arts
Poet In A Fridge
Jonathan Humble & Ian McMillan
The dust has settled, the circus has moved on and after a bit of excitement, the routines we were obliged to adopt in late spring/early summer seem to be returning. I’m already looking back fondly at the weekend of 26th September when the BBC Contains Strong Language Festival of Poetry and Prose landed in Cumbria for a brief but wonderful three days and I got to fulfil my dream of being a
‘Poet in a Fridge’ …
The festival, directed by Susan Roberts and Shane Rhodes, was a partnership between BBC Audio, Arts, Radio Cumbria, Wrecking Ball Press, Arts Council England, Up For Arts, Wordsworth Trust Grasmere, Tullie House, The Kirkby Lonsdale Poetry Festival and The Forum in Barrow. Amongst others, it included such poetry stars as Malika Booker, Kate Clanchy, Kate Davis, Luke Wright and my own favourite, Ian McMillan.
My involvement was at Tullie House on Saturday. On the train to Carlisle at silly o’clock in the morning, I began having examination flashbacks; you know the sort of thing: nightmares involving turning up for A Levels or grade 8 ukelele exams in just your vest:
Don’t be daft, I told myself,
you’re properly prepared (over-prepared, if anything), you’ve done the groundwork and everything is going to be hunky dory.
Except what awaited wasn’t an examination of my skills with differential calculus or playing ‘Classical Gas’ at Mrs Wakefield’s, but a test of my mental dexterity, verbal juggling and speed of thought in the pressure cooker world of ‘poetry takeaway‘.
Poet in a Fridge
The BBC festival of poetry known as ‘Contains Strong Language’ had made its way over the Pennines from Hull (City of Culture 2017) and up the M6 to Cumbria (county of Romantic poets etc.). A few weeks before the weekend kick-off (September 25th-27th), I’d been asked by the lovely folk at BBC Radio Cumbria if I’d be up for a stint in the fridge, writing quickfire verse on food themes chosen by the general public. While every fibre in my poetic body spasmed in trepidation, what emerged from my keyboard in the e-mail reply was a jolly acceptance. Well, you can’t turn down the opportunity to hob nob in a socially distanced and thoroughly sensible way with the poetry gods of the current era, can you?
I set about thinking of what sort of suggestions might arise during the festival and began drafting out a few ideas … curries, pizzas, toad-in-the-hole, pasties, knickerbocker glories, just in case I was overwhelmed with requests in the allotted two hours on Saturday morning. I was well prepared, I told myself on the train.
Stop flapping Jonathan and enjoy the experience …
Arriving massively early (as is my wont), clutching my Costa coffee and sitting outside the venue at Tullie House on a slightly damp bench, I thought I’d carry on preparing ideas while I waited for the museum staff to unlock the doors. After about an hour, the crew from Radio Cumbria started setting up and made me feel incredibly welcome, settling any nerves I had almost immediately. Jennie Dennett (producer), Gordon Swindlehurst (presenter) and Belinda Artingstol chatted and worked as if it was just another day in the media office, offered me more coffee and let me in on the morning’s plan. While all this took place, other BBC staff from that there Manchester/London turned up to do the same sort of stuff for the Radio Four output.
Then the poetry gods arrived … Ian McMillan, Dr Helen Mort and Dr Kim Moore. Ian came over immediately to chat. I’ve met him on a couple of occasions when I’ve watched/listened to him read, but never when I was performing as well. He was kind enough to say he liked my stuff (five years back Ian had been persuaded by the
Tripe Marketing Board to write a brief ‘puff piece’ for my first collection,
My Camel’s Name Is Brian). At this point, I geeked out a bit and asked if he’d sign a copy of the poems which I just happened to have on my person. I also chatted with Kim, another wonderful poet, nationally feted for her brilliant poetry, who also runs the Dove Cottage Young Poets (aspiring and talented young poets in Cumbria). Lucky old Kim went home with a copy of
Fledge (my other collection published by Maytree Press).
Then it was down to work …
I did an interview with Gordon and Jennie, read a lemon meringue pie poem that had already been ordered, before being given further food suggestions over the BBC airwaves and occasionally from passers-by. The orders came in thick and fast: bread and butter pudding, pizza, Lancashire hotpot, Sunday roast, pints of beer and Ian McMillan fancied a bit of Yorkshire curd tart. Sitting and creating light poetry tailored to the demands of the public was a challenge. I’ll be honest, occasionally the links in a couple of the poems were a little tenuous, but it was massive fun, a wonderful thing in which to be involved and the morning flashed past. When required to create those daft rhyming verses which are a feature of
My Camel’s Name Is Brian, I have to say the preparation paid off and I was pleased with the end results given the quick turnover required for the occasion. Interestingly enough, while travelling back on the train to Kendal at the end of the day, all I could think about was tucking into a well-earned bacon butty …
Below are a few examples of the poems:
Lemon Meringue Pie
The pie that makes my heartstrings twang
would be the lemon and meringue.
The combo of that citrous base
with toasted fluffy top showcase
wipes other puddings from the board
to win the best dessert award
Yorkshire Curd Tart
A special one for Ian
as I know he likes his pud:
it’s one that in God’s county stands out
with the great and good.
It should be on a plinth displayed
as finest Yorkshire art;
I’m talking of the haute cuisine of curds,
the Yorkshire tart.
Ratatouille
I see you frown accusingly,
From up there with the bourgeoisie,
As on this fine ratatouille,
I squirt brown sauce expansively ...
Toad-in-the-Hole
I am a Yorkshire pudding;
I’m batter filled with air.
I’ll gladly hold your gravy,
peas and other Sunday fare.
But joined by my mate sausage
some folk lose self-control,
for we become that famous dish
known as Toad-in the Hole.
Bacon Butty
Apologies to all my veggie friends and those alike,
on Sunday mornings on the stroke of ten the urges strike,
and gravitating to the fridge, I find myself en route,
the object of my foraging is not some healthy fruit.
More basic instincts take a hold and freewill turns to putty,
despite my best-laid diet scheme, I make a bacon butty.
Picture Credit: Jennie Dennett