The Poetry Pharmacy

Sons and fathers. Fathers and sons. Before I say anything of note, let me tell you this: a) I only got vaguely interested in Tim Buckley after falling for the grunge-folk-choral charms of Jeff. I am still only vaguely interested … Continue reading →

Reading a poem with someone is not that dissimilar to a spot of star-gazing. A good poem always has that moment (two or three if you're lucky) where you feel the emotional-cognitive equivalent of hinging the head back, ciliary muscles in the eyes relaxing, pupils widening to take in the vastness of Everything Out There. This is often accompanied by a sigh of relief as we take a short break from the struggles of Everything In Here. So kick back and settle down for some star-gazing with myself, Claire Shanahan, and Louis MacNeice.

Before I started this RMSYL malarkey, I didn't know my condenser mics from my dynamics; my omnidirectionals, from my unidirectionals; my male XLRs from my 1/4 inch jack plugs. Just point-it-at-someone's-face directional is what I'd initially planned to do.  I thought lav mics were something the KGB taped under toilet seats (or if you're MI6, under a fake rock). When someone told me I needed a dead cat, I said: "Don't be so 1993." I won't go on. So in the last six months I've had to seriously geek up. And I'm inevitably still struggling along some of the lower foothills of my sound-engineer's learning curve. Which is really just a long-winded way of me trying to explain the slightly ramshackle nature of this recording, hopefully not in the listening, but certainly in the making of. Ramshackleness however does in some strange way complement (and compliment) this wonderful Ali Smith story from her collection The First Person and Other Stories, as well as to its reader, Rachel Stroud. My thanks to both of them.

There is perhaps nothing as moving and transcendent as having someone read to you something that they truly and utterly love. The atavistic thrill of this activity may (as many atavistic thrills)  stem from childhood where a parent, grandparent, or favourite aunt or uncle read to us something that they probably adored when they were young. Can you remember, the two of you sitting together, cosily reading and probably discussing what you were reading as you went along? Not in any highfaluting way, but just partaking in the experience of feeling alive in the shared consumption of a story or a poem? In a bid to capture that special feeling as much as possible this year, I am going to be sending lots of emails to lots of people I know and lots of people I don't know requesting of them very simply: "Read Me Something You Love, Please." It could be a short story or a poem, it might even be an excerpt from a novel. The only requirement is that you love this piece of writing with all your heart and soul, and that you're happy for me to come along to wherever you are  (I'm willing to travel), or to join me in London  so that we can record you reading, and talking a little about this thing you love. So here's the first RMSYL. It's from Megg Hewlett who co-organizes our group The Short Story Bookclub. The Club meet once a month to read (aloud) a short story that can collectively fall in love with. We also discuss the story and chew the fat in between. Megg works for The Reader Organization , participating in "bringing about a reading revolution" (I've seen her in action, and by golly she's doing it). She's also a knitter and a felter (though I like to think of her as a "fiber artist") + a keen walker. I wanted a special story and a special person to kick the project off, and I think got both of these from Megg and Darcy Niland. If you'd like to Read Me Something You Love, please do get in touch (shortstorybookclub AT gmail.com). More info about the practicalities of recording and whatnot can be found on this page of the website.