Boundaries? What boundaries?

From 'Walks Interrupted: Trentham Lake Series' by Dawn Jutton

 Exhibited at 'Dust' earlier this year as part of the City of Culture bid.

It seems that poetry and spoken word are dominating my life again. Not that I am complaining. Its been an interesting few months navigating the boundaries of my practice and discovering that the only boundaries there are the ones you place on yourself. I've met poets who make films and create theatre, poets who collaborate with artists from all disciplines and poets who share their thoughts and world views through highly entertaining and skilful performance and learnt much from them all. It quickly becomes clear however that many of their audiences are mainly poets and writers who appreciate others' writing and possibly, like me, want to learn from them and gain confidence. There is a spirit of generosity and comradeship in this arena that I have yet to experience amongst artists of other disciplines and I have had the privilege of the advice and support from some of the best over the last twelve months or so.

It all started with meeting the amazing, funny and very talented Emma Purshouse whose infectious enthusiasm for all things written and visual has been a guiding light. I blame her continued support and friendship for unleashing my current creative stream on the world! Emma has recently teamed up with two other brilliant performers Steve Pottinger and Dave Pitt to form Poets, Prattlers and Pandemonialists who, following their huge success at the Arena Theatre in Wolverhampton are about to hit the Edinburgh Free Fringe Festival, but have also formed a new night at the Pretty Bricks in Walsall. It was here that I made what I felt to be my 'debut' this month with a 5 minute open mic slot reading two new poems and a very old ditty. I enjoyed the experience immenseley and discovered a little nugget of confidence that has since spurred me on to revisit older poems and rework them.

The seemingly endless willingness of poets and small publishers to put on affordable, and often free  or 'pay as you feel' gigs like this is another indication of the underlying 'we are in this together' feeling you get. This is certainly my experience so far in the Midlands and specifically the Back Country, where poets of all abilities, reputations and confidence levels get to meet up and try out favourite and new words on appreciative audiences. One man who has done a huge amount to bring poetry to the consciousness of new audiences in this area is Bert Flitcroft. Bert is the current Staffordshire Poet Laureate and his patience and commitment to the role has been another factor in my increasing confidence. His quiet Northern accent and friendly inclusive delivery often hints at his previous profession and many of his semi-autobiographical poems comment affectionately on his life experiences and acute observations of relationships.


And so back to those boundaries and the generosity of spirit...

When I first met writer and film-maker Mal Dewhirst (an ex Staffordshire Poet Laureate) I had the immediate impression of another artist willing to share his skills with anyone who might appreciate them. We have since worked together for several weeks on a project for South Staffordshire and Shropshire Health Trust involving a series of walks around the county with people who  have varying levels of experiences with their mental health. 'A Place of Safety' has introduced me to truly collaborative working with another artist with whom I share both similar and different skills, yet fundamentally we shared the same ethos of trying to bring a sense of confidence and pride in others of their abilities to create images and words that could express many of their emotions.

'Older Women Rock the Potteries' by Leah Thorn
High Street, Newcastle-under-Lyme, Staffordshire

And finally, but not so final...

I continue to collaborate with the wonderful Leah Thorn on her project 'Poetry [e]motion' and Older Women Rock the Potteries. Leah is a current Fellow at Keele University and has set up shop in Newcastle-under-Lyme where her fabulous collection of poetry emblazoned on retro clothing is on display, and from where she is currently running a peer listening project for women over 55years old. So far it has been a welcome return to consider the feminist and ageing themes I explored during my MA course and the tireless activism and support that Leah brings to the project is a true inspiration. I am sure the experience will spark off a whole new body of work for me. The project ends on 29th July and the shop will form part of the attractions in the Newcastle Midsummer Wakes Carnival and celebrations on Saturday 22nd July. You may even catch another little outing for my performing self- something of a privilege for me alongside such an established and wonderful performer.

Writing Doxey Marshes

And so I finally submitted a poem! After the advice of the ever generous Emma P, I combined my love of prose with an as yet untried Haiku form-known in the poetry world as a Haibun. Her advice was spot on and very astute as usual and although I can't say I found it easy-but what craft is?- I found that the prose sections allowed me to splurge before using the Haiku form to be more succinct. hopefully I will finally be a published poet by the Winter with 'Doxey Marshes'.  It has certainly given me the confidence to keep writing- and brings ever closer a project using my images, sketches and words together! The bare bones progress of this project will be published irregularly in my blog 'Maud 1921'.

Doxey Marshes

Doxey Marshes
by Dawn Jutton

I
Breath mingling with morning mist we drift through weather pitted and unknown memorials, outlived by their faded plastic tributes. Unconcerned with decoding Stafford’s past, the dog drives us on through silver guiding gates, his excitement tapped out in a random rhythm on the thin ice. White stalks of spent rushes pierce the skyline and point to a trail of labouring wings and frantic calls slicing the frozen air. The black geese, gathered on green-grassed mounds, survey potential bankside building sites and warily track our progress through their solitude.

Skeletal silence

Under exposed thin white skin -

In memoriam

II

The sun rises above the muted distant tower of St. Mary’s, persistent in its effort to bring pink life to the grey sky. An icy breeze mocks still water into movement towards the oblivious River Sow that’s rushing to an unknown rendevous. The riverbank is punctuated by pairs of geese and ducks, trading safety in numbers for precarious parenting amongst the protective green swords: hidden new life marked only by lone sorties for fresh supplies. We leave the disappearing and unpredictable depths of the watery path to tip toe across tufts of resilient grasses avoiding ankle deep pockets of mud, a much easier feat for the dog than us.

Watery red carpet

Stillness threaded through soft noise-

In memoriam.

III

From where we stand the tonal stripes of the grasses appear to form a natural flag flying in the light breeze, tentatively signaling Summer.  Encouraging ripples of sunlight dance joyfully on the water’s surface whilst thin long reeds tirelessly sway below to the unheard tune of the flow. White swans drift upstream, their sun-lined wings spread in confident celebration of their beauty and a warning to keep our distance.  Ahead of us soporific cattle swish flies from their grass filled bellies and form a guard across the path, the leader fixing her dark brown gaze on my attempt to communicate my lack of fear and danger.  The engagement ends when I feel the pull of a lead at full stretch as the dog fearfully attempts to make himself invisible and skulk past.

Lily leaf red scales  

Fingers sift burnt dry petals-

In memoriam.

IV

We follow the egret on its’ stalk in protest of change. Unaware of their undecided future the grasses contentedly rustle alongside us, and the river races itself to the other side of the bridge.  Across the pond, a shy heron sits motionless on an anglers’ platform before launching its prehistoric form in awkward flight away from us as we approach.  From the pillar box hide that is not hidden, but sits like an uncomfortable hard grey lump on soft skin, we watch the thin silver ribbon on the blue haze of the horizon carry unconcerned travellers past this place of precarious peace and watery graves that we are desperate to protect.

Worn sandstone sentries

Guardians of marsh and life-

In memoriam

Out of a tunnel and into the light

Sheltering from a rainstorm under a canal bridge at Audlem

I can never believe the time that elapses between urges to write in my blog. 
It's not that I stop writing, I just often don't feel the need to share what I think or write.
However, sometimes you meet people in life that encourage you to re-consider the potential of what you create sporadically, and this is where the happy accident of meeting the talented, generous spirit of Emma Purshouse comes in. A stroll along the canal at Norbury Junction during the festival there a few weeks ago led to me experiencing my first poetry slam (as a member of the audience-let's not get ahead of ourselves!) and subsequently participating in one of Emma's creative writing workshops a couple of days later.

I can't deny that walking down to The Mill in Audlem the stress of only just making it there on time was exchanged for reticent anticipation and a lurking fear of that I may not be able to write in company, or in response to someone else's themes or starting points. Emma knew most of the people in the workshop, some of whom were devotees of her performance poetry and others whom she had inspired in previous workshops and who now attended regular groups formed from relationships developed in those workshops. Emma's positivity and ability to make encouraging comments on each of the results form the exercises she developed created a supportive environment in which the majority felt able to share their attempts without fear of ridicule or negative reaction. Over a 2 hour period I learnt more about my own ability than I had recognised before and was pleasantly surprised by my response.

The next few posts will hopefully now come more often as I have a little more confidence in sharing the intermittent episodes of writing and hopefully develop a consistent creative text and image related output.

Watch this space...occasionally!