Spread the word! University of Aberdeen’s May Festival couldn’t go ahead this year because…well, you know! But fortunately there’s… PodFest – launching today. Don’t miss it! Kicking off with podcast by art/music/poetry combo Pete Stollery, Martin Malone & Bryan Angus. Full programme and access details below. Enjoy.
Thanks to Helen Lynch and the rest of the crew for keeping the show on the road.
Space to read an excerpt of my novel-in-progress – Enchantment – as part of 2020 Granite Noir . The Locals in the Limelight strand in Granite Noir’s programming, steered by Lee Randall , provides an opportunity for emerging writers to share a stage (if only briefly) with writers like Anne Holt, Denise Mina, Sarah Paretsky & Ian Rankin. Book and poetry festivals everywhere should pick up on the tip…offering an encouraging platform for new writers and great experience. Thanks to all involved in developing and delivering the programme and to Alex Clark for hosting.
Tomorrow night – 11th February 2020 – sees the
inaugural event in STEM Poets programme of workshops and readings aimed at
developing a coherent and effective body of poetry and other writing which can
engage with and influence the outcomes of the ongoing Climate Emergency.
STEM Poets as a group was initiated by Eveline Pye in 2019
engaging a range of poets with a background, or special interest in Science,
Technology, Engineering or Mathematics. They support STEAM, a global initiative
to introduce the arts within STEM education in order to encourage creativity
and break down barriers between the arts and sciences. STEM poets believe it is
important that readers are presented with factually correct and truthful STEM
knowledge in works of imagination, specifically poems and short fiction, and
wish to promote informed writing on climate change. They want to encourage more
people to write about STEM subjects and will offer support and review of STEM
content. I am very pleased to count
myself as one of their number.
Tomorrow night’s event will involve a discussion between
Eveline and Colin Will, exploring some of the ideas and issues around Climate
Change poetry, many of which have been outlined in Eveline’s recent essay
published by Glasgow Review of Books.
The issues around STEM poetry and climate are, at even a
cursory exploration, complex and fascinating.
How is the complexity of biophysical processes communicated clearly and
coherently in ‘verse’ – as opposed to their natural vernacular of algebra and
algorithms? How do we as poets and
scientists avoid bowdlerising reality in order to get an essentially political
Eveline’s essay explores guidance of ‘effective
communication’ on Climate Change from a number of government and academic
sources which, in summary, propose that effective climate change poetry ‘should’:
i) be clear, relevant and
coherent avoiding references which are unlikely to be understood by the general
ii) not rely on evoking fear either for the reader or the next
generation but should evoke positive emotions which support people’s internal
sense of agency – the feeling that their actions are meaningful;
iii) not be overly strident as this increases the likelihood that
the message will be discounted or ignored, and should avoid highlighting the
difference between the reader’s attitude and actions since this is more likely
to change their attitude than their actions;
iv) focus on past loss and the restoration of what has been lost,
near-term benefits and opportunities to avoid future losses rather than apocalyptic
v) help overcome negative associations and poverty attributions
associated with actions we want to encourage such as buying second-hand
furniture and clothes, drinking tap water and using public transport.
Talk about squaring the circle!
Having been active and interested in this area over the last
decade, I find these criteria challenging in the extreme in the context of a
single poem or even collection.
How to express the complexity – and often counter-intuitive
nature – of processes avoiding references ‘unlikely to be understood’?
How to avoid frightening or shaming individuals into apathy
How to avoid advocacy in a literature which is, no matter
your perspective – whether a denier, a mitigator or an adaptor – partial and political?
And how to present positive inducements in a situation
which, ‘scientifically’, seems to forecast few upsides for human societies or
the majority of other critters currently on the planet?
In this context, this project does not need individual poets
but a community of poets – with diverse (precise but necessarily limited) STEM
knowledge and a range of political and
aesthetic perspectives on this process.
There are those who see rewilding as a ‘good’…others, perhaps, the
preservation of a material ‘civilisation’ (for some) at great cost to other
creatures and fellow-human beings. Some,
in workshops and discussions, have been sanguine and of the view that a world
without people would be a ‘good thing’…bring on the next mass extinction! Let us start again. The planet will recover…and it will (whatever
that means?). (And who are ‘we’ in that ambition?)
All of the above are essentially political perspectives –
not scientific – and should be expressed and explored clearly and coherently in
an accessible literature – doing what poetry and fiction do best – exploring alternative
personal perspectives and trajectories – but staying close to the topic. That the climate IS changing and will have
many complex ramifications for all living things and their social connection.
One of the areas I am working on, at the moment, concerns
the Thwaites Glacier, part of the West Antarctic Ice Shelf which extends ‘into’
the Amundsen Sea. Thwaites Glacier is
melting AND calving at an accelerating pace due to complex hydrological and
physical processes which, though perfectly ‘logical’ confound the simple notion
that ‘ice melts’.
Essentially, studies suggest, warm water (well… 1.5 degC) is
being hosed towards the grounding line of the ice shelf by canyons in the
seabed (themselves relics of earlier glaciation). The warm water (Circumpolar Deep Water),
which ‘flows’ out of the Northern hemisphere, undercuts and destabilises the
ice, which is NOT floating but grounded on the sea bed hundreds, sometimes
thousands of metres down. Melting from below
and subject to bending stresses it calves, releasing fragments to the open
ocean which float north (and melt).
So…make a poem out of that (working on it!) The episode highlights the gap between
school-child physics (ice melts at 0 degC in some slow dripping process – like an
ice-cube in a glass – as the global temperature inches up through 1.5 degC to 3
degC above pre-industrial levels) and the complexity of geophysical processes
in the ‘real world’. In fact, local
geophysical processes are directing jets of warm water at the grounding line
and the thinning ice is collapsing. Think of a high-powered water jet rather than
It is estimated that Thwaites Glacier could account for 0.4m
of mean sea-level rise.
What does 0.4m sea level rise mean? And when might that happen?
How do I have agency in addressing this issue –
reduce my GHG footprint? Throw up sea-defences? Both?
Does the poet addresses the consequences or
the process – a nostalgic grieving over things I’ve never seen or experienced
but are about to be ‘lost’?
I am drawn back to one of my creative
touch-stones in this, advice attributed to the Chinese Song Dynasty poet and
scholar, Wei T’ai.
‘Poetry presents the thing in order to
convey the feeling. It should be precise about the thing but reticent about the
I am very much looking forward to tomorrow
night’s event at the CCA in Glasgow and an ongoing collaboration with fellow
writers and artists in this vital area. Hope
to see you there.
Really exciting and inspiring event this year, sharing a space with cally Smith, Fiona Leask and Roselyne O’Neill. Over the last week we’ve had almost two hundred visitors and lots of interesting discussions on practice covering the range from watercolour and acrylic painting through woodcuts & engraving to MIG and TIG welding…and the finer points (sorry!) of damascene steel.
Looking forward to getting back to writing and making next week but with two days left to go…do come and see. And…in this fine late September weather, the countryside and the grounds are fine. And in the meantime, I’m making good progress on a set of woodcuts to complement my First Winter sequence of haiku. really good to get a solid run at work in one form and the process of ‘translation’ from poem to wash to woodcut to print is fascinating.
That orbital thing that happens when mass encounters space and spins…September almost on us.
Personally, it has been a difficult summer and an ‘interesting’ year. I’ve survived cancer when others, very close to my heart, haven’t. I’ve kept on keeping on…writing, painting and printing…developing my music. Discovering my new ‘place’ hear in Huntly.
It is Spring here in the Northern Hemisphere of planet Earth. Yesterday I heard a lark sing. The daffodils here are almost done. Tulips come. There are buds on all the trees…and
blossom on the plum.
Six months of chemotherapy ended at the beginning of
March. A long winter after the dark
autumn of illness. I am feeling better.
Tired but better.
And I have been busy. Busy launching my debut collection – Fallen Stock. Busy reading and meeting friends. Busy getting ready to flow. Again. So thank you – to everyone who has helped me on this journey out of winter – to my family and my friends, my fellow artists & collaborators (also friends) , those who have come to readings and generously bought the book, those who have viewed my paintings. Thank you to all the nurses, doctors, helpers and volunteers at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary & Doctor Grays and Huntly.
A beautiful morning here in St. Andrews. Cloudless sky and the wind that was promised seems to have taken itself elsewhere (for now at least).
Perfect conditions then.
Launch day. What am I…an astronaut?
And I notice the coincidence. My first publication…on the wall of Mrs. Thompson’s class in St. Paul’s Primary – a story about pyramids. I was 11. It was 1969. They hadn’t quite landed on the moon yet.
Launch day. I never wanted to be an astronaut. I wanted to be a writer – a poet, a novelists, a fabulator : (yes…a clype).
Archaeologist, explorer, big-game hunter even…before the blush came off that peach. Astronaut…not so much. Who takes a golf club to another planet? A man…I suppose. (Yes…I know…satellite! Words and meanings matter.)
Yuri Gagarin had a better label. And all those earnest statues, plaques, memorials in Russia still there when I visited…up there with Vladmir Ilych…up there and beyond. Even Pixar knew Buzz was a made-up name.
Launch day. I have waited 50 years for this. There are other books…still born or waiting – books in limbo : but that’s a whole other (meta)physics. But this one…now…on the table in J & G Innes window on South St., St. Andrews.
Yes…you can always write. You can! I’ve been a writer since I was at least 11 years old & Maurice Lindsay (bless him) published me and paid (handsomely) when was just 18. I have always written, scrievit, flyted, fabulated, clyped.
But no matter how much math and simulator hours and pretending to be weightless while your jumbo jet plummets thousands of feet and rehearsals and sleepless nights and number one haircuts…are you really an astronaut till blast off?
Launch day. My thanks to everyone in Mission Control and all the vast hinterland of Fallen Stock – a circumfusa half a century deep. Now…
2018 was an interesting year here in the long grass.
In the course of those 12 months I…
Moved out of our marital and family home of over
Finally found a place of my own in a place of my
Built myself a working studio – almost single-handedly
(though my sons had to rescue me now and then!)
Allowed myself to be diagnosed with small-cell
Attended the wedding of one of my sons and his amazing
Exhibited my paintings & prints both in my
own studio (NEOS19) and in other venues (WorM, Moray Arts Centre)
Had some poems published and agreed a
publication date for my collection – Fallen Stock
Embarked on 6 cycles of chemotherapy.
So…much is changed. I
could reflect on what I didn’t do – or maunder on about the works in progress
(there are several) – but those seem important milestones for me. As you can imagine, it was a year of slow
ascents and sudden falls.
I had known about the ‘lump’ in my neck before all of this. It was sitting there – swelling – but I was
busy and besides, stuck as I have been for so many years, the burgeoning lump
seemed like a bit of a get out clause.
Maybe it would all end and I’d be free?
But I was also sleeping 15 hours a day and the night-sweats
were getting tedious. I decided these
symptoms were probably related to my mental health or my on-going struggle to
Eventually, however, professional advice (a very astute
dentist) prodded me to see a doctor. The
doctor assured me I did NOT have Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma but referred me to the
hospital anyway. The maxillo-facial consultants
at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary very quickly assured me I DID have Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma
– an indolent form known as Small-Cell Lymphocytic Lymphoma (SLL) or Chronic
Lymphocytic Leukaemia (the terms are interchangeable).
For a while I thought I was going to die.
I was a bit miffed that my cancer was indolent – I hated the
idea that anything to do with me could be seen as indolent! It is currently incurable. It’s a slow burn thing that will weaken me
over years and then, like any ailing creature, something else will kill me. But, for now at least, it is not painful or
disfiguring. And I realised, as I began
to navigate through waiting rooms and day-units, that that was a blessing
compared to many others.
I am not going to die – for a while.
Thanks to modern medical technology and the excellent
health-care at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary and Dr. Grays Hospital in Elgin – both NHS
and free at the point of delivery – I will, they assure me, get better for a
while. Be better.
After five cycles of Fludarabine-Cyclophosphamide-Rituximab
chemotherapy, my many ‘lumps’ have shrunk and two weeks out of four I feel
quite well. My hair has NOT fallen out
and I haven’t caught any secondary infections.
The anti-emetics I have been prescribed seem to manage the nausea of the
first week of each cycle. Again, I have
had a fairly easy time compared to many others I now meet on a monthly basis.
That camaraderie – which is not much more than a nod, a
smile and, often, a ‘Good luck!’- is important.
Just as with addiction recovery groups, I think it’s important to be
there – to acknowledge to yourself and others, “I am one of us. I am like you. I am mortal.
I am suffering. We persevere.”
How we laughed when hospital radio played Don’t Fear the Reaper last month!
So where is this moment of disclosure going – this brief
glimpse of me as I cross the path between two thickets?
This Spring I will be reborn and there will be things to do –
things of my choosing, in this place of my choosing.
“I am one of us. I am
like you. I am mortal. I am suffering. We persevere.”
Painting & prints hung and labelled. Studio clean and (fairly) tidy. Signage out. What have we missed? First-timer at North East Open Studios #NEOS but looking forward to my first #OpenStudio.
Thanks to all the NEOS team & members for their excellent organisation and constant encouragement and to those who’ve helped in the set-up and preparation for the event. . A variety of landscape, still life and abstract paintings and prints in a variety of media – my best work over the last 2 years.. But it only works if you come…
Open from Saturday at 12. Venue #29 – North East Open Studios. Most of the art on show can be previewed on the Visual Arts page for this site.
In a previous post, A New Realism about the Anthropocene, I reflected on recent scientific and academic speculation on the inception date of the Anthropocene – the period of our planet’s history which is visibly dominated and effected by human social practices such as
• selective breeding and species elimination,
• trans-oceanic migration,
• the release of synthetic compounds and man-made (transuranic) elements.
Some might view this characterisation of what might conventionally be called agriculture, manufacturing, travel – civilisation, progress – as unduly critical and damning. We have burgeoned haven’t we? We thrive. We have created complex social structures within which most of us live longer and less stressful lives that our remote ancestors. For the majority of us more of our children live and live longer, reproduce in turn. This is what life does after all. It reproduces itself. It persists.
It could be argued that we have transcended the ‘natural’ barriers to growth – the limitations of terrain, of topographic obstacles, of seasonal patterns. Our ingenuity has enabled us to cover the earth, colonise every advantageous niche, eliminate competitors and biological threats. Why, in the debate around the Anthropocene, should there be a tone of dread and pessimism?
Perhaps it is that the limitations that we now conceive and have the scientific tools to interpret and imagine not biological but physical. Climate. Toxicity. And that the breakdown of temporal and spatial barriers our ingenuity has realised may result in a rate of change in these factors which is likely to be unprecedented in human history.
I have exchanged with sceptics who insist, of course, it’s all a con – it’s all about the sun and nothing we can do…a comforting fatalism diluted with a dash of Micawberism (something will turn up). This wilful irresponsibility, often revealing a fundamental lack of understanding of the difference between energy and heat, ignores the fact that, even if it’s not our fault, we are the only species in any position to address the issue…and if we don’t, in either case, it is we who will suffer.
Of course, the biosphere will respond – some species by dying out, others by multiplying. Productive land will become arid. Dry land will be submerged. Storms will intensify. Plants will not be pollinated. Harvests fail. Patterns will be disrupted.
I believe the human species will survive – among others.
The question which I believe is unique to us is – how? In what social form? And in what numbers? We count. It’s is one of our foibles.
Dystopias in art are comforting. More comfortable, perhaps, than Utopias to which we don’t feel quite adequate. Better a final reckoning then – apocalyptic and definitive – or the thrill of sordid and heroic ‘post-apocalyptic’ struggle – a new Dark Age of zombies, brigands, tyrants. We came through the Dark Ages didn’t we? So Dark Ages are survivable. That’s known.
Well yes….and a lot of people died.
Survivalism is romantic escapism. Individualistic. Mock-heroic. It ignores kith and kin, that which is precious to us in our social fabric. It ignores our humanity.
In contrast to the comforting wallow of fatalism and machismo, others attempt to imagine a ‘sustainable’ world beyond ‘our’ civilisation. A world in which we have come to terms with the pathological aspects of our behaviour – the uncontained appetite for meat, speed, distance, things – a world which recognises limits – boundaries – and the vital productivity of edges where cultures and ecosystems abut, overlap, intermingle.
Some, like Paul Kingsnorth in his recent book ‘Beast’ and Em Strang in her stunning poem ‘Stone’ seem to exhort us to reconnect with the animal in us – the panther, the horse – creatures which flow with and through ‘the natural world’ channelled by its barriers and limitations – hedgerows, rills, its seasons. These texts portray solitary human protagonists who have, to some extent, stepped free of kith, are finding a new way to be in straightened circumstances and closer to an animal simplicity.
I suspect most of us will find ourselves in ‘straightened circumstances’ in the decades to come and there may be a need for greater self-sufficiency, self-reliance and self-discipline. But we are human. Our humanity is as natural as any pantherness or equine nature (horses themselves an artefact of human interventions). Our humanity is social. Communitarian. Linguistic.
What persists over the longue duree is not technology or social organisation but stories, music, dancing, systems of belief, cooking, painting, carvings, trade routes, pathways – things we share. In imagining the Late Anthropocene, I believe we must imagine a social world, perhaps a world defined by the re-instatement of boundaries, a mosaic of social and ecological experiments but a world in which the protagonists are human and animal – not zombies, not orcs – social not solitary – and where the challenges are to eat, to love, to reproduce, to trade, to sing, to celebrate. Life as normal in an abnormal world – for us – the world beyond the bump. I offer up that challenge.