A Snowboy Christmas Stocking

Book Launch @ The Crooked Book, 23.11.11
ft. Andrew McMillan, Ira Lightman, Mark Burnhope

Video: Andrew McMillan

Video: Ira Lightman

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Video: Mark Burnhope

Emoliage
The Ideal Bed
To My Familiar, Queequeg
Dream Invertebration
The Well and the Ceiling Rose, The Snowboy and Shinglehenge

The Snowboy Virtual Tour (so far)
1. Peony Moon (breaking the ice)
2. Days of Roses - 15th August 2011
3. Sikworms Ink - 17th August 2011
4. Robert Peake (part 1) - 22nd August 2011
5. Robert Peake (part 2) - 23rd August 2011
6. Every-ist and Every-ism - 22nd August 2011
7. Tony Williams - 5th September 2011
8. Miso Sensitive - 7th September 2011
9. Peony Moon (conversation with Claire Trevien) - 2nd September 2011
10. Polyolbion - 10th October 2011
11. The Poetry School - 15th December 2011

The Snowboy Reviewed and Rated

@ Raw Light
@ Sphinx
Sabotage 2011 Top Ten

The Snowboy Competition

The snow has started falling in various places across the UK, which has got my noggin working. Here's what I'm thinking: some of you -- wherever you are in the world -- will be building snowmen, snowwomen, snowboys, snowgirls. If you do, please send me a picture of your creation for this blog. I'll put all the pictures I receive up here. At the end of January (probably, I'm not that organised and it depends how many arrive), we'll have something of a gallery of them. I will choose a favourite, with the help of a specially-appointed second judge. The creator of that favourite will receive a signed copy of The Snowboy, along with some related illustration work that I have yet to create (if you want to get an idea of my visual art, there's a few pieces way back in the Naming The Beasts archives). So go on, get posting your Snowman pictures to me on markburnhope@hotmail.co.uk.

Disclaimer: if they must be old ones, last year's, that's fine; I'm hardly going to know. But please don't just put 'Snowman' into Google Images. Any images which I think aren't original to you might go up here, for a laugh, but they won't be judged the winner, which means that you won't get any of my artwork to put up in your house. You won't be laughing then...

Entries So Far...
Marion McCready



Jenni Pasco

Dan Wyke

(This entry has been deemed unfit for public viewing. Send me an entry for the competition, and I'll e-mail it to you if 1) you're not of a sensitive disposition, 2) you ask nicely, and 3) you like funny things.)

The Snowboy Competition

The snow has started falling in various places across the UK, which has got my noggin working. Here's what I'm thinking: some of you -- wherever you are in the world -- will be building snowmen, snowwomen, snowboys, snowgirls. If you do, please send me a picture of your creation for this blog. I'll put all the pictures I receive up here. At the end of January (probably, I'm not that organised and it depends how many arrive), we'll have something of a gallery of them. I will choose a favourite, with the help of a specially-appointed second judge. The creator of that favourite will receive a signed copy of The Snowboy, along with some related illustration work that I have yet to create (if you want to get an idea of my visual art, there's a few pieces way back in the Naming The Beasts archives). So go on, get posting your Snowman pictures to me on markburnhope@hotmail.co.uk.

Disclaimer: if they must be old ones, last year's, that's fine; I'm hardly going to know. But please don't just put 'Snowman' into Google Images. Any images which I think aren't original to you might go up here, for a laugh, but they won't be judged the winner, which means that you won't get any of my artwork to put up in your house. You won't be laughing then.

Interview and Review

As it says on the tin, I have two things for you this morning. The first is a lovely recent review of The Snowboy on Jane Holland's blog Raw Light. I'm grateful to her for being bang-on in so many of her thoughts and comments, and for giving me some advice to go forward with. The second thing to show you is a short chat (well, 'short' by my standards) that I had with The Poetry School. Two poems from The Snowboy sprung from prompts given to me by Andrew Philip, on his TPS course on Form and Structure. So for those reasons, it was great to chat with them after the fact, and (in too few words) express my appreciation.

Showing your Working-out: workshopping laid bare

Yesterday I finished an enjoyable Seven / Seven, the last of the year, and my first for even longer. I haven't played Sevens for a good while, partly because my poem-a-day muscles have seriously lacked exercise, and also because I've repeatedly chickened out. Writing a poem a day for seven days -- let alone for an entire month, for April's NaPoWriMo -- seems like near-madness now, and the results almost embarrassing, whereas I used to relish it, back when I thought that all that bled from my pen was pure gold. Anyway, look down there. I have a few things I can work from here, I think, and I also think I'll play Sevens again in January. Feel free to join me, if you fancy it.

Finally, it's been good (and terrifying) to show you, the reader, the whole process. It has meant me swallowing some pride, and being willing to screw up every so often: the shine has once again been taken off the notion of 'Poetry', and the game has reminded me to scrape it back and remember why I started scribbling poems in the first place, years before I became a slave to the computer (I can hardly write without it anymore). I have been showing my working-out, like a good little mathematics pupil. I hated maths in school, so it pains me to say it, but I'm sure all this was the reason my maths teacher insisted that we handed in our botched bits, rubbings, scribblings-out, strike-throughs, along with our finished work. Back then, I didn't get it. I wondered why I couldn't just hand in the answers when they were done (if they were done at all, because I sometimes managed to sleep at my desk without being disturbed). But I get it now. Indeed, process is an arform in itself, as conceptual art is reminding us all the time. Music as well: everyone has, I think, heard at least some of the demos / b-sides / studio rejects from their favourite bands. We're not always going to like these musical messes, and they'll sometimes award us with nothing more than a good laugh, but that is never the point. Also (and I know it's a cliche), showing your working-out keeps you humble, and opens you up to further growth. Of course, it can also look unprofessional, but if you've made it this far, you'll join me in saying balls to that.

In that spirit, here's a confession: two of these Sevens poems didn't exactly fit the brief. One of them is a draft I've been throwing around, trying to beat into submission, for... a long time (I won't tell you which it is, just that the title has already changed since I posted the draft you see here). The other was written with a second pair of eyes, and a skilled pair of scissor-hands (all the better to cut the crap with...). That poem is 'Adam and Eve It', and my collaborator was Ira Lightman. Being a conceptual / experimental poet who is also passionate about mathematics, Ira has, since I've known him, helped me to be less embarrassed about showing the working-out (even as part of the aesthetics of the poem itself; uncertainty is, I think, something to utilise even in finished pieces). Sharing this poem with Ira on Facebook, and asking him to do his worst on it, led to the following exchange. I share it with you here in full -- including an early draft riddled with problems -- in the spirit of showing my working-out, and not being afraid of the embarrassing bits. If you learn something from the process (for instance, how to lay irony on with a trowel), then great. If not, just enjoy the voyeuristic element -- because, well, I would.

------
MB:

Hi Ira. Question: is this any good?

The Prosaic Law

Adam, before half a wishbone,
was an androgyne, yes. But
you know the rainbow
God whipped out after the flood
cannot be said to bend
over the LGBT, hermeneutically.

Adam formed of dust,
humanity restarted
after a redraft:
both Prosaic Law, not
your quasi-genre, poetry,
hence not open to just
any interpretation.

Try this:

After Snake was cursed, Adam and Eve,
others, such as Shadrach,
Meshach and Abdednego
commenced shadow-play behind a sheet,
partied through the millennia frivolously.

They’re still here, in you and I,
taking Brighton Pier Theatre by monsoon.
Do not drink their poison; run for shelter from
their venomous agenda. Men can make a meal
of the word, remember. Male and Female cuts
like Knife and Fork. Fabulous places open after dark.

IL:

Hmmm, I'm not on first reading keen. I like the rhyme of wishbone and androgyne. I love the line "Male and Female cuts / like Knife and Fork." And I like the sonorous list of
Shadrach, Meshach and Abdednego.

But I am left cold by most of the remainder. I can't get enough narrative, and every line is said in a rephrased way and quite knowingly. I want a more direct narrative and declaration, really.

MB:

Hmm... OK, fair enough. So it reads as if I'm deliberately taking the mickey, and you want to just more simply narrate it without the sarcastic affectations.

IL:

Perhaps yes. I hadn't heard them properly as sarcasm but yes straight into sarcasm is what's bothering me.

MB:

Any better? Another option for a title is 'I Don't Idiom and Eve It' 

The Prosaic Law

Adam, before half
a wishbone, was an androgyne.
But the rainbow
God unfurled after the flood
can't be said to cover
the queer, logistically. 

Humanity made of soil,
restarted after a redraft:
both Prosaic Law
hence, not open to just
any interpretation. Try this: 

After Snake was cursed, Adam and Eve,
others, such as Shadrach,
Meshach and Abednego
commenced shadow-play behind a sheet,
played through the millennia frivolously. 

They’re still here, taking Brighton
Palace Pier Theatre by monsoon.

Do not drink their poison; run for shelter
from their agenda. Men can make a meal
of the Word, remember. Male and Female
cuts like Knife and Fork. Fabulous places
open after dark.

IL:

Why is it about idiom and prose when it's such an important subject as sexism and homophobia in the Christian church? I think (as often) the fidgetting about form could be taken out.

IL (fiddles with my poem, unbeknownst to me):

Adam, before the difference of half
a wishbone, was an androgyne.
Before Noah, no rainbow, fun-
damentalists insist. Run

for shelter from their agenda. Remember
Men can make a meal of the Word. Male and Female
cuts like knife with fork.

MB (slightly mortified that my poem is so much smaller): 

OK, I see what you mean. The 'Prosaic Law' stuff is meant to mimic the 'Mosaic Law', which of course contains the Levitical prohibitions against homosexuality. Theologically, conservatives are often arguing that you can't take poetic liberties with commands -- hence not open to any interpretation, etc.

IL:

I'm just suggesting some weak parts. I don't see that it's half a wishbone that makes Adam not an androgyne. I think much of the middle part is off the subject. Shadrach, Meshach and Abdednego have nothing to do with snakes, why them and not other Biblical characters? Why change the subject to fire which you do by invoking them? The prosaic stuff is about your general approach, in which case make a much longer piece, and make this an episode of it.

MB:

Yes, all very good points. So cut all this down to its essentials, and use the prosaic vs. the poetic / imaginative as a possible way of making this longer.

IL:

And you've made the case against literalists and fundamentalists before, hence I preferred to edit it as light and cutting. And introducing the rainbow when discussing Eden is tricky too, as there are not supposed to be rainbows before Noah.

MB:

Indeed, and I don't want to state the obvious either, which makes this kind of poem kind of scary... Theologically, the androgyny stuff is something which conservatives think they can refute fairly easily. So does a weak theological argument (I don't think it is, by the way) equal a weak poetic idea?

IL:

I like the way it is mostly eating metaphors now, wishbone and making a meal of the Word.

MB:

Yup.

IL:

And nuts to conservatives. I'm persuaded Adam could be thought of that way. (Also, between you and me, the over sarcastic tone made you sound like you might be a Christian who doesn't like gays.)

MB:

DID IT? Oh dear. Well, that's a constant worry when I'm trying to get close to the bone. So to speak.

As for seeing Adam that way, yes, another thing I've been looking at a bit is Jewish mysticism. That, in part, is where queer theology tends to find that androgyny instead of the strict male / female dichotomy which is famously 'biblical'.

IL:

I think it's hard to mention the rainbow without mentioning Noah. I do think mentioning the rainbow is vital, the colour and strangeness of it, and it expresses pro-Gay feeling, and it also hints at the deep meaning that underneath the flag of difference we are all the same and Christians need to take down their own divisions, and stop pretending to be so WASP and unqueer.

Well, I love Jewish mysticism; Judeo-Christianity is where it's at. Can't come to the Father except through the Son, and can't come to the Son except through the Father.

MB:

I love the idea from queer theory that we're all 'queer', and that the only people who have made a choice are those who have decided to be straight, over and above anything else. Everyone else just likes what they like and isn't so obsessed with defining it. I like that idea.

IL:

I do too. And you're working towards it in the poem. But you're a bit hampered, like you're not quite getting jiggy enough with it, and still a bit too accommodating to the conservatives.

MB:

Bugger. Heh.

IL:

So get jiggy.

MB (after some getting jiggy):

OK, so I've only changed one linebreak, making the stanzas almost mirror each other, lineation-wise. That's it.

Adam, before the difference
of half a wishbone, was an androgyne. Before Noah 

[new linebreak] 

no rainbow, fun-
damentalists insist. Run
for shelter from their agenda. Remember
men can make a meal of the Word. Male and Female
cuts like knife with fork.

MB (breaking a nerve-wracking silence):

Any idea for a title? 'Marginal Jottings' or something...

IL:

Nooooooo.
Stop writing titles about WRITING.

"Adam and Eve it"?

MB:

Haha -- OK.

Yes, I like 'Adam and Eve it'.
(I liked 'Jot and Tittle' the other day, though... )

IL:

I do hope history records somewhere the collaborative Pound and Eliot work we do together, as I brutalize your poor poems with a blue pencil and throw Noah in willy-nilly. Perhaps we could publish one of these correspondences on your blog?

Seven / Seven (7)

Phantasmagoria: not a prayer or a confession, something else

I do not normally dream
but did tonight, of a conflict
between two green mantises.

Mad. Yes it is, stay with me.
It broke out by my side, on the bed.
One swiped the other with a scythe.

I reached out for it, the specimen
I most admired the shape of.
I do not know why

she all of a sudden vanished
in a paroxysm of pink wings,
or was it petals, so that only

one was left. Nor do I know
how I knew this one was male,
or why it matters to me still.  

Seven / Seven (6)

Seasoned Reasons

because Bethlehem flowered, we bloomed,
in a blizzard of correction fluid, and every tree
grew from a profound plantation of money

because economies might have stabilised
inside that cold stable, as cattle lay prostrate
under the peaceful rule of the Christ-child

because what makes society shine, Plato,
was not, and will never be, pederasty – still
quite the hook to hang a captive audience on –

because astrologers, magicians, may qualify
as that day’s queers, aroused as they clearly are
by a deviant star clean as a lost Roman coin

because communities’ mouths frothed
like rivers Israel-over, and in his bed,
every receiver grew to meet his giver

because the contemporary stage has it
that a roof can bend in the centre like a tent,
and not lie flat like a precise law, or a bank note

Seven / Seven (5)

Parable of an Apostate

Paper money won’t survive the century.
With this, one of his usual short theses,
the shop man hands me a fiver change.

He's folded the queen’s face twice,
there's a tiny tear in her hair. I swear,
I say, this note won’t last one day
in my wallet. My coins will wear on it.

My wife says I have burned my bridges:
boss, colleagues, benefits office -- all of them
condemn the fields I built my house on.

All of these doors adorned with chimes --
who do they ring for? I carry this to my car,
take a careless turn to town, and my place
in a St. Paul’s pew to reflect (O the fee!).

The sun so easily consolidates all its debts
into lighter payments. Each one sets ablaze
every window in its way. So the epiphany:

paper money is made from hemp,
a Cannabis variation. Sometimes
so are teabags, toilet rolls, linen.
I will go to my house, tell my wife:

I never crossed a bridge, I climbed a ladder.
But I won't wear on you any longer. I will score,
fold, stash the obsolete currency: us together.

Then, from top down, I will return
my house to Cannabis, and inhale; see
every single ladder-rung fall, and the face
of my queen blue as I flee the fire.

Seven / Seven (4)

Phantasmagoria: observance of a hermit

Mantis, look
         at this

almost-trans-
parent habit
you've removed;

floored, flattened
                pressed in the hours
since you renounced its safety.

         There cannot be
too many more, surely;
three, or
              four?

But we are bound to
seventy-times-
    seven skins;

remove shoes
      shirt, coat
      in every instar
we enter, without

wondering why
or when it ends.

Seven / Seven (3)

Adam and Eve It

Adam, before the difference
of half a wishbone, was an androgyne. Before Noah
no rainbow fun-
damentalists insist. Run

for shelter from their agenda. Remember
men can make a meal of the Word. Male and Female
cuts like Knife with Fork.

Seven / Seven (2)

Phantasmagoria: projection of two ghosts

spot-cleaning your faunarium
                  after your passing

I took twenty ova from Extatosoma tiaratum
and a further nine from Eurycantha insularis

sleeping now
                   in a plastic RUB
    to be misted almost daily

phasmatodae     from phasma
meaning apparition  phantom

such is the hobby     in an ominous not-
quite-nutcase:         take a fleck

                      of life-and-lacking-
                                  spine

                                  make it speak

Seven / Seven (1)

I've decided to bite the bullet this cold December, and rejoin PFFA for their seven-seven challenge: starting on the 7th, one poem (well, draft) a day for seven days. I'll be posting them here as well, so you can follow along. Here's the first:

Jot and Tittle
one iott or one tytle of the lawe shall not scape

Once, I almost
joined a community of postmodern monks.

You could recite their offices anywhere in the world --
God isn't bound to geography, the monastery is earth.

But, you know how it is, countries shrunk to cells.
Like drunk or just gung-ho limners, the years

added serifs to every last letter I learned to interpret,
and my Bible was bound to get lost, in my last move.