Magma 30 - Winter 2004 by Magma Editors

10th Anniversary Issue - edited by Karen Green

Articles
Magma Poetry and Motion
Andrew Motion interviewed by Mick Delap

As Magma celebrates 10 years in print, Mick Delap, one of the original group which started Magma, talks to the Poet Laureate, Andrew Motion, and looks back at the early days - Magma's and Motion's.

Andrew Motion, like most poets, can still remember the first magazine to take one of his poems - and with a bit of effort, the name of the poem. He'd started A levels, and suddenly started writing poetry as well. "I was taught by a man called Peter Way, and he just walked straight into my head, and turned all the lights on". Later on in the 6th Form, he began to want to get some of these poems published: "the smell of printers' ink is a pretty intoxicating one! And it's also a kind of validation. Your friends will say nice things about them, but you want the validation, or simply the interest, of someone else". The big magazines on the horizon then were the Listener, the early manifestation of PN Review, and the New Statesman. Motion remembers thinking that they were "too august. Week after week there'd be the new Larkin poem, and you'd think, 'I can't go there - ever! Or certainly not yet". But somehow, Motion heard of a much more modest poetry journal.

"It was called Workshop, and it was edited by a man who I've always thought had the ideal name for the editor of a really small magazine - Norman Hidden. I sent him some poems, and to my delight he took one. It was called Salome's Moon. Which shows the kind of thing I was up to then. A sort of Wildean caprice." Workshop followed that by publishing, in Motion's gap year, a small pamphlet of his poems. "That really felt like a breakthrough. Norman Hidden is still alive," (and, pace Motion, distinguished enough to have been awarded a Civil List pension in 1974, for services to literature), " and I really owe him a big debt. I don't think these poems are any good - and the larger part of me hopes they never see the light of day again. But at the time it was tremendously important. It emboldened me in all sorts of ways." So much so, that not long after starting at Oxford, the rejection slips began turning into acceptances - from Stand, New Review, PN Review, the Listener. "Breakthrough number two. But that first breakthrough - into my first magazine - is still incredibly important." And Motion sees the so-called small magazines - Workshop then, the likes of Magma now - as "absolutely crucial. They are the point of entry, the means by which the poetic life of the future is guaranteed".

Not quite the elevated objective which the group of friends from Laurie Smith's 1993/4 City Lit poetry workshop had in mind ten years ago, when, over summer drinks, they accepted David Boll's suggestion to come together to start a poetry magazine. As I remember it, we were initially more interested in our own individual poetic futures. But David Boll recalls setting higher targets right from the outset: "during the drinks I suggested to the others that we started a magazine. I then wondered what we had let ourselves in for. But I recovered confidence on deciding it could work provided we followed three basic principles. First, we would run it as a group, partly to add variety and interest to our choice of poems and partly because none of us wanted to do the job full time. Second, we would be ambitious - it was not worth our while to give our time to running a class magazine, and we would seek to become a first class national one. And third, we would be businesslike - most mags fail to realize their potential not for want of poets or editors but for want of business grasp".

For Laurie Smith, two memories stand out from Magma's early days. "The first was the vote on our title at our very first meeting. I wanted Urban Fox, as best summing up what I thought we were about - city-based, astute, nosing out good poetry in places where it might be missed. However, Martin Sonenberg came up with Magma, from the beginning of a poem called Folly of the Deep which I'd brought to the City Lit group a few weeks earlier and now feel is rather dreadful:

Four thousand metres down in the mid-Atlantic
the black smokers hot magma oozing
through the crack between Africa
and America …

"Still, the word caught people's fancy and, to my chagrin, when we took the vote, mine was the only one for Urban Fox. As a consolation, we used Urban Fox as a column for anonymous comment in most of Magma 1 to 20.

"The second was the musical interludes in our early readings at the City Lit theatre. There was a female trio called the Penny Dreadfuls whose music was boisterous with a distinct aura of old-time music hall, and there was Mike Donaghy with his flute. He came two or three times, invited by John Stammers, to speak his poems and to play Irish folk melodies on his flute. It was a full orchestral flute, not a penny whistle, and he played it hauntingly. We saw Mike last at the Magma 21 launch, upstairs at the Troubadour, where he finished with a ten-minute narrative poem, spoken as always from memory. It was a rapt experience. Even the traffic on Old Brompton Road seemed to go quiet."

Michael's recent loss continues to haunt all those he touched with his music and his poetry - and he was a great support, as Magma began quickly to turn itself into a serious poetry magazine. The change was aided by the emergence of striking new voices like John Stammers and the staunch support of well established poets; not just Donaghy but Carol Ann Duffy (Magma 3), Andrew Motion (Magma 8), Don Paterson (Magma 12) - the list goes on, with Paterson back in this Magma and reading at Magma's 10th birthday party, at the Cochrane Theatre, on 21st Jan, 2005. At the heart of Magma's poetry, though, chosen in turn by an editorial system which passed the editorship of successive editions around the various members of the managing group, were poets new or relatively new to print: Angela Kirby, Howard Wright, Clare Pollard (like Andrew Motion and Workshop, doing her A levels when she first appeared in Magma), Mary MacRae, Lorraine Mariner, and many others. And these poets, seeking their own breakthrough, were backed up by contributions from those already better known: Mario Petrucci, Myra Schneider, Caroline Natzler. And many more, all of them, over the last ten years, making Magma worth reading, and worth working for!

Alongside Magma's poetry was the prose, right from the beginning a wide mix of often hard hitting reviews and articles (Urban Fox on PN Review in Magma 1: "should be the poetry magazine of record … typography elegant, [but] difficult to read the prose for any length of time … The real disappointment is the choice of poetry…"). Andrew Motion has no doubts that he wants to see reviews, and plenty of other prose, in any poetry magazine. "You need a mixture, so your experience of reading the poetry is ventilated by reading interviews, reviews, profiles, competitions. You name it, the whole carnival and rag bag ought to be there. And I think that Magma is very distinguished in that respect. I can't think of many other magazines that do have that mixture, as I like to see it. I wish there were more of them". In particular, he feels poetry is increasingly ignored by the literary mainstream. So he's keen for poetry magazines to seize the opportunity not just to review, but to set what they are reviewing in as wide a context as possible. Motion has major reservations, though, about reviewers he sees as self-regarding, and interested only in point scoring: "catty" even. "When I am writing reviews I want to have a conversation with the author, in a way that will allow him or her to hear what I am saying."

What else does Motion look for in a poetry magazine? "A strong editorial presence. Most things in life, whether it be a book, a magazine or a football team, benefit from having someone driving the thing who has a very clear and strong sense of their own taste. And I also think it's very important for magazines not to take themselves too seriously. Don't be pompous!" Which has usually been difficult at Magma's often boisterous committee meetings over the years - held in a variety of venues, from up-market Notting Hill to the City Lit's scenery store, among paint pots and size brushes; with diversions to noisy pubs and, for a while, the art deco splendor of Bush House with the BBC World Service ("many voices, one world") murmuring away in the background.

Motion reckons his own poetic voice has probably benefited from being appointed Poet Laureate. "As far as writing goes (and I had in my mind's eye divided it - becoming PL - into two bits, a writing bit and a doing bit), I dare say there are ways it's affected me that I'm simply unaware of. But one good thing is that it's helped me to see things a bit more clearly, and turn my face more fully to subjects". Anything the Poet Laureate writes is highly visible - "and that concentrates the mind! Inevitably some of the poems I've written in response to public events of one kind or another, whether they be royal or national, have been better than others. I'm happy to have done them; and I'm very happy when people like them!

"The difficult things about being Poet Laureate are partly the ways in which my life, and particularly my private life, has been invaded. That's very, very difficult to live with, and has made me extremely cagey. The good thing about it is that it's an honour; and I feel very honoured. It's challenging in ways that are interesting to me (they wouldn't be to everybody). What I like best about it is the opportunity that it gives me to do something about the things I believe in. Particularly about things to do with poetry and education. I spend a great deal of time nagging government about this. I said I'd do it for ten years, and I've now done it for five and a bit years - just over half way through. It took me a long time to work out how to do it. I knew what I wanted to do, which was to be very busy and high profile, and really to be an ambassador for poetry, as well as writing it. It needs defending. It's been a very very interesting time. And on ninety nine days out of a hundred, I'm very glad I said yes."

Beyond Bedlam and beyond
Laurie Smith on a groundbreaking anthology

In 1997 Anvil Press published Beyond Bedlam, the first mainstream anthology of poems by survivors of mental illness. There had been other anthologies, of course, particularly those published by Survivors' Poetry, but this was different. It was supported by the Royal Bethlem Hospital, London (the original 'Bedlam') and the Maudsley Hospital; it was edited by Matthew Sweeney and Ken Smith, two nationally-known poets who had themselves suffered mental illness; and it was published by one of the top publishers in Britain specialising in poetry.

The book was launched at a celebratory reading at the Museum of London followed by readings in other parts of the country, and it was widely and enthusiastically reviewed including on BBC radio. There was a widespread sense of a taboo being finally broken. Above all, there was the book's extraordinary range: cheek by jowl with the illustrious dead, a majority of the poems were by people who had not been published before in a book or at all. Beyond Bedlam sold well for years and has only recently gone out of print.

We wanted to celebrate this groundbreaking anthology and Anvil kindly let us have the (living) contributors' addresses. We wrote to all 60 of them with four questions and invited them to send a poem. Twenty-three of them replied.

How did you come to be included in Beyond Bedlam?

Many heard of the planned anthology through attending Survivors Poetry workshops or National Schizophrenia Fellowship meetings. The Maudsley produced a flyer inviting contributions which was distributed widely. Poems were also invited in Poetry Review, Poetry London and Poetry Ireland Newsletter. Three contributors were members of Matthew Sweeney's writing class at Morley College, London; others were friends, or friends of friends, of Ken Smith; and two - Cecilia Grainger and Ruth Silcock - were approached by Anvil.

Some have written about what they felt when they decided to send poems in. Pascale Petit: "In my cover letter I explained why I was eligible _ because of my experience of depression (which I hopefully have now recovered from), and my mother's lifelong mental illness. It felt strange disclosing my personal history." And Cath Kilcoyne writes of using her own name for the first time, of previously submitting pieces "under a pseudonym. Another concealment, an expression of shame and denial. I was a playwright. I had always embedded myself, concealed my voice inside of the characters I created. A friend suggested I speak for myself. I committed myself to paper. I used my own name. A rite of passage."

What did the experience mean to you?

Many write of their delight in being chosen for publication. Mala Mason: "I went round for days on a high, I could hardly believe it. I felt so empowered by being selected - especially by two editors who I knew from experience were very tough. I felt it was a real validation of my work." Josie Kildea: "it seemed extraordinarily good that writing concerning mental illness was being believed, being respected... En-courage-ment, what benign power is in that word."

Several write of feeling validated by being published, of being given "a sense of value". Fatma Durmush: "The experience meant that I was a poet. It also meant I was privileged and in the company of the finest minds of the 20th century." And Mala Mason again: "When I got my copy and saw my poem in it, I felt very elated. Now I knew that no matter how many times I might put myself down I had something concrete to point to - to say 'yes, I have achieved something in my life which makes a mark in the world - and it will be there always'." Many mentioned their pride in being in distinguished company, though Susan Gaukroger was "a bit daunted to find I was on the same page as Ezra Pound and that in one review (Independent on Sunday) our contributions were compared!"

Perhaps Pascale Petit sums up everyone's overall feeling: "It was a coming out. The fact that the two editors were brilliant high profile poets and that it was published by Anvil made it for the first time seem okay to write poems about mental distress.” She continues, “Until then I felt I was expected to tone down the nature of my themes to suit British tastes. When the anthology appeared I considered it groundbreaking, and hoped it could be the first step in letting in more emotionally open poetry." Several were particularly pleased to appear in such beautifully produced book: "such lovely cream paper that took the print well and a strong cover design" (Bruce Barnes).

Did you attend the launch reading at the Museum of London? If so, what are you memories of it?

Some did not attend the launch reading because of distance or for other reasons: "I dislike London and would not have been able to enjoy the occasion" (Denise Jones); "I had a psychotherapy session at that time and felt unable to do without the session" (Jonathan Asser).

Of those who went, some enjoyed the occasion greatly. Val Lee writes "It was the first major launch reading that I'd ever been to. The biggest and probably the best... Some of the poets were very at ease , whereas many of us were thrilled, even proud to be at the event, but in no way confident of being real poets. Towards the middle of the evening we all stood round in a rough circle while speeches were made and chosen poets read aloud. It was a very special and validating evening." And Mala Mason: "it was great fun. The highlight was when people came up to me and asked me to sign their copies of Beyond Bedlam. I really felt a star!"

Others felt uncomfortable. Angela Morton: "I travelled from Wales and did feel out on my own there... I was aware of known poets arriving and being greeted by their tribal groups." And, most vividly, Ruth Silcock: "It was difficult to find the Museum, the night was dark and I think wet, there was a circular stone staircase going up the outside of a sort of fortress. Other people as well as myself were rather lost, there was a lush foyer of some sort and then a lift took us down into the depths of the building, into a huge dark vaulted room with pillars, areas of light over tables with wine, the Lord Mayor's coach and an exhibition of the history of the Maudsley Hospital and Bedlam before that, including examples of humane and inhumane treatment.

"There seemed to be different groupings - publishers pouring out wine which ran out before I found it, unfortunately, as a glass of wine would have helped. Publishers and poets were chatting together. Then there were the professional workers, including some from the Maudsley. There were a lot of other people but the most moving people were standing against pillars in the shadows, often solitary, and I remember the smell of fear.

"To me, the launch itself was not exactly mad or psychotic but veering towards it, spooky and bizarre, the jolly people and the sick, and I felt this in myself, the impact of the suffering along with the jolly people. I don't know why such a strange place was found for the launch, instead of somewhere more coherent and ordinary.

"The two editors read very well, and this seemed to me to pull together the evening, which is really what the book itself does."

Other launch readings followed, at Dartington, Brighton (where Mary O'Dwyer met Seamus Heaney) and elsewhere.

Have you carried on writing poetry since? If so, how has it developed?

Almost all the respondents are still writing poetry, for themselves, for writing groups or for publication or performance. Since Beyond Bedlam, Pascale Petit has published two collections and a third (about her mother), The Huntress, is due in spring 2005. She says "In my first book, Heart of a Deer, the extreme nature of some of my subject-matter is still kept at some distance, but by my second book, The Zoo Father, I got bolder." Jonathan Asser has had a pamphlet, The Switch, published by Donut Press and then a first full-length collection, Outside The All Stars, published last year by Arc. He says "Writing poetry is a great way to work through psychological problems because it offers a space where emotional material can be held and thought about, instead of acted on without thought".

Angela Morton's first collection, The Holding Ground, was published by the Collective Press, Abergavenny, in 2002 and Bruce Barnes' second collection, Somewhere Else, by Utistugu Press, Bradford, in 2003. Mary Guckian has had two collections with Swan Press, Dublin, and Eamer O'Keeffe has published numerous booklets in London. She works with several writing groups, as does Patrick McManus who also appears on various websites. Val Lee has chiefly moved on to prose and had two novels published, most recently The Comedienne (Diva). Cecilia Grainger now writes full-time for the theatre and has had several plays performed, most recently Dog's Bite; Bee's Sting set in a boxing gym.

Two respondents' lives have been changed by Beyond Bedlam. Susan Gaukroger says, “as a result of a conversation I had with Mind when I sent in my apologies [for not attending the launch reading] I went on to apply for a Mind millennium award to set up arts and writing workshops in the Staffordshire Moorlands. We set up an arts and mental health group called Borderland Voices and are still going strong - have received SRB and Give it Sum (Robbie Williams) funding plus County and District Arts etc. and are hoping to secure long-term funding for an Arts on Referral pilot scheme."

And Larry Butler, a founder member of Survivors' Poetry Scotland (SPS), says, "Publishing in Beyond Bedlam, along side well-known and well-established writers, boosted my confidence in the work I was doing as Arts Development worker for SPS. We went on to form a charity, employ several staff and publish our own magazine, Nomad, which is now funded by the Scottish Arts Council. It felt as if poetry and the therapeutic potential of creative writing was moving into mainstream literature. From that time, I became more involved in the National Association for Poetry Therapy (USA) and have been a contributor at three of their annual conferences."

Considering the great good that Beyond Bedlam did, in breaking down a taboo and giving "a sense of value" to all its contributors, it is surely time for someone to start planning a sequel.

Poems

Roddy Lumsden Tied-Up House

Mimi Khalvati Soapstone Creek

Kate Ling To a Woman I Hardly Know

Sally Read Knowledge

Janet Fisher Last Dance

Brian Docherty A Response

Patrick Early Wind Harp

Vicci Bentley The disposable woman

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