so that there is some sort of rotation with differ-

ent types of crops being planted in particular patches after each other. This will

hopefully go some way to preventing all sorts of problems, not least being pests

and diseases that would be more difficult to eradicate on our organic site. Also of

course we are limited on the types of fertilizers that we use, so again some sort of

crop variance will help rest the soil. With this in mind I have just set out a smallish

strawberry bed and planted up 24 runners, taken from half a dozen plants at home,

that I had potted and grown on until a suitable spot for them had been emptied on

my plot. As I planted them, I scattered some pelleted chicken manure that is permit-

ted under the organic rules

My Chicory was really planted too late in the season, so I have covered it with a

home made horticultural Fleece mini-tunnel in an attempt to get a bit more growth

out of it before it gets too cold to grow. The very long Cloche was made by pushing

slightly bent, inverted wire coat hangers into the soil, along the length of the row

and then covering them with a cheap roll of horticultural fleece that was dug in all

round to hold it down.

I did plant a second crop of Kohl Rabi that has matured nicely and we are happily

cutting, some to eat and some to give away to other people as well. All 60 or 70

plants will have to be pulled before any real frost, or else they will spoil, so with so

many, they are going to take some getting through before a frost, even eating one a

day!

Thinking About Vegetables In The Winter.

After harvesting most of the 4 types of Beans that I had grown, I left the dwarf red beans to

over develop and dry off naturally on the plants. Normally, you would do this to save the seed

for next year, but in this case the packet had said that the beans could be dried at the end of

the season and then stored in plastic tubs and used in the lean winter months as “Haricot”

beans. Unfortunately for me, the late wet spell meant that although they did develop and

some did dry, many pods went black and the beans rotted inside. Consequently many had to

be discarded and I was left with only a few times more beans than I actually sowed in the first

place. Remembering that they were late going in I think they will be a good crop for my sec-

ond season and will prove very worthwhile because unlike other beans they won’t need freez-

ing to store them for later use after all the fresh vegetables have long gone.

My small crop of Pink Fir Apple potatoes have nearly all been eaten with only some very tiny

tubers left at the bottom of the bucket in the garage. So far they are showing no signs of

shrivelling or mould, so I am hoping to over winter them and plant them in shallow trays of

soil, (or “Chit” them) in the greenhouse in early spring. It has always struck me that potato

tubers are expensive to buy and Pink Fir Apple are not always available, so being able to re-

plant them next season from my own leftovers will be a great saving.

My Beetroot have long gone and all been eaten, but I still have a large number of Turnips in

the ground and some ordinary orange coloured Carrots, (not the Purple one which soon got

eaten or given away!) along with a few Jerusalem Artichokes. Back in the Summer I had

toyed with the idea of making a “Clamp,” to store my surplus crops in just as people used to

do in the olden days before modernisation.

Described in very simple terms, a “Clamp” is

made by storing clean and dry root vegetables

piled up and mixed in straw to stop them rot-

ting. The resulting mound is then covered in a

thick layer of soil to keep out the elements and

especially the frost.

Some crops obviously don’t need any winter

protection at all as they are still growing. Indeed

my Leeks are growing well now the weather has

turned cooler and wetter, even if they are a little

late developing and the Purple Curly Kale that I thought was

planted too early, is re-growing nicely. When I cut the tops off, a

few weeks ago, I left a stout length of stalk in the ground and it

seems that by doing this, I now have a second crop developing

nicely on the old stems. The same trick can be done with Lettuce

growing in the summer months!

―Pray what be thee working on now, my beloved husband?‖ Anne Hathaway asked. ―Be it comedy, tragedy or history play?‖ ―Why none of those three. Methinks I shall compose a nativity play‖, William Shakespeare replied.

―By heavens! It behoves me to caution you to think again. Are you so discon-tent with your bardic reputation as to jeopardize it with such petty trivia?‖ ―Wife, do not badger me. If this be my desire, then what is that to thee? Why, methinks thy couldst hold a world record in nagging.‖ And he muttered a rhyming couplet under his breath. ―Sorrel, campion, vetch and loosestrife. None as bitter as a wife‖. (PMW random words)

Assignment: Indian Summer. For our Rising Brook Writers assignment I often write a short rhyme About the subject we‘re given- And it‘s no different this time. ―Indian Summer‖ was the topic We were lumbered with this week. I try to think outside the box And come up with something unique. Some folk will no doubt talk about Those lovely bonus days We sometimes get in autumn, When in the sun we laze. Some others of us may describe A holiday to Goa. But as I‘ve never been there, I really wouldn‘t knowa. Instead, I thought I‘d share with you A quite amazing fact. Here‘s something that you never knew Here‘s knowledge that you lacked. In India, on the Indus The first was called Panini. He lived so many years ago, Around the fourth century BC. Since then, way more than seventy Have followed this patrician. He led the way, this famous, learned Indian mathematician.

A 2004 Indian stamp honouring Panini, the great Sanskrit scholar

Wikipedia image

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Bizarre

Head held high and laughing,

Sweet smile beams from front page.

Spaghetti-straps and crinkly pleats

At just two years of age!

Diamond for adornment,

Dad’s hold is firm and strong,

Pics for paparazzi,

Satisfy the throng.

Turn a few brief pages,

A boy of ten alone,

Holding deadly missile,

Completely on his own.

Dusty, dirty, dangerous,

Fight for freedom long,

Pictures from a battlefield,

Something is clearly wrong.

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Bee declines: MPs attack government for opposing pesticide ban

The government says evidence does not point to risks to pollinators that would justify proposed EU wide neonicotinoids restrictions

http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2013/sep/10/bee-declines-government-

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/0c/

Children_In_iraq-iran_war3.jpg Cameraman unknown

A performance in progress at the Swan theatre in London in 1596. Arnoldus Buchelius (Aernout van Buchel) (1565-1641), after a drawing of Johannes

de Witt (1566-1622). Utrecht, University Library, Ms. 842, fol. 132r.

Wikipedia image http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/English_Renaissance_theatre

“ A plague on both your

houses,” says the Master of the

Revels closing the London

theatres ... thus forcing starving actors

onto the road

Elizabethan strolling players meets the hard-

boiled pulp fiction style of the 1930s ...

A challenge for RBW’ next block buster

Tambourine (Kit Marlowe & the silver challis mystery)

A liberty-bodice ripping murder mystery

set in the bawdy times of the Bard of Avon.

Prepare yesels me hearties read up on Philip Marlowe/

Sam Spade and the life and times of Shakespeare,

Christopher Marlowe/The King’s Men and you’ll be

ready for the off. Characters from Where There’s a

Will There’s a Weigh will also be popping up.

YES Rick Fallon and Tip-Tip McGee are back!

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Year 1564 : The Cast : The Queen‘s Men : a group of strolling players thrown out of London where the theatres have been closed due to an outbreak of plague Kit Marlowe (soon to be private-eye), Harry Swann (the first victim who first told the story of the poisoned silver challis), Vesta Swann, Moll Rippsheet, Samuel Burball (Owner), Peter Pecksniff, Daniel Alleynes, young Hal who plays the girl‘s roles very badly, Mistress Hood The Boar‘s Head Tavern, Trentby: Bertha Buckett landlady, Vera Golightly, Gloria Goodnight wenches The Trentby Abbey of St Jude : Abbot Ranulf knows something about the missing Roman hoard of silver plate/challis etc The Manor of Bluddschott : sodden Squire Darnley Bluddschott, wife Mis-tress Anne, daughter Penelope about to be sold off into matrimony The evil Sheriff‘s Castle : Squire Humphrey Pettigrew, Black Knight Lord Haywood, man-at-arms Richard of Hyde Leigh, a constable and a scribe Modern Day: Rick Fallon and Tommy Tip-Tip McGee Private eyes in Trentby — on case for Sir Kipling Aloysius Bluddschott - to locate silver challis and Roman hoard of Trentby Abbey + an unknown corpse To give the tale a twist we want to attempt to take what seems like an historical fiction novel and write it as if it‘s a hard-boiled 1930‘s pulp fiction romp. It might not work but we‘ll give at a go and see what happens...

If any historians among us have written anything on these times and the theatres in particular when this would be useful for background. Suggest we all read some Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, James

M. Cain and other Black Mask writers, of the hard-boiled school of detective fiction e.g. The Big Sleep, Farewell, my Lovely, The Lit-tle Sister, The Long Goodbye etc ―Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.‖ ... It‘s a good place for ideas to

start. Image: Bogart the quintessential Philip Marlowe

And so it begins ... Samuel Burball, a leading light – or so he claimed - of ―The Queen Players‖ was

busy losing his breakfast, and it felt like his toe nails, onto the yard of the pub. ‗What‘s up wi‘ you then Sam? Never seen a deader before?‘ Peter Pecksniff, his erst-

while companion and fellow thespian, asked as he lent, nonchalantly, against a handy wall, at least he tried for nonchalantly, but the colour of his face told another story. ‗Not a pretty sight am it?‘

Standing upright Sam managed to get his errant stomach under a semblance of control. ‗Don‘t you recognise him Peter? It‘s Harry Swann, that new fellow. You must know him; he‘s the one who plays the heavy parts and any odd leaning on a spear parts that there are about.‘

‗Yer! Come to think of so he was. Not half the fellow he used to be now though, and Mistress Hood‘ll go mad. All that blood‘ll ruin that costume.‘ He stooped over what re-mained of the body of their fellow actor. ‗I wonder where the rest of him is? Nought much left below the waist an‘ his right arm‘s a missin‘. Not seen the like since the bat-tle of … well never mind young feller, you‘ll see worse afore yer dies.‘

‗But what do we do now Peter?‘ ‗Nothin‘ I sent the stable lad off ter fetch the Constable and I ‗spects as how he‘ll

raise the hue and cry. The useless pillock does daft things like that, and we‘ll have ter spend hours answerin‘ stupid questions. Best we gets some grub inside us afore we slung in the lock-up as masterless men.‘

‗But we‘re not! Masterless I mean.‘ ‗You knows that. I knows that! But that bullock of a Constable don‘t know that and

it‘ll tek a sight of argument ter get us out of the cell. Now a glass of wine and some food!‘

Leaving the stable yard empty, they went inside to prepare for a hard day.

http://gallery.nen.gov.uk/

asset58446_107-.html

The Constable arrived after Nones Mass had finished, he was grumbling about hav-ing his Sunday disturbed. A large, balding, man with an unruly greying beard that bristled in all directions, a topers red nose and clothes that; had they managed to survive the unusual experience, needed washing. At his heels trotted a thin, nonde-script, clerk carrying a document satchel. The pair were obviously was used to run-ning in the odd drunk and, if sufficiently rewarded, adept at turning a blind eye.

‗Nar! What‘s all this about a murder then! Who done it and why?‘ Where his open-ing remarks.

Both Peter Pecksniff and Samuel Burball took an instant dislike to him. A brainless bully but with the power to make life uncomfortable.

‗His name was Harry Swann, Constable. What‘s left of his body is in the stable yard behind the midden.‘ Samuel said.

‗What yer mean, what‘s left of ‗im? ‗E‘s dead inna ‗e? Dead men don‘t get up an‘ walk away; leastwise none as I‘ve seen. An who‘m you pair telling me ‗e‘s dead. I‘m the one who sez that someone‘s official dead. Clerk get their names darn fer the Jus-tices ter see.‘

The pair introduced themselves. It was obvious that the clerk was as incompetent as his superior. The vellum roll he used was almost as grey as the ink he had in his inkwell and his script was unreadable. Once satisfied that he had the thespians names down the clerk let the roll go, it snapped up into its usual tight roll thus smear-ing the ink all over both surfaces of the vellum.

Taking a large draft of the quart pot of ale that the innkeeper had, unbidden but with commendable foresight, brought to him the Constable belched and stretched saying, ‗Right. Let‘s tek a look at the corse you‘m found and then I‘ll tek yer down the lock up and we can ‗ave a trial termorrer. Hangin‘ days nex‘ Thursday so yer wunt have ter hang about too long.‘ He chuckled at his own wit.

‗Ohh, I don‘t think so Constable. I don‘t think so at all,‘ Peter Pecksniff replied, his diction changed from his usual lazy country drawl to that of a noble. ‗You may be right about the lock-up and trial part but you‘re wrong about who will be on trail. One

thing is certain, it won‘t be us. It could be you though.‘

YESTERDAY: Trentby High Street. An office over the dry cleaners.

Rick Fallon‘s one eye opened. The other eye was stuck closed on the plate of soggy chips he‘d fallen asleep on. Vinegar was stinging. Tommy-k was soaking into his un-shaven jaw. There was a persistent ringing in his head. Buzz-buzz like angry bees. He felt across the desk for the phone: a numb arm bounced along behind banana fingers patting the clutter as if the detritus of his train-wreck of a life was important.

That was strange. That was peculiar indeed. He lifted his head and through the vale of tears that

was his office: his one eye focused on the strange thing his hand had touched. It was hair. It was a strange man‘s hair. It was a dead strange man‘s hair. Fallon sobered up fast. ‗Hello,‘ he said into the mouthpiece spitting chip fat from off his lip. ‗Fallon and

McGee, how may I help you?‘ ‗It‘s me,‘ said a familiar voice. ‗We‘ve got a case.‘ ‗That‘s nice,‘ he replied in a voice resembling a corn-crake on speed. ‗Tell me later

Tommy. I‘m a bit ...‘ Tommy laughed. The Glaswegian didn‘t break into mirth that often, it was unnerv-

ing when he did. ‗I‘m no surprised after last night, pal. Did ya find out anything of interest?‘

Fallon swallowed. He was working last night? It was news to him. ‗Remind me,‘ he said suppressing the urge to make a deposit of his supper into the

waste paper bin, the only thing stopping him being the fact they didn‘t own a waste paper bin. He faced the body. It was still there. He hadn‘t got DTs. He wasn‘t deliri-ous. There was a dead bloke leaning on his desk. He had spent the night with a corpse. A corpse who wasn‘t there when he‘d fallen in from his diversion to the late night chippy across the road. Surely he‘d have noticed. Surely ...

‗How much did ya take on board?‘ reprimanded Tommy which was a bit rich on many levels. ‗Bluddschott Manor, Sir Kipling Aloysius Bluddschott. The surveillance job.‘

A light was flickering in the dark spaces between his grease-smeared ears and try-ing to fight its way into his consciousness.

‗The silver challis.‘ ‗The silver challis and the Roman hoard of Trentby Abbey,‘ elaborated Tommy (Tip-

Tip) McGee, he almost sounded jovial, which was deeply worrying. Fallon preferred Tommy when he was his usual miserable and monosyllabic self. Tommy full of glee was going to be difficult to handle when his good mood evaporated, which would be any time now.

‗Got a bit of a situation here, Tommy,‘ he said pushing the body with his shoe in the desperate hope it would spring into life.

‗Ock aye, what would that be?‘ the voice had turned into all the subtlety of his

usual broken-glass accent as if all the joy had been sucked out of this world. ‗Some joker‘s dumped a body in the office!‘ Tommy‘s response wasn‘t pretty, but it was an accurate description of how both

men felt at that precise moment, thought Fallon.

Mary, as always when doing her laundry, her hands busy in the sink stared through her laminated picture window out towards the meadow and its dominant perpendicular Lombardy Poplar tree. Even when, as today, it was spitting with rain, the view was still worth seeing. The builder had disapproved of this expanse of glass wanting to fit cot-tage-style windows into this old farmhouse but she accepted no excuses even if it was an abdication of good taste, and what did he know anyway about the light and air she loved, being a self-confessed troglodyte? Fancy moving out of a lovely new home into one of those cave houses carved out of Kinver sandstone. He must be mad, but to each his own! Give her a view any day of the week! (PCJ)

Old Shaky was right upset when he found the half dead badger crawling

along the roadside with her cubs following behind like some awful version

of nativity. At first he thought it had been run over, but with a closer exami-

nation he saw the gaping flank wound. He buried her beneath a bank of

wild loose-strife as was behove its right and with tears running off an an-

cient nose despatched the cubs as a kindness to save them from the linger-

ing death of starvation. A former armed forces world-record holder for un-

armed combat, Thomas Shakespeare of the Special Boat Service wasn’t that

far gone in his faculties that the gross injustice being imposed upon the

wild creatures of his woodland realms didn’t rankle. Was it any wonder that

the balance was addressed that night by the knight of the road with his

quiet weapons of choice: his bare hands. Three hunters silenced in as many

minutes and across the southern counties a dark stillness once again fell

amongst the trees. Suddenly the licensed killing spree didn’t seem quite as

lucrative when there was a deadly avenger lurking in the undergrowth.

(SMS)

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-gloucestershire-23955074 Angry protests as 5,000 badgers are being shot over six weeks in a bid to curb bovine TB.

Issue 303

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The evil of drink. PP He had no idea about either politics or the natural world. He thought a trog-

lodyte was someone who infiltrated the Labour Party and was responsible for splitting the party in the seventies. As for nature he could only name one tree

-The Christmas tree and so he believed all trees would come with little round wooden stumps attached.

Do not judge too harshly. He had a difficult childhood. Whilst other children skipped through wild flowers in the meadow he was made to sit on the step outside pubs waiting for his mother to stagger out of the snug. Few people have experienced a woman in a stout fuelled rage but it is a scary sight. A bottle of Vimto and a packet of Smith‘s crisps was little compensation for his suffering and humiliation.

His Mother was the dominant figure. The Father had left long ago being un-willing to carry out her arbitrary orders such as "Set fire to the neighbor‘s fence!" She dominated her son making him hand over his wage packet. In re-turn she provided bread and dripping sandwiches and gave what she consid-

ered useful advice such as "Keep away from that Alice down the road: she‘s not particular about the perpendicular", which was supposed to have meant that the girl was not on the straight and narrow!

Well his mother, Violent Verna did mellow during her final years. She would sit in her rocking chair, rocking gently back and forth, looking fondly at her photos (some call them "mug shots") of her extended family and her prized laminated picture of a bottle of Mackinson Stout!

Brocton WWI model battlefield excavation to begin

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-stoke-staffordshire

-23925901

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http://www.nationalpoetryday.co.uk/

http://leopardpoetry.wordpress.com/

New poems and new poets were posted up on 3rd Sept

CELEBRATE

NATIONAL POETRY DAY

With

RBW library group on Monday 30th September

With a poetry session led by

MAL DEWHIRST Staffordshire Poet Laureate

This year the theme is WATER

Session 1.30 to 3.30pm

Issue 303

Page 20

Latest Competitions: Pighog Poetry Film Competition 2013 | Closing Date: 31-Oct-13 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1429 2014 iOTA SHOT Pamphlet Awards for Short Poetry Pamphlets | Closing Date: 18-Nov-13 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1426 Magma Poetry Competition 2013 | Closing Date: 12-Dec-13 http://www.poetrylibrary.org.uk/competitions/?id=1430

This year the Saison Poetry Library at Royal Festival Hall celebrates its 60th birthday! Join us for our very special birthday party, hosted by Simon Armitage and with readings from an explosive mix of poets including Fleur Adcock, John Agard and Daljit Nagra. Discover quirky facts and mysterious moments in A Secret History of the Poetry Library. Get involved in reading poems aloud with us. See the new exhi-bition from artist Cerith Wyn Evans http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/festivals-series/the-saison-poetry-library-60th POETRY LIBRARY CELEBRATIONS: POETRY LIBRARY 60TH BIRTHDAY PARTY Tuesday 29 October An evening of eclectic and unique poetry voices. Join us as the library's diverse col-lection comes to life with poets who are re-nowned for pushing poetry in surprising direc-tions. Hosted by Simon Armitage, with readings by Fleur Adcock, Daljit Nagra, John Agard, War-san Shire, Jen Hadfield, Kei Miller, Tom Ra-worth, Amjad Nasser and Brenda Shaughnessy http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/poetry-library-60th-birthday-party-77230 THE DOG BENEATH THE SKIN A Shared Reading Tuesday 22 October At this intimate event, join us to share in the reading aloud of part of WH Auden and Christo-pher Isherwood's The Dog Beneath the Skin, the first collaboration between the two literary giants and an important contribution to English poetic drama in the 1930s. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/the-dog-beneath-the-skin-77210 FOX RUNNING A Shared Reading Wednesday 23 October Self-published in 1980, Ken Smith's long poem Fox Running slinks through the dark landscapes of London in a dream of running and waking and running again... http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/fox-running-77214

A SLEEPWALK ON THE SEVERN A Shared Read-ing Thursday 24 October Join in to share in the reading aloud of Alice Oswald's A Sleepwalk on The Severn. Commissioned for the 2009 festi-val of the Severn, this breathtakingly original work records what happens when the moon moves over the sublunary world: its effect on water and on language. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/a-sleepwalk-on-the-severn-77220 SECRET HISTORY OF THE POETRY LIBRARY Wednesday 2 October Hear about the poets who have been found amongst the books over the years and discover what past librarians feel are the best poems they've collected over the years. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/secret-history-of-the-poetry-library-77198 CERITH WYN EVANS From Tuesday 1 October Come and explore artist Cerith Wyn Evans's new exhibition, inspired by his love of poetry. Ev-ans' work often makes use of found or remem-bered texts and includes quotes from a diverse range of poets, from William Blake to James Merrill. FREE http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/cerith-wyn-evans-1000419 FORWARD PRIZES FOR POETRY Tuesday 1 OctoberFor the first time, see the Forward Prizes awarded to poets live on stage. Hear the best of this year's poetry spoken by Forward judges Jeanette Winterson and Samuel West, plus others. Nomi-nated poets include Sinéad Morrissey, Patience Agbabi and Jacob Polley. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/forward-prizes-for-poetry-77194

NATIONAL POETRY DAY LIVE Thursday 3 October Join us for a celebratory afternoon of read-ings, performances, installations and poetry films. With water as this year's theme, be car-ried along on a wave of words as the Poetry So-ciety and Southbank Centre celebrate National Poetry Day. FREE http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/national-poetry-day-live-77202 SPLIT SCREEN Friday 11 October Readings by contributors to Split Screen, an anthology of poems inspired by film and televi-sion with contributors including George Szirtes, Jacqui Saphra and Simon Barraclough. This fast-moving, stimulating and good-humoured event will appeal to anyone interested in popu-lar culture and poetry. http://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whatson/split-screen-77892

Issue 303

Page 22

My Lost Poet for this week is

Else Lasker-Schüler

(1869 –1945).

Else was a German Jewish poet who lived a bohemian

lifestyle in Berlin and is one of the few women poets

who are considered as part of the expressionist move-

ment.

She was born Else Schüler in Elberfeld in 1869, her father was a

banker and her mother Jeanette was the main inspiration for her

poetry. In 1894 she married Jonathan Berthold Lasker and moved

with him to Berlin. Here she initially trained as an artist, but it

was her literary works that saw he brought into the public con-

sciousness with her first poems published in 1899 followed by

the first full collection, Styx, in 1902.

The majority of her poems concentrate on the themes of

love, but also brings in religious imagery, she moves be-

tween the two themes with an easy flowing transition. She

was not hampered by poetic structures and is often free of

the influence of poetic forms, which gives an inner more

concentrated expression of her themes. She was not averse to expressing the voice and words that were spe-

cific to the person, capturing the voices of her time.

By 1903 her marriage to Lasker had failed and she divorced him. She married George Lewin and coined his

pseudonym Herwarth Walden. By 1910 she was divorced again, but had continued to write both poetry and

plays. He most important play Die Wupper was published in 1909, her mother being the main character. It

was first performed in 1919.

After the breakup of her marriage with Lewin, she found her self penniless and relied on the financial sup-

port of friends such as Karl Kraus. She developed a deep friendship with Gottfried Benn, which saw its in-

tensity delivered in a series of love poems dedicated to

him.

In 1927 her son, Paul, with Lasker, died and this left her

with a deep depression. This was further compounded by

the rise of the Nazi’s which left her unable to continue to

work in Germany, she fled to Zurich but was unable to

settle here and by 1937 she had settled in Jerusalem,

where she died of a heart attack in 1945, she was buried

on the Mount of Olives. She is commemorated both in

Berlin and Jerusalem.

Her poem Ein alter Tibetteppich or The Old Tibetan Rug,

is a good example of her poetry, it was this poem that pro-

vided me with the appreciation and connection with her

work. My poem The Melding, which has been read at sev-

eral weddings, uses the theme of a Celtic Love knot and

that the strands represent the bride and the groom, woven

together by marriage. Else’s poem explores the same

themes, not necessarily a marriage, but sees the lovers as

threads woven together into a Tibetan rug. I was not

aware of Else poem when I wrote mine, I have, however

wondered at the affinity of thought.

Project Arts page for Else.

http://project.arts.ubc.ca/els-bib/links.htm

Some of her poems in German with English Translations.

http://www.alb-neckar-schwarzwald.de/poetas/lasker/

Oh let me leave this world

Then you will cry for me. Copper beeches pour fire

On my warlike dreams.

Through dark underbrush

I crawl, Through ditches and water.

Wild breakers beat

My heart incessantly; The enemy within.

Oh let me leave this world! But even from far away I'd wander – a flickering light –

Around God's grave.

Can you see me

Between heaven and earth? No-one has ever crossed my path.

But your face warms my world, All blossoming stems from you.

When you look at me My heart turns sweetness.

Underneath your smile I learn

To prepare day and night,

To conjure you up and make you fade.

The one game that I always play.

An old Tibetan rug Your soul, which loveth mine, is woven with it into a rug-Tibet. Strand by strand, enamoured colours, Stars that courted each other across the length of heavens. Our feet rest on the treasure, stitches thousands and thousands across Sweet lama-son on your musk-plant throne how long has your mouth been kissing mine and cheek to cheek colourfully woven times?

"Angel for Jerusalem,"

Else Lasker-Schüler Memorial in Jerusalem Forest, April 2007

Wikipedia image

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