Keep It Real, Keep It Poetic

I’ve received a lot of mail regarding the previous posting about form divergence and form in general and have tried to respond to everyone but for now I’d like to add three more mentions I have been delighted to have acceptances by Tropica Laced (you can see a taster of one of the poems and images accepted for the June issue) and Rigglewelter Press similarly for the forthcoming issue and yes, they both accept form divergence. The latter has accepted a poem that takes a deal of formating as have Scintilla / The Vaughan Association press, so hats off to them! So, if you’re a form divergent poet these might be a good fit for you. If you find any places that I’ve missed over the course of the two postings please message me and I’ll add details.

I’d also like to give a mention that although I don’t have as much time to write – my uni’ course this year is HEAVY – I’m still sofa-surfin’ round the UK and further afield getting totally absorbed in the art I’m studying. So the proforma for my end of year paper has been submitted and I’m awaiting my tutors feedback but my chosen subject loosely concerns the display of colonial / post-colonial / South East Asian visual idioms – I can’t tell you the title/subject matter in more than general terms until I’ve submitted the paper itself.  However, I’d like to extend a huge ‘thank you’ to Jennifer Chowdhry Biswas
(Research Scholar at The Alkazi Foundation for the Arts) Shashti Lowton (Assistant Curator – Illuminating India: Photography 1857 – 2017) and Giles Tillotson (Curator at Maharaja Sawai Man Singh Museum Trust, City Palace, Jaipur) for their time and guidance. I’m off to Liverpool next week to see yet more fab stuff and with any luck I’ll be able to write a bit too…. yes, apart from the aforementioned paper I’ve been inspired to write poetry about all the wonderous exhibits I’ve been indulging in. 

Speaking of which, one of the things I’m most often asked about regarding poetry is ‘where do all your ideas come from?’ and to that I say… get out there, keep in touch with the real world, cos its there that the inspiration comes from most often than not. Keep it real, keep it poetry!

re. Oxfam scandal, re. UN scandal

re. Oxfam re. UN

In light of the recent and lamentable revelations regarding Oxfam I’m posting a poem about similar events involving the UN, lest we forget that this is a broader issues that goes beyond one organisation. This poem was first published by Thank You For Swallowing in their September 2016 issue (Thank You For Swallowing ). https://thankyouforswallowing.files.wordpress.com/2016/09/sept161.pdf

                                   New Hues of Blue

             UN accused of ‘gross failure’ over alleged sexual abuse by French troops.
Owen Bowcott

Under an Air Superiority sky, shaded
by Steel Blue wings of splayed, corroded metal, we’re grounded on teal terrain, nesting in tents of distressed
Bleu de France.

We call our home M’Poko, an indigo mizzen peopled by soft-centred periwinkles, stuck to the underbelly of the Central African Republic.

Blue-Eared Glossy-Starlings, circling midnight skies, flock here. Sharp-eyed, resourceful – an adaptable species. Hooked beaks thrust under makeshift shelters, stealing our young. The baby-blue and Alice-hued, our vulnerable juveniles pecking a living amongst the rotting and moribund.

Under logos of doves, the innocents
are schooled in a spectrum of lessons
by teachers cloaked in heraldic Azure mantle. Studies of pounding scant pounds of flesh, while furnace-hot hands roast to smalt fragile cobalt bodies, hollow bird-light bones.

Here is home economics for the homeless, strong and weak deals – abiding ordeals – taught by rote, of selling bodies to eat. These birds are the Zaffre, the impure, within the cleft of a double olive branch.

They leave lasting impressions, violet-blue bruises tattooing tender skin, where vermillion blood money mingles with
fetid waves of displacement blues. New
hues to cover the whole picture in this palm- greased wasteland.

Form, Form-Transgressive Poetry

Once upon a time, before university and the wonders of studying the craft of writing as envisaged by academics in an educational institution, I thought of myself as a freeform writer and that Form was archaic, constraining, and redundant. Needless to say, my attitude has changed with exposure to form in all its wondrous guises and now I find myself in the unexpected position of not only searching out new forms but in bending, manipulating, and ultimately creating variations of or challenges to what I encounter.  

This is a practice that has existed as long as the many forms have been in existence as far as I can ascertain so I’m rather surprised to find that poetry that walks a path of exploration meets with such furrowed brows by fellow poetic travellers. Thankfully there are intrepid outlets that actively encourage deviations from the norm so if, like me, you’re creating new poetic paths and want to share your journey, here are just a few of the publishers (online examples where possible) who understand poetic explorations and form rebellions. Good luck with your journey and send me a poetic postcard from your travels.

(These are just some of the over 40+ outlets for my poems but it gives you a flavour of different paths you could be treading...)

Pennsylvania English Literary Magazine (university-affiliated), Smeuse, and Star 82 Review are ‘must haves’ but are print outlets so you’ll have to grab copies to see my work and that of others.  

Otolith: 

What can I say about Mark Young’s great print and online resource?  Four of my poems in the current issue include a redacted sonnet duo and a split/merge poem. He actively encourages divergence and has done for decades. All hail to Mark!!!

https://the-otolith.blogspot.co.uk/2017/08/karen-downs-barton.html

Jazz Cigarette (now Petrichor)

This is generally a form-free zone but took a walk on the wild side for one issue that celebrated the use of form for contemporary issues. There is a copy of my modern pantoum available at: http://www.jazzcig.com/k_barton_01.html  

The Curly Mind:

Another great guy, Reuben Wooley has published many of my poems and this online poetry zine is all about the minds wot curl! Care Guide is a redacted poem that is quite lighthearted – just to prove that not all poetic iconoclasm has to be serious – God forbid!

https://thecurlymindblog.wordpress.com/tag/karen-barton/

Don’t forget that some universities have magazines with online issues that support innovative poets. Check out The Goose which is the official publication of ALECC (Association for Literature, Environment, and Culture in Canada / Association pour la littérature, l'environnement et la culture au Canada) and in my humble opinion holds up academic banner for being open to creative excellence in literature.  http://scholars.wlu.ca/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1253&context=thegoose

Okay, so now you’ve seen that the outlets exist – and these were just a fraction of what is available as you'll see when scrolling through previous posts – and the sort of poems they’ve already accepted…. go submit and broaden the range of form transgressors getting their voices heard.

Text and Images

In the run-up to Christmas I wasn’t posting as I was on one of my ‘walkabouts’ this time staying in Cape Verde studying the art of Portuguese Manueline style art – well, where I could – and taking in the sights.

Manueline was totally new to me before one of the tutors on my art history course brought it up and if its new to you too then here is the low-down on it. It is a Portuguese late Gothic style that has influences of Mudejar (okay, one of my favourite styles) and even Indian architectural ornamental leanings. I was fascinated by the inclusion of what looks like rope – a reference to a seafaring trading nation? – and as I knew that Portugal and later the Dutch had used the Cape Verde islands as staging posts I decided to investigate while I was staying there.

The rope side of things is obviously problematic as it has strong associations with the ‘goods’ that were traded at the islands, slaves. As you can see from the images below, there is a lot of poverty in the islands but I found it inspiring, not least due to a lot of misconceptions written about the archipelago by people who haven’t even visited it. Bizarre!

As always my reaction is to write about what I see and the things that make me go ‘hmmmm’ and I’m pleased to say that the resultant poem ‘If I Could Tell You About Cape Verde’ has just been published by Tropica Laced Literary Magazine (you can see it on their tumblr page: https://tropicalaced.tumblr.com issue comes out in June so this way you don’t have to wait J ). They were kind enough to offer homes to two other poems that aren’t Cape Verde related, one about my grandfathers pigeon shed (a pungent and brutal place) and the other about the harem gate aviary at Topkapi Palace along with two unrelated photographs.

I’d also like to show how a contemporary ceramic artist has responded to African, Portuguese, Manueline, slave heritage of the islands with this beautiful and monumental vase called Africa.

Jazz Cigarette?

So my recent visit to Manchester inspired so much artistic stimulation, conversations, debates and ultimately writing too and I'm pleased to see one of the poems 'Harmonies of Morning' published in Jazz Cigarette's 5th e-anthology. (http://www.jazzcig.com/k_barton_01.html)

Just Because

Under spectral signs that answer

‘Cos’ I see cocooned

exclamations and dormant questions

in fetal positions

the punctuated lives

of rough sleepers

in the crevices

of sleepwalking cities.

rain

how beautiful the rain drops
musically ricochetted off 
rooftops and leaves
while I freeze
listening

Spice of Life?

So, the past few months have seen me...

sitting my end of year exam (don't even ask!)
heading off to festivals (well it is the summer!)
and spending time in Manchester taking in the sights, sounds and vibe of the city.

I've been writing too. I've finally got my writing head back on and find that I just can't stop writing about the things that really matter, heartfelt observations of 'life'... and too. I'm especially caught up in the issues of the Manchester spice epidemic; an insidious drug that leaves people like zombies and is so endemic in the city centre that folk just walk past as if the afflicted are invisible.

Good news comes in the form of acceptances of a poem about the first woman of colour recorded as a barmaid/courtesan in Londons West End in the 1700's. This will be published by Smeuse in the autumn - September I think. The poem is an erasure and I'm sure it'll look fab in the publication... can't wait to see it in fact.

More good news is that I have had 5 poems accepted by Otoliths, one about a family member who died recently and another about the spice problems - both using unusual formatting so doubly pleased that they have found a good home.

I'll be posting links as and when all the above are published.
It's good to be back!!!

Trumped-On

There is a new phenomenon in our house – the Daily Trump.

It starts with receiving the latest mad political news, at home or abroad, and that is how I start my day… a Daily Trump and a coffee to wash it down cos it always gets stuck in my throat.

My nearest and dearest think that I am a protest poet, and it’s true that I write protest poetry – breast ironing, enforced wearing of the veil, injustices old and new – but I find that’s the best way to counter those things that I personally cannot change.

Luckily, I tend to see beauty in the most peculiar places – a mermaid swimming into a mackerel sky, or other escapist fantasies but really…. this is surely a time of not learning from history and forgetting our humanity.

So, for all the Trumped-Up stuff

Trumpeted about by the huf-

fing-and-puffing types, my

Trump Card

is

a brick house built

of unshakable stuff

beliefs in a better World.

And while

the trumpeters

trumpet their trash, I’ll scratch

my disquiet and my disgust

pen-tattooing

white paper with black ink

black paper with white ink

and shut out their Trumpeted stink

till I can think above their din...

and the world’s enlightened again.

This Dark Lanterns Gall

So pleased to see my poem This Dark Lanterns Gall published by the Fem Literary Magazine. It is an erasure poem inspired by the Metaphysical poet Katherine Philips and reacts to the exclusion of female poets from the Penguin compilation The Metaphysical Poets - using the list of titles from a single page representing those that were included.
A huge 'thank you' to Autumn Spriggs for the inclusion.

https://thefemlitmag.com/poem-by-karen-barton-be19e76fb754#.wfik8e2yl

Light on the Frosty Horizon.

Perhaps there's light on the somewhat frosty horizon.

I’m taking one of many breaks from my essay writing – there are times when my whole mind and body say ‘NO!’ and sadly, today is one of them. I'm struggling to get my head out of recent events and into the world of dissecting survey plans from the 1700's. I bet you're more sympathetic having heard that aren't you?

So, the latest excuse is to post this message about a found poem I have had published by ‘Thank You For Swallowing’. It is a found poem using Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night to make a point about how far female roles have not come. Don’t let that put you off though… I hate suppression wherever it rocks up.

https://thankyouforswallowing.files.wordpress.com/2017/01/fuck2016.pdf

Bereavement and Care Guides

I haven't been blogging for a while due to caring for a terminally ill family member so today, while a plumber plunges me into the chill of winter and drains my central heating system I shall dip my toe in the world of writing again.

While I was otherwise occupied lots of my poetry has been published, which felt a little at odds with what was going on around me but took away some of the stresses of not being able to write or even continue with my degree course.

I'm very proud of a found poem published at The Curly Mind entitled 'Care Guide' dedicated to all my wonderful male friends.
You can find the poem at: https://thecurlymindblog.wordpress.com/2016/11/06/care-guide-by-karen-barton/

The Vengeance of Artemisia Gentileschi

      Happy Halloween Folks!

I've been lucky to have had my poem 'The Vengeance of Artemisia Gentileschi' published by Wicked Banshee in the
Defining Magic' issue - and my artwork is featured on the cover!
Wowzer!

http://www.wickedbansheepress.com 

Unlost - Found Poem for Rotherham Girls Published

Unlost - that great site for found poetry has printed a little found poem of mine. The poem is for all those female voices that aren't heard but most especially this week for the Rotherham girls and their lost childhoods.

http://unlostjournal.com/talking-with-a-mouth-full-of-stars/

Saltaire Haiku

Under the grey sky 

pencil-line trees bled ink spots

I walked on rainbows

Post-Brexit Arts

Post-Brexit Arts

https://thankyouforswallowing.files.wordpress.com/2016/10/oct16.pdf (I was originally going to post a 'hooray' about my published poem but...)

How much do we, in the UK, value the arts? I would say that depends on who you ask and when you ask. At the moment, I feel concerned about the potential for the reestablishing of social divides from pre-sixties England, plunging us into a dark age where the disadvantaged are channeled away from supposedly ‘unproductive’ social pursuits towards academic or tertiary pursuits that will prepare them for the workplace – though what that will look like post-Brexit God only knows! 

I was prompted to think about this, in particular, today for a couple of reasons: 

Firstly, a friend from a previous course sent me a link to an article discussing how a major examination board was axing their art A’Level syllabus in 2018; and secondly, the publication of a poem I wrote a few months ago. The first seemed to indicate that certain sectors of the education system feel that the arts are of less value for sectors of our society, preferring to focus the young within a lower income social strata towards more productive pursuits while the Oxbridge students still had access to these syllabuses through different exam boards. 

Thankfully, despite a non-existent education, I am now fulfilling whatever potential I might initially have had and rather than making me feel that the exam boards have it right, I feel even more strongly that they are wrong. By narrowing the horizons of our young people from their own narrow-minded, or pernicious, lack of appreciation of the far-reaching benefits of the arts to our society they are stifling the potential of the young or the returning learner and to the detriment of the richness of social life for all.  

Thank goodness there are organizations such as the Open University and night schools available to those who want more from life than a simple, Gradgrind version of education.

Appropriating Our Images Symbiotically

Appropriating Images, But 

Symbiotically...

My interpreter

weaves

my thoughts sympathetically

with his blood; we're

melded, leak

ing

in bare                        spaces.

Un-ergonomic,

his head, like mine, weighs

heavily. Together we mull…

He

hovers patiently

or culls extraneous

visions.

Time weathered, his imperceptible

curve echoes my hand,

a preference, like a well-worn

heel, develops, unnoticed.

Un-diminished by age, his

grinning teeth

smile

patient prevarications

beneath eyes betraying

love-in-idleness in their

depths.  His question mark out-

line                  contains

interrogations breath-

ing spadille death to

ace of hearts apprehensions

almost con-

nected by diamonds

of ambition.

Should Poetry Deal With Difficult Issues?

https://thankyouforswallowing.files.wordpress.com/2016/09/sept161.pdf

While I was studying creative writing last year I came across a phrase that stuck in my mind ‘happiness writes white’ a phrase attributed to Henri de Montherlant. I duly wrote it in my writers' notebook and thinking that I’d write a poem resulting from it at some point. I started several but each time they took on a life of their own and went in new directions – apparently, artists like Harvey Danger and Edward Hirsch had better luck focusing. 

My attitude was that happiness doesn’t write white; in fact, my attitude is to find some black paper (metaphorical or otherwise) to pen your white poetry or prose on but… what of the black? What of the dark? I recently went to a ‘comedy night’ poetry reading where Luke Wright, Mike Garry and the fantastic Dr John Cooper-Clarke were many different shades of white through grey to darkest black and poetry, even jokes, definitely felt the right place for that mixture of emotional tones. 

So what of myself? Do I write with a breadth of tones or do I slip into the dark and bring it with me to write blackly on my white page? Yes and no. I do feel that poetry is a place to bring my concerns – I can’t imagine myself as a ‘nice’ writer dealing with safe issues alone. 

Luckily there are sites and zines where the editors feel the same. There are the nice, safe, comfortable places where the supposedly white ink can pen supposedly white reams of joy and light yet there are those who are brave enough to welcome a spectrum. 

Perhaps this is why 'Thank You For Swallowing' has just published what I imagine might be a difficult subject for some readers – the rape of children by UN soldiers. The poem ‘New Hues of Blue’ may be difficult but surely needs to be exposed by diverse means? 

A friend commented that poems of mine published by I Am Not A Silent Poet concerning breast-ironing fall into the same category and perhaps I am a dark writer. Perhaps. However, I don’t feel like one. I feel like a multitude of inks – a rainbow you might say – and in many gradations of colours too. I also think that poetry has always, and will always be a good home for these colours.

Matryoshka Poetry Vol. 1

Over the past few weeks, I've been finalising the first Matryoshka poetry magazine and now that it is finished and sitting pretty on matryoshkapoetry.com web page I'm going to add a link here.... just because I'm so proud of all those who contributed.


http://issuu.com/matryoshkapoetry/docs/matryoshka-poetry-vol-1.docx?e=25202252/38736611

      Snake 

   Susurrations

Your rattle, 

   a porcupine prickle 

    transformed  to  sound, 

     sends the world a warning to be-

      ware. You caress the ground, secretly 

           stealing colour and earthy patina to polish  

               your scales. Unsuspecting travellers find spec-

                        tral skin you slough pinned to sharp stuff, 

                       like serpent husks or discarded clothing left

                     out, drying. It is a sneaky snake, conceit,

              that makes even reasonable people a n g r y. 

         One night, a mustachioed explorer in a natty 

        pith helmet approached while you slept,

      bringing a bomb of condensed hatred. 

     It exploded, ripping you apart

    to fall like sherbet bits

   that f i z z  e d 

  as they 

h  i   t 

the ground. 

Cursed by God and man

  to fashion deserts and shorelines,

    you slither at night, or when receding 

       tides give traction, in an endless task that 

          lasts even after death - ghost snakes taking

         up the action. The spectral serpents slither on 

         beaches, when the muddied boundaries between 

         wet and dry form rivulets and r u n n e l s   of 

       serpentine creations, and casts.

    Unrecognized by crafts-

 men you rise on the 

breeze, glimpsed 

briefly l e v -

i t a t i n g

inches above 

  your handiwork. 

   Hardy beachcombers, who

    deny your snaky interventions,

       daring to say it’s a phenomenon of wave 

         action, are coiled about on breezes salted

             with snake tears, their skin chaffed with  

                bitter disdain and calling-cards of sloughed 

                   scales and sand particles.    You leave 

                      yourself embedded in human skin, 

                          a temporary reminder of hom-

                            inid stupidity and your 

                                   obvious, sinuous 

                                        superiority.              

                                   Karen Barton

first published in Matryoshka Poetry Vol. 1

Text Poem

Pump up the volume, pump up the volume!

Pump up the jam, surely? 

Or, maybe, with sideways thinking, pump up the ham? 

Perhaps that was the impetus for TESCO to inject its meat with water.