Poetry Nottingham
NEWS FOR SUBSCRIBERS AND CONTRIBUTORS TO POETRY NOTTINGHAM
I am very pleased to communicate good news to you in connection with the future of Poetry Nottingham.
As you will know, these are hard times for the publicly funded arts in the UK and PN was one of the many magazines to have had its Arts Council grant cancelled in 2007. I would like to express thanks to all who supported the magazine with subscription renewals and submissions of work in the time that has elapsed since the cut. The continuing regularity of the former, the high quality of the latter, allied to my own brand of head in the sand optimism and the generosity of an individual well wisher have combined to keep us afloat.
This represents a fragile construction however, and is no recipe for development. I’m delighted to confirm that the magazine has now secured new funding from the University of Derby. The prospects for development for a poetry magazine with a secure financial footing, embedded within a University and looking beyond academic, regional and national borders (as PN has always strived to) are very exciting.
I am sure readers will appreciate that owing to the new geographical dispensation, a name change is appropriate. Beginning with the next issue the magazine will be known as ASSENT - a name that I hope combines nuances of openness and aspiration to excellence. But if you are interested in the clinching “that’s it!” moment of decision, I would point you to Elizabeth Bishop’s poem ‘Anaphora’.
In order to avoid a prolonged break in the publishing schedule, I decided to continue preparation for the next issue of PN, before the funding agreement was secured. I trust that those writers with work accepted and recent subscribers will agree that ASSENT is as worthy a destination for their work and money as PN was. The magazine will be mailed in June.
As many of you will know, the magazine has historical roots with the Nottingham Poetry Society. These include an ongoing agreement to publish the winners and commended poets in the annual Nottingham Open competition. I would like to assure all entrants to this competition that this agreement is unchanged. Further news regarding editorial arrangements and new features in the magazine are being discussed. I hope that you as readers and writers will be willing to join this discussion over the coming months.
Finally, I would like to thank all of you for your continuing support. I hope you will enjoy and assent to the new Poetry Nottingham!
Adrian Buckner
(Editor)
Submission to ‘Poetry Nottingham’ should be made to Adrian Buckner (Editor)
11 Orkney Close, Stenson Fields, Derbyshire DE24 3LW, enclosing SAE for return.
From Vol 62/3
Selected by Derrick Buttress
LOUISE BIOSKI
The year was 1947
because I remember
writing the number,
carefully, with difficulty.
Third grade,
Bradleyville School,
I see now
that you were in love with me,
sitting at your desk near mine.
Your dress
had been washed so many times
its thinness settles now
on my hands like a dust.
You admired the small smooth facets
I made with my secret jackknife
when I sharpened my pencil.
Your fingers, wet with spit to erase,
told me how poor you were.
Remember how that year
the school doctor used to visit our class
and on the slate blackboard
he drew with white chalk
each letter of the alphabet
as a little person. We laughed
at how he made a C, bent with gloom.
Louise, you need a bath.
But first, here – here’s my eraser, it’s yours.
William Gilson
WEST COUNTRY ENTERTAINMENT
Red and white geraniums block my view.
I drink my Italian house red
and make a note about sight-lines.
On the opposite pavement a policeman
attempts to move a beggar who clings
to his pitch like a rock-hugging rook.
Trunch him one, copper!
Stick to your guns, beggar!
I tick the box for audience participation.
The copper tears off a strip of paper for the beggar
who picks up his blanket and starts to walk.
I tick the box for alienation.
The copper stabs his pen in his shirt pocket
and speaks into his mobile phone
which glints in the sun like a scudetto.
I fill in my audience survey form.
Michael Henry
HIS OLD TRICKS
She lay on the lounger, watching
the rabbit nuzzle the lobelia,
quietly recombining her oh so
elegant torso and fishnet-covered legs,
all within the lifespan of the ice-cubes
in her G&T. The breeze rolled his hat
gently on its rim under the cherry trees
and a monotony of white doves cooed
from every nearby roof. And all the while
inside, he tried to picture a card,
any card, worked on his collection
of false walls, secret door, hinges
on which to swing the balance of the evening,
still sweet, but clouding over now,
blowing smoke across the sun and moon.
Matt Merritt
