A new poetry anthology includes one of my poems among the first fruits of Autumn.

I got my copy of a new anthology today, The Four Seasons published by Kind of a Hurricane Press in Florida, USA.  I'm happy that they wanted to publish my short poem, Gardening Tips, in this collection of season-themed poetry.  The poem's main theme is the impulse to plant daffodil bulbs in the cold days of Autumn so it was a pleasant coincidence that the book arrived around the same time that I took delivery of next spring's daffodil and tulip bulbs for my small Lewes town garden.

I have put the box in my garden shed where it will sit until mid-November when I shall plant them in the cold earth. Why do I do this every Autumn? There's a clue in the photograph below.

If you want to buy a copy of the paperback, here are some links to Amazon:

In the USA:

http://www.amazon.com/Four-Seasons-Various-Authors/dp/1517431840/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1446045164&sr=8-6&keywords=A.J.+Huffman+poetry

 In the UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Four-Seasons-Various-Authors/dp/1517431840/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1446045164&sr=8-6&keywords=A.J.+Huffman+poetry

My poem On Gloucester Road and two persuasive Americans.

Wolfgang Glinka in On Gloucester Road

My prose poem, On Gloucester Road, has had an interesting life so far. I wrote it after being contacted with the Moscow-based American publisher, Marco North who was compiling an anthology and asked me if I would write him a prose poem.

Marco North

 I told him I didn't really know what a prose poem is but he was very kind about my writing here on these blogs and insisted that I should try my hand at one.  Well, thanks to the charismatic and highly persuasive Marco North, the poem was born and published in a splendid collection called In The Night Count The Stars Night  published by Bittersweet Editions http://www.bittersweeteditions.com/

Recently, I was approached by another persuasive American, the Californian composer and film-maker, Tim Risher, who said he'd like to make a short animated film of the poem for which he intended to write the music too. So my poem has born again, this time as a movie made with the computer graphics as supplied by the vibrant artistic community from the virtual computer world, Second Life, where I do weekly poetry events under the name of Wolfgang Glinka. Tim Risher has a presence there too as Joseph Nussbaum. Here's a link to his other music:  http://www.wehrs-music-house.com/?page_id=613

Tim Risher (aka Joseph Nussbaum)

This is my third collaboration with Tim and i'm really pleased, yet again, with the results. You can see the others on the right hand column of this page. The film is out on YouTube today. Here it is - hope you enjoy your dinner at Sloppie Joe's.

Looking for fine art and finding poetry at Le musée Paul Valéry, Sète

Le musée Paul Valéry, Sète

One of my greatest pleasures in travelling is visiting different towns and exploring their art galleries. It was no different on my recent trip to Sète in the south of France and I soon found myself climbing the long hill that leads to Le musée Paul Valéry, an interestingly modernist art gallery built in 1970 that mostly holds paintings by regional artists like Alexandre Cabanel (1823 – 1889), François Desnoyer (1894 – 1972), Joseph Nöel Sylvestre (1847 – 1926),  Herve di Rosa (b. 1957) and Robert Combas (b. 1957) with a small collection of masterworks by internationally renowned artists such as Gustave Courbet (1819 – 1877) and Raoul Duffy (1877 - 1953). That was reason enough to make the climb but as the gallery's name implies, there is also a permanent collection of manuscripts by the great Sète-born symbolist poet and artist, Paul Valéry (1871 - 1945). That seemed more than enough to while away an arty afternoon.

Paul Valéry (1871 - 1945) - Self-Portrait

In fact, it was a pleasure merely inhabiting the splendid space with its wonderful use of both natural and artificial light.

There were many paintings  by artists unknown to me from traditional and not always lovely history paintings, to landscapes not always as striking as this wonderfully tranquil painting by Courbet, an artist I had not associated with such Zen-like calm.

Mer calme à Palavas by Gustave Courbet (1819 – 1877)

Cabanal's Young Roman is justly famous for its emotional gravitas and it was marvellous to be able to get up close to admire his meticulous brushwork.

Young Roman by Alexandre Cabanel (1823 – 1889)

I was also delighted to make the acquaintance of the joyfully extrovert and shamelessly garish Sète artist Herve de Rosa.

Concentré Sétois (1987) by Herve di Rosa (b. 1957)

Another Sète artist, and di Rosa's exact contemporary, is also brightly unshockable and not at all worried about raising a few blushes from those who find some of his imagery a little too direct for delicate constitutions.

Fernande by Robert Combas (b. 1957)

Visiting Sète in mid-March, it was good too to see another Sète artist, François Desnoyer, whose scorchingly hot landscape paintings of his native town showed me just what might await any of us who decided to visit in high summer.

La porte de Sète by François Desnoyer (1894 – 1972)

Then there was a room of 19th Century academic history paintings which, to be honest, didn't really hold my attention but I did find Sylvestre's painting of the Sack of Rome  sufficiently 'Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer' for me to admire its kitsch energy. He could've cast Charlton Heston as the young Vandal.

Le sac de Rome (1896) by Joseph Nöel Sylvestre (1847 – 1926)

The gallery had been advertising its new exhibition all over town but I have to confess that I didn't know exactly what this Fata Morgana exhibition was going to be about. It was only when I got to the gallery that I realised that Fata Morgana is the name of a small but exclusive Montpellier publisher that for fifty years has been publishing beautiful fine art books of collaborations between artists and poets.

There were fifteen rooms full of these sensational publications and wall displays of some of the original artwork.

For someone like me who had come out for the afternoon to see the paintings, the day had soon turned into an event about poetry and art in partnership and there were so many riches on offer, I was soon worried that I would not have enough time even to skim these amazing works.

Pierre Alechinsky and André Breton

Michel Butor and Joël Leick

Paul Valéry

So after getting to the end of the Fata Morgana show, it was much later than I'd anticipated when I finally got to the room at the top of the gallery that was specifically built to house an extensive collection of Paul Valéry manuscripts. No matter how engaging the rest of the exhibits had been, the
Paul Valéry room on its own was worth the visit to the gallery. I don't have the space here to say much about this fascinating man, poet, artist, philosopher and anti-Fascist patriot who is Sète's most famous son. The room makes great play on one of his most admired poems which also happens to have a strong Sète connection. The poem is Le cimetière marin (The graveyard by the sea) which was inspired by the marine cemetery that lies immediately in front of the gallery looking over the Mediterranean - possibly one of the most beautifully situated cemeteries in the world. The windows at one end of the room allow you to see it from Paul Valéry's viewpoint and I, for one, will never read the poem the same way again after placing it into this context. It was this poem that led General De Gaulle to call for the poet to be buried here after his death shortly before the end of the Second World War.

from Le cimetière marin 

(The graveyard by the sea)

by Paul Valéry

(translated by C. Day Lewis)

This quiet roof, where dove-sails saunter by,
Between the pines, the tombs, throbs visibly.
Impartial noon patterns the sea in flame --
That sea forever starting and re-starting.
When thought has had its hour, oh how rewarding
Are the long vistas of celestial calm!

Ce toit tranquille, où marchent des colombes,
Entre les pins palpite, entre les tombes;
Midi le juste y compose de feux
La mer, la mer, toujours recommencee
O récompense après une pensée
Qu'un long regard sur le calme des dieux!

The wind is rising! . . . We must try to live!
The huge air opens and shuts my book: the wave
Dares to explode out of the rocks in reeking
Spray. Fly away, my sun-bewildered pages!
Break, waves! Break up with your rejoicing surges
This quiet roof where sails like doves were pecking.

Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux rejouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!

My day of looking at paintings turned out to be much more about poetry so it was no surprise to discover that that day was to see a poetry demonstration in the town centre in the afternoon. The so-called canons de paix pour 3 millions de poèmes (guns of peace for 3 million poems) that meant quite literally what the title suggests.

Those guns for peace certainly scattered their poems efficiently, benign litter on the streets of Sète that made a strong impact on everyone who passed by - including the men employed to sweep up the remains.

Each piece of coloured paper is printed with a French poem, there for the taking.

It was a lovely idea and I was glad to finish my day of poetry picking up five poems at random, pleased to find that one of them was by  Le Sylphe by Paul Valéry.  I plan to make a poem out of some of the lines in these five poems as a souvenir of my trip to the excellent town of Sète where there is poetry in its very DNA.

George Best, Miss World and Me: What better subject for my latest Fibonacci Poem?

George Best and Mary Stävin.

As a youngish man in the early days of my career in television, I had the intriguing and unlikely job of having a breakfast meeting with one of the most talked-about of all British footballers, the legendary George Best. We were scheduled to meet in London at the decidedly posh restaurant in up-market department store, Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly. I arrived as myself, a media type, an unglamorous journo on day-release. He arrived with his current girlfriend, the then Miss World, the very beautiful Swedish actress, Mary Stävin, best known, perhaps, as one of the 'Bond Girls' in the James Bond movie, Octopussy.

Mary Stävin and Roger Moore in the James bond movie,Octopussy.

 The photograph above of George and Mary was taken that year and shows that they were, no exaggeration, a very handsome couple. Not only was I the odd-one out in the glamour stakes but I had no interest either in the Miss World contest or football.

George Best in action.

Strangely, we all got on really well - well enough for me to tell George that I was hoping to get fit and had recently started going to a once-a-week fitness class at the Stretford Leisure Centre in Greater Manchester. OK, I know, not very cool. The rest of the breakfast, when the work had been done, was devoted to this famous and now ( for a time) sober athlete giving me one-to-one advice on my fitness regime. He told me I was wasting my time only taking exercise once a week and, it was thanks to him, that I started the regular fitness regime that I have followed ever since that day. I owe it all to George.

I've been writing a lot of what is known as Fibonacci poetry in the last seven years and, recently, I've been fitting some of my television career memories into this toughly disciplined short form style where each line has to  conform to a strict syllabic count using the arithmetic code popularised in Europe by the medieval Italian mathematician, Leonardo Fibonacci. This weekend six of my new poems were published in the specialist Fibonacci journal,  Musepie Press' The Fib Review, and one of them was my poem about George. My thanks, as always to Mary-Jane Grandimetti, the editor of The Fib Review, who has encouraged me since my early days as a poet and who has now published 49 of my Fibs in 16 consecutive issues of her great journal.

Here is the page featuring my George Best poem but, for the rest of my Fibs and for many more by other poets, click on the link below:

http://www.musepiepress.com/fibreview/index.html

If you're a real glutton for punishment, click on the writer archive section and you'll find links to all 49 of my Fibonacci poems.

 Meanwhile, I have to start thinking about #21 of The Fib Review hoping to come up with something to send in  next time.

Night walking: a good way to come down after a poetry reading.

Wolfie Wolfgang reading last night

Last night in Lewes, UK, there was a chill in the air and, or so I'm told,  snow on the outskirts, but it was warm enough in the Lewes Arms, my local pub, when it hosted the 7th anniversary of Lewes Poetry and showcased some of the poets who have read there over the years. I was glad to be invited back as I have happy memories of the first time I read there as, six years go,  it was the venue for my very first poetry reading as I described in yesterday's blog.

Lewes Arms Pub, Lewes.

There was a good turnout considering we, the South-East English, are known to make an unnecessary fuss if the January temperatures sink anywhere lower than warm. The success of Lewes Poetry, and the reason why so many people risked less than mild temperatures, belongs to its host and creator, the wonderfully chaotic Ollie Wilson, poet and compere at these suitably anarchic events where 'stage' poets share the stage with 'page' poets and everyone gets along just fine. I read some of my recent re-writes of my first poems which all dated from 2009 and this seemed a suitable anniversary for their first public reading. I had been nervous about tinkering with poems that had already been published and, possibly, set in stone, but they seemed to go down well, people clapped, laughed and were silent in all the right places,  and I left feeling that those rewrites of early poems still had something to say, but now had much stronger legs, considering that they written when I didn't really know what I was doing.

Ollie Wilson

Outside, as you can see in the photos below, if they weren't at the Lewes Arms,  or some other local hostelry, Lewesians were all snuggled up at home. Well, you don't want to catch cold on a chilly January night.

When Lewes is busy, it is very, very busy, but when it is quiet, it's deserted.

It is a real pleasure wandering outside on a night like this when the streets, or so it seems, belong to me.

I always feel a bit stranger than usual after performing my poetry - it's an exposing experience where hidden parts of myself have a brief public airing, and, afterwards, I need to take time to return to what, I guess, is 'normal'.

On nights such as these, there's nothing better than a solitary walk in the middle of town, especially when it is as pretty as Lewes.

If you're interested in Lewes Poetry, here's the link:
http://lewespoetry.blogspot.co.uk/

I'm returning tonight to the poetry event where I first dared to read my poems.

Lewes Arms, Lewes

I've been asked to read at a poetry event tonight just round the corner from my house here in Lewes, UK. The splendidly anarchic Lewes Poetry is having its 7th Anniversary celebration upstairs at my local pub, the Lewes Arms where I first dared to read my poetry at my first Lewes Poetry event in 2009 when I was still recovering from a major illness. I'd been told that it would have an open mic element so I went along, after much persuasion, with my little file of poems only to find that the open mic part had been cancelled because the evening was so full of invited poets including the much admired Lewes poet, John Agard, later to win the Queen's Medal for poetry.

John Agard receiving his medal from an unusually amused Queen

I thought I'd run away when I heard this, after-all, I'd only been writing poetry for less than a year even though I'd been lucky to get some published in various journals,  but the organisers saw that I'd brought my poems so decided to fit me in. Several expletives passed through my head when I heard I was to follow John Agard, who incidentally, was quite brilliant. Actually, hearing this man's wonderful delivery, forced me to drop my inhibitions and to 'go for it.'  Well, I survived and have been back to the events several times since.

Poet John Agard reading at Lewes Poetry at the Lewes Arms with a very nervous Wolfie in the corner.

I've been rewriting a lot of those early poems recently so it seems appropriate to re-read some of them tonight as a gesture of appreciation to Lewes Poetry and all those nice folk who were so encouraging then to an unknown, brain-damaged and stammering poet wannabe. It would have been so easy to have put me off for life.

I'm not sure who else is reading tonight but it is always fun so come along if you can.

My Haiku poem becomes a film - a little one - and I'm delighted.

I was very happy to see a fine new animated film, Haiku, by my friend, the talented American composer and film-maker, Tim Risher (aka Joseph Nussbaum).  It was exciting that it was based on one of my poems, Haiku. It's terrific when poetry, music and film come together like this. This is the second of my poems to be made into a film but, in the nature of Haiku, this one's only short so give me a moment of your time and take a look - it's wonderful:




See the other poem film, Sortie, also with music by Tim Risher, directed by Boris Twist - there's a link in the left column on this page.

Thanks to Second Life, my forgotten poem, Sortie, ends up at the movies just in time for Halloween.

Eight years ago, I took my first timorous steps into the virtual computer world known as Second Life. It was an extraordinarily confusing experience having to create a new image for oneself in a massive online animated game where you  begin with nothing and, ideally, pursue or discover dreams of what you might do if you really did get the chance of a second life. Eight years ago, my second life persona, Wolfgang Glinka, couldn't even walk across a room without falling over - a bit like an infant in so many ways. Eight years on and I am, I guess, a veteran of this world and I have had a truly interesting time. Now, for the first time, I've collaborated in making a film, Sortie, which is premiered (on Youtube) today.

I perform poetry a lot in Second Life, running a poetry event every Thursday, Wolfie's Poetry Surf, when I'm joined, live, by poets from all over the 'real' world. Now, both my lives, real and second, have combined giving me many chances of crossing backwards and forwards between them as I pursue all the writing possibilities that come my way. Now, I am Colin Bell, Wolfie Wolfgang or Wolfgang Glinka, a triple personality perhaps but no, not really. I've just embraced the wonderful possibilities, if used wisely, that the worldwide web offers us all.

The film, directed by the splendid Boris Twist is a visualisation of my poem, Sortie, written earlier this year but promptly forgotten until Boris asked me if I had anything dark enough for a Halloween film.  Once I'd found it, it became a real pleasure for Colin Bell to record it and for Wolfgang Glinka to appear as narrator.

Take a look - I'm thrilled by Boris' clever use of my poetry. Most important of all, the whole project was fun.