How not to write a poetry review

Boyhood Line, Richard Long

Does anyone buy a book as a result of a review? Yes, quite probably, it can sway such a decision. Does anyone not buy a book as a result of a review, yes, certainly. And more, a negative, especially if unfair, review can be damaging to a poet's reputation, and that of their editors and the press, which begs the questions: why would you write an overly critical review in the first place? why would a magazine publish it? 

Slipping back to the reviewing culture of the 1970s and 1980s is unwelcome.  No-one needs to be as mean-spirited as Clive James' Observer review of Elaine Feinstein's TV play, 'Breath', which was broadcast on the BBC in 1975. Of it he says 'Miss Feinstein reminds me of the American writer, Joan Didion. Both have a fastidiously elegant approach to pain and a natural disinclination to concern themselves with anything else'. Or as dismissive as James Thompson in the Daily Express who concluded 'And in the best traditions of the women's magazine story, her [Nell, the main character] asthma disappeared...' Ouch!

To avoid this (un)kind of thing, I use the following as my guide in writing reviews, which readers in the same position might find helpful.

First things first, it's probably worth thinking about why you are writing the review and what qualifies you to do so - is it your full-time job? (unlikely), are you being asked to write about a book you didn't choose? (perhaps), are you being asked to write about a book you did chose? (more likely, perhaps),  are you a practising critic with academic training? (slightly different focus needed for a magazine review), are you a practising poet? (helps but not necessarily so), are you a keen reader of contemporary poetry? (essential), or do you have a particular axe to grind? (your own prejudices may need reigning in).

If you are writing about a book that you find yourself being too critical of, you can always say, no. Applying the Thumper* theory that if you can't say anything nice, you are perhaps better not saying anything at all for the sake of the poet, the editors and your own reputation. I have on ocassion had to say no in such circumstances as I really don't want to hurt someone, or indeed myself. Does this mean reviewing is a praise only sport? No, not necessarily, one can temper criticism by praising the good things first and the less good in balance, and without sticking the boot in.

To my mind the following things probably don't work: 

1. Not reading the book thoroughly enough. I find I need to read it at least three times, firstly to get a sense of the whole, secondly to look at individual poems in detail and then again to spot all the things I missed on the other readings. If you don't have the time and patience for this, then don't put pen to paper.

2. Criticising someone for the very fact of doing poetry performances as if by implication that makes them a lesser page poet. It doesn't. We all need to read our work to audiences these days to generate sales. Poetry definitely is an aural art form and reading one's work well in public is very much part of conveying it to an audience of (later) readers. 

3. Stating that the poet has not used much rhyme or a particular form with the implied criticism that rhyme or form is good and unrhymed or free verse poetry is not, is just plain odd. Free verse and unrhymed poetry have been a thing for a century or more.

4. Repeating criticism and giving the poet concluding notes on how to write in the future are the kind of tips one might mention in private or in a workshop setting, not a review.  

5. Criticising the poet and the editing because you would not have included certain lines. That's a difficult one - what may be obvious to you may not be obvious to another reader. I think one can err on the side of poets being generous to their readers and not wrapping things in too much obscurity. 

6. Digression - if you have a particular yearning for say, more pamphlets, and want to encourage the publisher to produce them, that is interesting, but not terribly relevant when you are reviewing a full collection. An article on the benefits of such is worth your time, just elsewhere.

7. Taking the opportunity to slam the poetry ecosystem for everything you think is wrong with it such as: fake endorsements - when everyone knows these are puffs, no-one is fooled, most of the time they are a helpful guide to the topics of a book and the way it's been written; saying prize giving is predictable - I consider myself to be pretty well read in contemporary poetry, but not one of the 2024 Forward winners, for example, were known to me; or hating on celebrity books, when these sell in the kind of numbers that enable presses to go on taking a chance on all our work - horses for courses, and who, after all, is to say you, or indeed I, have the monopoly on taste. 

* although the cartoon rabbit puts it a little less elegantly ('If you can't say nothing nice, don't say nothing at all,' I think he utters).

Forgotten Bristol - Stanton Drew Stone Circles

Just before I went to University my parents moved out of the city to Chew Magna, a small village to the south. During the summer I spent kicking my heels waiting for my exam results, one of the places I liked to hang out were the Stone Circles at Stanton Drew. I visited them again for the first time in 45 years this past weekend. Nothing much has changed except that there were more people than I remember walking through the fields and around the stones, and there was even a family picnicking besides them. Yes, despite the bitter March wind.

It is third largest standing stone complex in England after Stonehenge and Avebury and hardly anyone has ever heard of it. Stanton Drew is a tiny village in the Chew Valley, but it's well worth a detour if all things Neolithic are your bag. 

The Stone Circles cost a mere £1 to visit - coins in the honesty box. They date from 3000-2000 BCE. Many are still standing, some are flat out. They are lichen encrusted and pitted by rainwater erosion. They are lovely things to behold, touch with your palm and wonder about their purpose and the civilisation that put them there. Impressive and mysterious, both. There are some farcical local legends concerning them, which you can safely scoff at. I do.

And there's more - an even older (by another thousand years) group of three enormous dolomite conglomerate stones called The Cove can be found in the garden of the Druid's Arms pub in the village - an excellent spot for refreshments too.

Forgotten Bristol - Thomas Chatterton

Next in this occasional series is Thomas Chatterton, parishioner of St. Mary Redcliffe, the 18th C poet known now more for his suicide by arsenic poisoning at the age of 17, as memorialised in Herny Wallis' Pre-Raphaelite painting, than his poetry. His hoax of 'finding' the work of a 'mediaeval' poet called Rowley that he himself had written was his undoing a few short months after he went to London, despite its apparent technical prowess. 

Part of Chatterton's birthplace was spared the Blitz and is across the road from the church. Through my teenage years it sat incongruously in a pot-holed car park. The car park has improved a little, but not that much. You can poke around inside the building if you are so inclined as it is a cafe these days. 

Chatterton has a modern memorial plaque in the church and an information board describing how his family was helped after his death by Coleridge and Southey, both of whom were married in St. Mary's, both facts I had entirely forgotten, if I ever knew them.

Led by Donkeys Pop Up

Last weekend Bristol had a UK first - a pop up art exhibition by Led by Donkeys, the artivision group responsible for some of the country's most stunning political interventions in recent years, all aimed at calling government(s) to account. 

Think painting the road outside the Russian Embassy with the colours of the Ukrainian flag (right), or all those poster sized tweets throwing politicians quotes back at them, or the projections on the White Cliffs of Dover and so on. The most important of these in my view is the Covid Memorial Wall opposite the Houses of Parliament. 

In a tiny gallery at Midland Road and the rest of which building is usually an Airbnb, the three day event attracted quite a crowd. We queued for over an hour to get in, but it was a good natured wait and was worth it to see the huge Tufton Street plaque up close and personal. Photographs adorned the walls, along with the more recent Truss lettuce poster (left). In the basement the film of children' clothes on a beach (Gaza memorial) was hard to access, but very moving once down there. 

Art it probably isn't, but witty, whilst being clever and serious in intent is most certainly is. The recently published book of the same documents it all for posterity and now has pride of place on my coffee table. Thanks guys, it was an enjoyable afternoon laughing, once again, at the heinous politics of the last decade or so. 

Forgotten Bristol - The Piper Windows

In All Saints on Pembroke Road, my parish church were I of a religious inclination, all the windows of the restored church are by John Piper. But first a little on the 1868 building, erected at the same time as my house when this part of Clifton was developed from fields. The architect was G.E. Street - you'll know his work if you've ever walked on the Strand past the Royal Courts of Justice. All went well until the Luftwaffe turned their attentions to Bristol. They did that a lot, it being a major port and having much aircraft industry. More of this in almost ever future Bristol post, no doubt. A fire-bomb hit the church in December 1940. 

Little of it remained standing, so in the 1960s a shiny new modern church was designed incorporating parts of the old. You either love it or hate it, especially the spire, which urban myth has it was helicoptered into place. It wasn't, there are apparently photos of a crane doing the job. An integral part of commissioning the new church included Robert Potter, the architect, hiring Piper to design the windows. Piper was well-known, of course, for his war artwork depicting bomb damaged churches and other landmarks.

And they are magnificent examples of his work, encompassing all of the windows of the church, the only such which can make this boast. Plus they are not stained glass, Piper's usual medium as in Coventry Cathedral, Liverpool RC Cathedral, Eton College, the Betjeman Memorial Window at Farnborough and that for Britten in Aldeburgh, but rather fibreglass. Into these large sections of fibreglass and polyester mix Piper poured coloured resins to create designs much influenced by Chagall and Matisse. The depth of colour is stunning. Go on a sunny day and see for yourself. Even on a dull day they are impressive. And they were much cheaper than stained glass would have been for the cash strapped War Damage Commission. 

The Baptistry window is from the Book of Revelation - the tree of life and the water of life. The north and south windows depict darkness coming into light. In art historical terms they have been hailed as internationally important examples of post-war Modernism. Just a few steps from my door, who knew? Actually, I do remember seeing them a few times as a teenager.

Forgotten Bristol - The Nails

Outside the old Corn Exchange in, of course, Corn Street, in the centre of town, the small area that managed, in part, to survive the attentions of the Luftwaffe, we find these curious objects. 

Four waist high bronze nails, all of different design and dates - one is Elizabethan, one Caroline. They were moved to their present location when the Corn Exchange was built in the early 1740s. Commercial wares may have been displayed, and deals were struck on them, payable in cash.

Bristol myth is that they are the source of the phrase 'paying on, or cash on, the nail,' but this seems to have arisen before the nails were set up in Bristol, and may even be Anglo-Norman in source from payer sur l'ungle. In any event Bristol isn't the only city to have nails - Liverpool and Limerick are others.

But nice quirk, and why spoil a good story. Just don't rest your fish and chips or pint on them. They are too splendid for that.

Forgotten Bristol - The Bristol L

I remember as a child a news report about the Bristol L, that particular use of an additional consonant at the end of certain words ending in a vowel, usually an 'a.' Thus if you ask, as the reporter did, a broad Bristolian to read out the following: Carla Rosa Opera Company, they will give you Caral, Rosal, Operal Company. 

You take photographs with your cameral, and an excellent plan is a good ideal. All very amusing to the outsider, but it is unconsciously done, as second nature to the Bristolian as aitch dropping is in Estuary English.

But it created a few problems for my mother trying to teach geography in explaining the difference between an area, as it plot of land, place, and an aerial photograph, as both words are pronounced the same as in 'an aerial photograph of a large areal of woodland.'

I had completely forgotten about the L until we moved back home recently and one of the first conversations I had with a passerby reminded me. It's charming and I've grown to love it again.