Patricia M Osborne

Poetry and Research – Spring  2015

Poetry

 

2015 wasn’t a great year for me at uni. I began the poetry module in February which consisted of two separate seminars a week. One on a Thursday with the MA literature students studying American contemporary poets, and the second on a Friday where a small group of creative writing students got the chance to workshop each other’s work.

At the beginning of March I was offered the chance to go out to Bucharest on a European playwriting course with my peers. Unfortunately while out there I managed to break my hip when misplacing a step in the metro. This necessitated me having to stay behind in Romania after the others left for the UK because I needed an operation. It was hard saying goodbye to my peers and being left in a strange country on my own for 24 hours until my husband arrived.

Above: Timetable – The Day I tripped –  completed by my friend Sue Bamblett. 

In hindsight I should have deferred the Poetry Module as I was unable to walk so couldn’t get down to Falmer to the seminars. But I didn’t defer, instead I struggled on and probably cost myself a good mark. I didn’t receive any lecture notes on the literature/theory side although the creative writing poetry tutor offered critique on my poems.

I missed being with my peers.

This would have been one of my favourite courses had I been able to continue the seminars.

***

At the end of September I was able to return to uni – HURRAY!!

Research Module – Grand Parade Brighton – Autumn 2015

Out of all the modules that I completed for the MA, this one had to be the worst. In fact this was the only module that I didn’t love. I particularly hated the literary review and data qualitative analysis but just about coped with methodology.

So much of this course was not designed for creative writers but more for social sciences. I wasn’t alone in my hatred of this module. Thankfully the university listened to student feedback and have now replaced it from this academic year with a compulsory publishing module. I’d loved to have taken that.

***

What I enjoyed about attending the weekly research seminars was meeting up with my friends beforehand. I’d meet up with Sue Bamblett, and Liz Eastwood in Brighton around 10:30am at, Lydea, a lovely vegetarian café where we’d drink coffee and chat about our projects, followed by lunch before strolling over to Grand Parade.

***

 

And I suppose if I hadn’t completed the research module I probably wouldn’t have researched Emily Dickinson (my chosen project) which I enjoyed.

Next – Part 4 – Prose Fiction 

 

 

 

Yesterday I mentioned that I studied Narrative and Rhetoric in my first year and  talked about Narrative, today I will focus on Rhetoric.

Practising Rhetoric

When I first began Rhetoric, I don’t mind telling you that I felt out of my depth sitting amongst MA Literature students when I hadn’t even studied A level Literature, never mind a degree. However, I didn’t let it get to me and participated in the seminars as much as I could and became more confident as the weeks went by.

Some of the works we studied:

I can’t say I’m a particular fan of Jane Austen and I certainly didn’t enjoy Kathy Acker, however, I liked Lolita and loved A Girl is a half-formed thing. If you’re going to read the latter then may I suggest you read it like a poem. Lots of students struggled to get through the novel and initially I did too, until I noticed McBride’s poetic language. I went back to the start and approached it like a poem, reading aloud, and discovered a wonderful piece of literature.

The remit for Rhetoric was to present a persuasive speech and write a 3000 word creative piece.

For my presentation I invented a charity, Melody’s Music Makers, and my speech was to convince the audience to become a volunteer.

Melody provided entertainment to local care homes and handed out instruments to the residents so they could join in with singing and tap a tambourine, jingle the bells, or tinkle a triangle. I must have been convincing because the tutor thought it was my own company rather than a work of fiction.

For my creative piece I used a couple of extracts of persuasive speech from my debut novel, House of Grace, A Family Saga. I won’t provide the excerpts as I don’t want to spoil the story for those that haven’t read it yet, but I can say the scenes were set with Grace and her mother, Lady Granville, and taken from Chapter 4 and 5 in Part II.

Here’s a link for anyone that would like to read House of Grace.

http://mybook.to/HouseofGrace

***

Next time Part 3 – Year 2 – Poetry and Research Modules  

 

Me and my lovely mum before she got poorly. 

In July 2014 my lovely mum died. To help me fill the void my husband suggested I took an MA in Creative Writing. I’d completed a BA in 2013 via the Open University. My initial reaction was I didn’t want to do anything. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to write anymore. I didn’t know who I was. I felt like I’d lost my identity.

In September 2014 I  came across a brand new MA Creative Writing course being run by Brighton University. This really grabbed my interest. I spoke to the course leader, sorted relevant paperwork, and within a few days I had an offer from the university to study the MA. I was going back to uni but this time a brick one.

My first trip down to the university was terribly tiring, walking to the station, changing trains at Brighton and then climbing the huge volume of steps at Falmer. To top it all it was pouring with rain. Thankfully I soon got used to the journey.

In my first year I took two modules, Rhetoric and Narrative, as they were both on Mondays, it made sense to save on train fare. For today’s blog I will concentrate on Narrative.

I really enjoyed Narrative. The remit was to complete a creative piece and perform a presentation. I’d never done a presentation in my life before so I was learning something new.

During the weekly seminars we were privileged to wonderful guest speakers including novelists such as Paul McVeigh and Matt Haig.

For my creative piece I opted to write poetry and produced a sequence of fictional poetry on ‘Lost Identity.’  I found this great therapy as in giving my characters pain it took some of it away from me. The presentation was conducted on a collaborative basis where we partnered up with another student. This was a great way to learn.

Completing narrative and writing the sequence of poetry was my first step to finding out who I was.

Today I will share one of the poems I wrote.  ‘Recognition.’

‘Recognition’ has been previously published in Reach magazine and on  Oapschat.

Recognition

Black and white prints
cover creased hands.
Eyes narrow, dazed,
not seeing…

We slung satchels over knitted cardigans,
slammed the door,
grey pleated skirts hitched high above the knee.

We stood to attention at the bell,
split from my look-a-like,
a whistle insisted we march
into separate classrooms.

In the sixties we explored
Brighton Laines,
rummaged antique stores,
picked up gold leafed books,
bought treasure boxes
to hide shared secrets.

We sank into striped deckchairs,
flipped off our tops to reveal
psychedelic swimsuits-
plastic sunglasses concealed our faces.
We lazed by gull-grey waves,
pebbles chattered at our feet.

We sniffed salt from the sea,
cardboard cones on our noses,
read Jackie in the sun.
A transistor radio blurred Cathy’s
Clown, from the Top Ten charts.

I sit by the iron framed bed,
wait for a flicker of recognition.

Chubby Checker
blasts from the box
high on the wall

Lillie looks up,
whispers my name.

‘Freddie – The Twist.
you and me that day
down in Brighton.’

***

Next blog – MA Journey Part 2 will be on Rhetoric – watch this space.

 

 

So Wednesday evening, 19 September 2018,  I submitted my MA dissertation electronically and Thursday morning set off on the train to Falmer to hand in the printed version into Brighton University.

I met up with my uni friend, Suzi Bamblett in the library and we headed to the Humanities office to hand in our manuscripts. It was a bit of an anti-climax popping it into a cardboard box.

After submitting we went for a walk around Falmer and discovered a duck pond and wild flowers before finding The Swan, a lovely country pub, that served us a fabulous jacket potato with salad. Of course with that we had to have a glass of Prosecco to congratulate each other for all our hard work. We made it. It took us four years but we got there in the end.

Once I got home a glass of Rosé Champagne was in order.

So there you have it, after four years of study my MA journey has come to an end. Over the next couple of weeks I plan to share my MA Story so watch this space.

 

 

Hi Everyone

As you know I am very busy with my MA Dissertation but today I have a small lull. My essay is just about there and I am seeing my supervisor on Monday to get a bit of feedback on some of my creative work. I’m hoping he won’t have much he wants altered because time is running out. I need to submit a hard bound copy as well as the electronic submission which means I must have this sorted earlier enough to go to the printers to be printed and bound. I’m looking at Wednesday 19th September as my deadline.

As I have a small window today, I decided I should do a blog about trees and firewood. What brought about this? Well when I was in Swanwick, I met a lovely lady, Liz Byfield, who happens to be a fellow tree lady. This was discovered when I read out one of my poems about two well known trees, Gog and Magog, in the Open Mic. She hadn’t realised that Gog had been burnt down last year. It was so lovely to hear from someone that knew my trees in the poem. Unfortunately I can’t share the poem with you at this stage because it’s part of my MA poetry portfolio.

We went on to talk a lot about trees and Liz shared some of her tree poetry with me too. She’s a great poet and I hope that maybe she’ll come on the blog as my guest in the next few months. She asked me if I knew the poem about how different woods burn. I didn’t. This morning in my inbox she popped up in an email telling me the name of the poem and who wrote it. I googled it and managed to find the poem and thought I would share it with you.

Personally I’d rather see trees standing tall where I can lose myself and become inspired rather than chopped up for fire, but I do like to watch and listen to a crackling fire too. The Firewood Poem written by Lady Celia Congreve and published in The Times in March 1930 is a great poem with good rhythm and imagery. I particularly like the lines ‘Is fit for a queen with golden crown’ and ‘A King shall warm his slippers by.’ Let me know what you think.

The poem and information was found here

The Firewood Poem

These hardwoods burn well and slowly,
Ash, beech, hawthorn oak and holly.
Softwoods flare up quick and fine,
Birch, fir, hazel, larch and pine.
Elm and willow you’ll regret,
Chestnut green and sycamore wet.

Beechwood fires are bright and clear,
If the logs are kept a year.
Chestnut’s only good, they say,
If for long ’tis laid away.
But Ash new or Ash old,
Is fit for a queen with crown of gold.

Birch and fir logs bum too fast,
Blaze up bright and do not last.
It is by the Irish said,
Hawthorn bakes the sweetest bread.
Elm wood bums like churchyard mould,
E’en the very flames are cold.
But Ash green or Ash brown,
Is fit for a queen with golden crown.

Poplar gives a bitter smoke,
Fills your eyes and makes you choke.
Apple wood will scent your room,
With an incense like perfume.
Oaken logs if dry and old,
Keep away the winter’s cold.
But Ash wet or Ash dry,
A king shall warm his slippers by.

Oak logs will warm you well,
That are old and dry.
Logs of pine will sweetly smell,
But the sparks will fly.
Birch logs will burn too fast,
Chestnut scarce at all sir.
Hawthorn logs are good to last,
That are cut well in the fall sir

Holly logs will burn like wax,
You could burn them green.
Elm logs burn like smouldering flax,
With no flame to be seen.
Beech logs for winter time,
Yew logs as well sir.
Green elder logs it is a crime,
For any man to sell sir.

Pear logs and apple logs,
They will scent your room.
And cherry logs across the dogs,
They smell like flowers of broom.
But Ash logs smooth and grey,
Buy them green or old, sir.
And buy up all that come your way,
They’re worth their weight in gold sir.

Logs to Burn, Logs to burn, Logs to burn,
Logs to save the coal a turn.
Here’s a word to make you wise,
When you hear the woodman’s cries.
Never heed his usual tale,
That he has good logs for sale.
But read these lines and really learn,
The proper kind of logs to burn.

Lady Celia Congreve

 

I can’t believe it’s September 1st, can you? What does this mean to me? Well for starters it means that my four-year journey of my MA in Creative Writing is almost over. On Monday I have a tutorial with my supervisor and will find out whether I’m on the right track with my thesis. Keep your fingers crossed for me that I am because the deadline is 21st September 2018 and I need to get the copy bound.

What’s after the MA? Well apart from a spa break and a little holiday in the sun (my first for four years) it will be full steam ahead with The Coal Miner’s Son. I’m really hoping to get this finished and sorted in time for December 1st release but don’t hold me to it. In a few days I should be able to make a cover reveal of this sequel to House of Grace and offer the first four chapters as an advanced read. So, do watch this space.

Apart from the MA and hopefully working on getting at least two poetry collections out into the big world I would like to energise my blog. To do this I shall be inviting lots of authors and artists over for guest features and interviews. So, don’t miss out.

This is all for now but keep your fingers crossed for me with the MA.

If you are an author and would like to feature on my blog, then please give me a yell so we can work out the details.

 

 

Photo by Hazel Roberts: Swanwick Facebook Page

Well I promised to come back and tell you all about Swanwick. This was my third year and like last year I was an ambassador, although I think I made a better job this time round. Thankfully, when we did the tour for the white badgers, I partnered up with Lance Greenfield Mitchell. It was also his third year but he knew his way around the Swanwick buildings much better than me, I think I’d have got everyone lost. Thank you, Lance.

 

Swanwick’s 70th Birthday

And we mustn’t forget that this was no ordinary year at Swanwick as it was Swanwick’s 70th birthday. The Hayes very kindly made two cakes to mark the occasion, one was gluten free.

Online Writer Friends

I was pleased to finally meet my online writer friends Joy Wood and Anita Hunt after corresponding with them by email and Facebook over the last year. They were both as lovely in person as on the internet.

 

Guest Speakers

The Swanwick delegates were in for a treat with opening night speaker, author, Sue Moorcroft. Sue was full of vitality and inspiring.

Photo courtesy of Geoff Parkes

 

The rest of the week lived up to the same standard with great speakers and entertainment:

Sunday Evening: Amit Dhand – The Harry Virdee Novels. – Another inspiring speaker.

Monday Evening: In Conversation with Kate Bendelow, Della Galton and Jonathan Telfer joined by Simon Hall. – This was great fun listening to Simon ask Kate, Della and Jonathan all sorts of questions. It gained some laughs.

Tuesday Evening: Simon Nelson from the BBC  – Totally inspiring advising how to go about sending a TV script in to the BBC.

Wednesday Evening: Sophie Snell – A Storyteller  – Interesting as I’d not heard of these storytellers before. Made me think that I might like to try this out myself.

We finished off on Thursday evening with an Awards Evening and Swanwick Farewell which included John Lamont’s 500 words – you need to be there to appreciate it. What a fabulous evening and as always a little bit sad.

Open Mic 

For my third time at Swanwick, I stood on stage to take part in the Open Mic to perform my poems. A lot of poets put their names down but Les managed to get through them all with a smooth and timely process. This year the Open Mic was in the main conference hall rather than the main bar which has a more intimate feel.  I was concerned I’d be nervous but I was fine. Of course I put a lot of that down to the fact that I can’t see out to the audience once I take my glasses off to read. There’s always a silver lining.

Photos courtesy of Geoff Parkes

 

Page to Stage

Not to be missed is the Page to Stage.  If there’s one thing not to be missed at Swanwick, it’s the Page to Stage evening. Here you always come across excellent script writers and talented actors. Great fun was had by all watching the drama and comedy acts.

Photo courtesy of Swanwick Facebook Page 

Also available was Buskers Evening and Prose Open Mic. Unfortunately I missed Buskers this year, again because of the MA, but next year I’ll be free and make up for it by joining in everything.

Courses

The courses at Swanwick are divided up into Specialist Courses, Short Courses and one hour sessions. For my specialist course I took Elements of Poetry with Poet and Tutor Alison Chisholm. I always choose the poetry as my main body of Swanwick and usually come away with four poems, but unfortunately this year because my mind was on the MA dissertation, I was unable to create new material. However, I have lots of mind maps itching to find themselves into poems once the MA deadline has passed.

I also took part in The Music of Poetry, Publishing, Wild Words and Scrivener. This was a lot less than I usually participate in, but I had to ration myself this year to allow time to work on my creative writing portfolio for the MA. All excellent courses but so much more available – there’s something for everyone.

Book Room 

Swanwick offers a book room where delegates have the opportunity to sell their books. My debut novel House of Grace was no exception. Author, Elizabeth Ducie does a great job organising it all.

 

Fancy Dress

As it was Swanwick’s 70th birthday delegates dressed up in forties costumes, many of them hired from the local fancy dress shop, Jolly Jesters, who not only dropped the costumes off to The Hayes but also collected them. Thank you Jolly Jesters.

Photo courtesy of Swanwick Facebook Page

 

Dregs Party 

A dregs party is held before dinner on the last evening. Delegates bring unused snacks and drinks and gather on the lawn to party.

Photo courtesy of Geoff Parkes

Gala Dinner

And on the last evening we were treated to a gala dinner. The tables looked lovely and we had waiter service so no queuing for food.

The above photograph shows my lovely friends, returning Swanwickers, Corinne Lawrence, Shirley Cook and Suzy Mendes. All very photogenic and fantastic ladies.

And here are some of my new friends.

 

Lakeside Views 

And what’s not to like about waking up to this view each morning?

 

There is so much more that happens at Swanwick, this is just a sampler. Why not consider joining writers of all levels from beginners to those that have been publishing for numerous years. Places are offered for  young TopWrite Students and assisted places are available. See the website for more details.

Swanwick:

All writers are equal.

It’s like a family.

A large number of delegates attend yet it still has an intimate feel.

It’s Magic.

I shall be booking my place for 2019 on the 1st February, 2019 – fancy joining me?

To find out more about Swanwick Writers’ Summer School – click here

 

 

I can’t believe that tomorrow I will be at this lovely place – Swanwick Writers’ Summer School where I shall spend the week with another couple of hundred writers. I am looking forward to meeting old friends and new. In particular I am looking forward to meeting an online writer friend, Joy Wood, author of Chanjori House, in person. I’m hoping Joy will join me as a guest later in the year.

I’ve been quiet of late because I’m working frantically on my MA thesis. This involves completing a poetry portfolio on the theme of folklore and myth around trees. This has been a thoroughly enjoyable project but I can’t say the same for the 5000-word essay that I am trying to work through.  Over the last four years while studying for my MA in Creative Writing, I’ve learnt so much, but I shan’t be sad to say good bye to academia at the end of September. It will be full steam ahead with creative work, and the first in line will be The Coal Miner’s Son with a target release date of 1st December 2018. Let’s hope I can keep to that as life sometimes has a habit of getting in the way.

So, come October, expect my blog to be busier and watch out for interesting guest features and exciting projects.

That’s all for now folks…

 

Hello Friends

I thought I’d just explain my silence and what I’m up to at the moment. Well I’m right in the height of completing my MA Creative Writing dissertation. It’s been great fun exploring the myth and folklore around trees to create my poetry. What isn’t such good fun is working on the essay. My brain is willing me back to the poems rather than spend time on academia. Still come 21st September the MA thesis will be submitted and then  Academia and I will part our ways and I’ll only be wearing a creative hat.

What’s to come?

Well, The Coal Miner’s Son now has a new target release date of December. Also, to come, are at least two poetry anthologies. I have to say this MA project has been my favourite and I plan to delve further into folklore and mythology extending it to birds and wildflowers. Don’t you just love nature?

So, watch this space, and thank you for your continued patience and support.

 

It’s four years since my mum went to sleep for the final time and for me, like I am sure for most people, the pain doesn’t go away but we just get better at putting one foot in front of the other.

Well today here’s a poem for Mum. I wrote this about a year ago when I was doing a Blues Course with the Poetry School. It gave me consolation when I thought she hadn’t known I was there. Looking back, I realised that she did.

I was very lucky that I had a wonderful mum that always put her children first. She was one of the most inspiring women I have ever known.

For Mum.

 

 

Last Moments

Milky eyes
stare into space,

I drip water from a straw
into opened lips,

you suck but no words
leave your mouth.

I squeeze your hand
you squeeze mine,

I stroke long fingers
with tenderness.

The doctor calls me from the room:

you take a last gasp of air
at 11:22am and slip away,

not allowing goodbyes:

I’m not ready for you to die.

A photo frame hangs in my study,
nut-brown eyes sparkle,
open lips smile down at me.

A voice in my head whispers my name,
‘you’re not alone, I’m still here.’

Memories flood my mind:
kisses, cuddles and tucks up in bed,

playing catch, hopscotch, skipping,
two balls banging on the wall,

karaoke in the lounge,
giggles as we grease dance,

you twirl me under your arm,
we jive around the room,

delicious dinners,
a glass of Shiraz,

thrashings at Scrabble
and crosswords,

walks by the sea,
sandcastles on the sand,

that last Sunday morning
when I stroked and held your hand.

You’ll always be part of me,
You’ll always be in my heart

but not quite the same
as holding you in my arms.