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Poems that won’t lie down and die, poems that may not have been seen for a while, that had something to say when they were written and are still saying it, in that fixed language poems enjoy. Keep Poems Alive International is one place to hear them again. Mavis Gulliver ventures on a bog path, but it’s words she is seeking. Rachel Bentham finds words for her sadness while looking out of a train window.

Catherine Graham uses her words to take us back into Newcastle’s history with a girl making clogs all week. It’s about connecting with aspects of her city that may be obscured through time, but inhabit the recognisable map of the city’s life.

Sometimes, poets link their work to that of other poets in the great tradition that poetry is. Here’s a remarkable example of this, in that it describes an early reading by Iain…

The beast of war
shivers, rolls
and shifts,
sliding
those on the surface
across oceans.
A million souls
fall down his face,
unwilling,
unwanted,
brought up short
by man-made borders.

This far,
and no further.

Numbers, are written in ink.
Children, are written off in mud.

Last weekend – what with the 400^th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death just gone by and seeing an advertisement on Facebook I think it was – I signed up to be a participant in a Shakespeare and writing poetry workshop. Being an English teacher, love of Shakespeare rather comes with the territory but I’m sure I’m not the only teacher who enjoys being a participant in classes. So much of my time is spent initiating, organising, timing carefully and concluding that it’s a wonderful holiday-feeling to be initiated, organised, timed carefully and concluded by somebody else. (In what follows I am able to quote the work of nobody else but myself – for which apologies).

The workshop was part of a series organised through the South Bank Poetry magazine, co-edited by Peter Ebsworth (its founder) and Katherine Lockton. They were both present for the workshop – upstairs, above the…

we, the nobodies, the little people
whipped by the whims of the power mongers,
nailing us to a cross of narcissism and greed,
tossing us on the trash heap of history

we, the wounded and noble nameless,
with all our bone, blood, heart and soul
do declare unequivocally—
we find no redemption in chaos,
no joy in parting seas of blood,
no grace in killing one another

we now turn, not our cheeks, but our backs,
leaving the bullies to their naked delusion,
their rudimentary souls; relinquishing
the swords they hand us, we put our muscle
to the plow and reclaim our birthright
to all that is sane and good

Poetry is as necessary to life as water. With it we take our stand, raise the collective conscience, show a proper respect for intuition and instinct. Poetry uncobbles our hopes and dreams and anchors our power.

– Jamie Dedes
Originally…

Antarctica: The blue ice covering Lake Fryxell, in the Transantarctic Mountains, comes from glacial meltwater from the Canada Glacier and other smaller glaciers. The freshwater stays on top of the lake and freezes, sealing in briny water below.

Editorial Note: Today The Poet by Day features two stellar poets, Myra Schneider and Dilys Wood. Myra, an award-winning poet, poetry coach and author of eleven collections reviews Antarctica by distinguished poet, Dilys Wood, author of two collections, founder of Second Light Network of Women Poets, managing editor of ARTEMISpoetry (biannual magazine), and co-editor and publisher of poetry anthologies.

Myra Schneider‘s Review of Dilys Wood: Antarctica (Greendale Press, 2008)

Polar explorer Apsley Cherry-Garrard in front of his typewriter in the Terra Nova hut at Cape Evans (Ross Island, Antarctica)

In her collection, Antarctica, Dilys Wood has drawn on her considerable knowledge of this continent in remarkable ways. One…