The Poetry Exchange

In this episode, our guest is John Davis, who talks with us about the poem that has been a friend to him - 'Return' by C. P. Cavafy, translated by Rae Dalven.John is our first 'Long Distance' visitor to The Poetry Exchange via Skype! Joining us from Athens, John is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Bennett and John Prebble, who were in London for the conversation.'Return' is read by John Prebble.*****Returnby C.P. Cavafy, translated by Rae DalvenReturn often and take me,beloved sensation, return and take me -when the memory of the body awakens,and old desire runs again through the blood;when the lips and the skin remember,and the hands feel as if they touch again.Return often and take me at night,when the lips and the skin remember...From The Complete Poems of C.P. Cavafy, translated by Rae Dalven, with an introduction by W.H. Auden, New York 1961.The reading of the Greek poem you can hear in this episode is from: C.P. Cavafy, The Collected Poems, OUP 2007 (includes a parallel Greek/English text). Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode you will hear Dan Simpson talking about the poem that has been a friend to him - 'This Poem' by Salena Godden.Our huge thanks to Dan for joining us and speaking so eloquently and openly about his friendship with this poem. And to the ever-wonderful Salena Godden for granting us permission to feature the poem in this way. 'This Poem' can be found in Salena's collection 'Fishing In The Aftermath - Poems 1994-2014' from Burning Eye Books (2014).Dan visited us in Lambeth, London and is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Bennett and Al Snell. 'This Poem' is read by Al Snell.*****This Poemby Salena GoddenThis poem is not designed.And this poem is not the map.It is not written to give you something to relate to.This poem will not be the words you recite to your lover in the night.This poem will not be the words you scratch into your prison cell walls with bleeding nails.This poem is not designed to arouse you or even confuse you.This poem will not make you laugh or cry or feel.It will not be the lines that make you remember how to live.It will not remind you of the time you cut your finger sledging,as vivid as blood in the snowand everlasting as the scar made that day.This poem does not taste like old five-pence pieces,and it will not sound like an ice cream van in summertime.This poem will not enlighten you like a Buddhist prayer.It will not fill you with wonder at the human condition.This poem will not feed you like potatoes and gravyand it will not answer your questions of being alone in this.This poem cannot be your friend or explain that reoccurring chewing-gum dream.It will not stop you calling out in the night in cold and acrid sweat.This poem cannot help you.It will not inspire you to take up writing or even to continue. This poem is not the way in or the way out.It will not feel like winning and it will not feel like losing.This poem will not make your bus come sooner. It will not make your cake rise or guess the lottery numbers.This poem is not written to be anything other than what you want to read into it,and if you expect a poem to ever do anything more then you should read this full stop.Salena Godden - 'Fishing In The Aftermath - Poems 1994-2014' by Burning Eye Books (2014). Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode you will hear poet Joolz Sparkes talking about the poem that has been a friend to her - 'Dulce et decorum est' by Wilfred Owen.Joolz visited us in Lambeth, London and is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Bennett and Michael Shaeffer.Dulce et Decorum Est is read by Michael Shaeffer.*****Dulce et Decorum Estby Wilfred OwenBent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.In all my dreams before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode you will hear extraordinary actor Paterson Joseph talking about the poem that has been a friend to him - '5 AM' by Roxy Dunn.Paterson Joseph is a beloved British actor and writer. Recently seen on Vigil and Noughts and Crosses, he has also starred in Peep Show and Law & Order UK and he plays Arthur Slugworth in the forthcoming Wonka movie. Paterson's debut novel is The Secret Diaries of Charles Ignatius Sancho, published by Dialogue Books in 2022 to great acclaim. https://www.dialoguebooks.co.uk/titles/paterson-joseph/the-secret-diaries-of-charles-ignatius-sancho/9780349702360/ Paterson visited us at The October Gallery in London. We are very grateful to The October Gallery for hosting The Poetry Exchange so warmly. Thank you also to the Roxy Dunn for kindly granting permission for us to use the poem in this way. Roxy Dunn is a bold and brilliant writer with many strings to her bow...you can find out more about her work in this fabulous interview with Verve Poetry Press, which publishes her collection 'Big Sexy Lunch'. Her debut collection (in which '5AM' features) is 'Clowning', from Eyewear Publishing. Please also feel free to explore more about Kiki Dimoula, the Poet behind Fiona's emerging friend, 'The Wrong Arrangement'.Paterson is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Fiona Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.'5AM' is read by Michael Schaeffer*****5AMby Roxy DunnIt's not quite lightam I getting old?old people wake earlyhalf a croissant is on the desklike a squashed crescent and there's that record I bought with the Soviet rocket sleeveAround the corner in HighburyKeith's cat has given you fleasyour bags are packed for AntibesI wonder if I care about the right thingslike rabbits dying slowly and Brexitsometimes I’m secretly unfazedI feel selfish and middle-agedI'd like to play this rocket recordbut I don't have a record playerthe band are from Leeds, is that cool?I can't work out if this is regretor just the onset of dullnessI think I'll eat breakfast then sleep till nooneat the remains of last night's moon'5 AM' by Roxy Dunn. Printed by permission of Roxy Dunn. Taken from 'Clowning' (Eyewear Publishing, 2016) Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode you will hear Liis talking about the poem that has been a friend to her - 'The Island' by A.A. Milne.Liis visited us at Wise Words Festival in Canterbury. For the first time, we held The Poetry Exchange in an open, public setting, amongst the poetry books at Waterstones, Rose Lane, Canterbury. We are very grateful to both Waterstones and to Wise Words for hosting The Poetry Exchange so warmly.Liis is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Sarah Salway and John Prebble.*****The Islandby A.A. MilneIf I had a ship,I'd sail my shipI'd sail my shipThrough Eastern seas;Down to the beach where the slow waves thunder -The green curls over and the white falls under -Boom! Boom! Boom!On the sun-bright sand.Then I'd leave my ship and I'd land,And climb the steep white sand,And climb to the treesThe six dark trees,The coco-nut trees on the cliff's green crown -Hands and kneesTo the coco-nut trees,Face to the cliff as the stones patter down,Up, up, up, staggering, stumbling,Round the corner where the rock is crumbling,Round this shoulder,Over this boulder,Up to the top where the six trees stand....And there would I rest, and lie,My chin in my hands, and gazeAt the dazzle of sand below,And the green waves curling slowAnd the grey-blue distant hazeWhere the sea goes up to the sky....And I'd say to myself as I looked so lazily down at the sea:"There's nobody else in the world, and the world was made for me." Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode you will hear Jonathan Barnes talking about the poem that has been a friend to him - 'Love (III)' by George Herbert.Jonathan visited us at Wise Words Festival in Canterbury. For the first time, we held The Poetry Exchange in an open, public setting, amongst the poetry books at Waterstones, Rose Lane, Canterbury. We are very grateful to both Waterstones and to Wise Words for hosting The Poetry Exchange so warmly.Jonathan Barnes is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members Victoria Field and John Prebble.*****Love (III)by George HarrisonLove bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back,Guilty of dust and sin.But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slackFrom my first entrance in,Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioningIf I lacked anything.‘A guest,’ I answered, ‘worthy to be here.’Love said, ‘You shall be he.’‘I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,I cannot look on thee.’Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,‘Who made the eyes but I?’‘Truth Lord; but I have marred them; let my shameGo where it doth deserve.’‘And know you not,’ says Love, ‘who bore the blame?’‘My dear, then I will serve.’‘You must sit down,’ says Love, ‘and taste my meat:’So I did sit and eat. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode, you will hear the brilliant actor Maxine Peake talking about the poem that has been a friend to her: ’Turns' by Tony Harrison.Maxine visited The Poetry Exchange at John Rylands Library in May 2016. We’re very grateful to John Rylands Library for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Thank you also to Tony Harrison and Penguin Books for kindly granting permission for us to use the poem in this way. Maxine Peake is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange hosts, Fiona Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.'Turns' is read by Michael Schaeffer.*****Turnsby Tony HarrisonI thought it made me look more 'working class'(as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!) I did a turn in it before the glass.My mother said: It suits you, your dad's cap.(She preferred me to wear suits and part my hair: You're every bit as good as that lot are!)All the pension queue came out to stare.Dad was sprawled beside the postbox (still VR), his cap turned inside up beside his head, smudged H A H in purple Indian inkand Brylcreem slicks displayed so folks might thinkhe wanted charity for dropping dead.He never begged. For nowt! Death's reticencecrowns his life's, and me, I'm opening my trapto busk the class that broke him for the pencethat splash like brackish tears into our cap.'Turns' by Tony Harrison. From ‘Selected Poems’. (Penguin; 3rd Revised ed. edition, 7 Feb. 2013) Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode of our podcast, you will hear Harry talking about the poem that has been a friend to him: ’Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)' by Frank O'Hara.Harry visited The Poetry Exchange at John Rylands Library in May 2016. We’re very grateful to John Rylands Library for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Thank you also to City Lights Publishers for kindly granting permission for us to use the poem in this way. Harry is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Jacqueline Kington and Michael Schaeffer.’Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)' is read by Michael Schaeffer and Jacqueline Kington.*****Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)by Frank O'HaraLana Turner has collapsed! I was trotting along and suddenlyit started raining and snowingand you said it was hailingbut hailing hits you on the headhard so it was really snowing andraining and I was in such a hurryto meet you but the trafficwas acting exactly like the skyand suddenly I see a headline LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!there is no snow in Hollywoodthere is no rain in CaliforniaI have been to lots of partiesand acted perfectly disgracefulbut I never actually collapsedoh Lana Turner we love you get up’Poem (Lana Turner Has Collapsed)' by Frank O'Hara from 'Lunch Poems: Pocket Poets Number 19'. (City Lights Publishers 2014). Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode of our podcast, you will hear the brilliant poet and theatre-maker Hafsah Aneela Bashir talking about the poem that has been a friend to her: ’On Children' by Kahlil Gibran.Hafsah Aneela Bashir is a Manchester-based poet, playwright, performer and mother, originally from East London. Founder and co-director of Outside The Frame Arts, she is passionate about championing voices outside the mainstream. Winner of the Jerwood Compton Poetry Fellowship 2019, she was writer-in-residence with Manchester Literature Festival, is an Associate Artist with Oldham Coliseum Theatre and a Supported Artist at The Royal Exchange Theatre. Creating socially engaged work, her play Cuts Of The Cloth was commissioned for PUSH Festival 2019. Her debut poetry collection The Celox And The Clot is published by Burning Eye Books.Hafsah has worked creatively with Manchester International Festival, Ballet Black, HOME Theatre Mcr, Manchester Literature Festival and ANU Productions Irl. Her SICK! Festival commission, Four Dholis And A Divorce explored mental health set in the South Asian community. Since her visit to The Poetry Exchnage, Hafsah has become a close and vital associate artist in our work.Hafsah Aneela Bashir visited The Poetry Exchange at John Rylands Library, Manchester in May 2016. We’re very grateful to John Rylands Library for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Do visit them for further inspiration!Hafsah is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Lesley Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.’On Children' is read by Fiona Bennett.*****'On Children' (from 'The Prophet') by Kahlil GibranYour children are not your children.They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.You may give them your love but not your thoughts,For they have their own thoughts.You may house their bodies but not their souls,For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.You may strive to be like them,but seek not to make them like you.For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.You are the bows from which your childrenas living arrows are sent forth.The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,and He bends you with His mightthat His arrows may go swift and far.Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;For even as He loves the arrow that flies,so He loves also the bow that is stable. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In this episode of the podcast, you will hear Mark talking about the poem that has been a friend to him: ’For Sigrid' by Derek Walcott.Mark visited The Poetry Exchange at The Chapel in St Chad's College as part of Durham Book Festival in October 2015. We’re very grateful to Durham Book Festival, New Writing North and St Chad’s College for hosting The Poetry Exchange. Thank you also to Farrar, Straus and Giroux for kindly granting permission for us to use the poem in this way.Mark is in conversation with The Poetry Exchange team members, Fiona Lesley Bennett and Michael Schaeffer.'For Sigrid' is read by Michael Schaeffer.*****‘For Sigrid’ from ‘The Bounty’ by Derek Walcott.The sea should have settled him, but its noise is no help.I am talking about a man whose doors invite a sail to cross a kitchen-sill at sunrise, to whom the reek of kelp drying in the sunlit wind on the chattering shoalor the veils of a drizzle hazing a narrow caveare a phantom passion; who hears in the feathering lancesof grass a soundless siege, who, when a bird skips a wave,feels an arrow shoot from his heart and his wrist dances.He sees the full moon in daylight, the sky’s waning rose,the gray wind, his nurse trawling her shawl of white lace;whose wounds were sprinkled with salt but who turns over their horrorswith each crinkling carapace. I am talking about small odysseysthat, with the rhythm of a galley, launch his waking house in the thinning indigo hour, as he mutters thanks overthe answer of a freckled, forgiving back in creased linen,its salt neck and damp hair, and, rising from cover, to the soundless pad of a leopard or a mewing kitten,unscrews the coffee-jar and measures two and a half spoons, and pauses, paralyzed by a sail crossing blue windows,then dresses in the half-dark, dawn-drawn by the full moon’s magnet, until her light-heaving back is a widow’s.She drags the tides and she hauls the heart by hawsersstronger than any devotion, and she creates monstersthat have pulled god-settled heroes from their housesand shawled women watching the fading of the stars."For Sigrid" from THE BOUNTY by Derek Walcott. Copyright © 1997 by Derek Walcott. Used by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.