As Rhian wrote in one of her previous posts, being a writer takes you to exotic places. Thus far, I’ve been to Abergavenny Writing Festival, helped out at Word Ward in the Millennium Centre, read at (a very grey and rainy) Laugharn Fringe Festival, and at Llansteffan Literary Festival. The book launched at Cardiff Book Festival in September, my first reading using a real book rather than scraps of paper, and there’s been a couple of pubs and open mics since.
On the 6th of December, Rhys and I will be reading from our debut collections at Aberystywth Arts Centre Book Shop. This is particularly special to me because I attended so many launch events and readings here during my time at University. I saw Carly Holmes, Tyler Keevil, Bonnie Thurston and loads more, and even blogged about some of these events for Aberystwyth-based New Welsh Review.
During this time, I was feverishly working away at my own poetry and short stories, and hoped to one day be able to showcase my work in the same setting. Because I’m a bit of a chicken shit, I asked the massively talented Rhys to read alongside me. Luckily he agreed!
We’ll be reading at 7pm on Thursday the 6th of December. There’ll be wine and nibbles on hand and entry is absolutely free, so come in from the cold, and warm yourselves with words...
More info
You can keep track of Rhys' readings using this Twitter thread, and mine here.
In the meantime, I thought I'd share a poem from each collection.
En Dash
We begin – our souls as thin
as silverskin onions,
caught breathless in the danger
that follows the fourth digit.
Then, loaded by that first gulp of air,
we sink our hook into its side,
scramble up, join others
in
squinting –
Years pass, we learn to forget
that the en dash will ever end.
We dance hard, test the strength
of its span, lose track of time.
We are all so alive, so far
from
falling –
You say you have found a lump.
The appointment is next Tuesday.
It will be okay, you say, you’re sure
that it’s
nothing –
The Visitor
He came every night
for a week,
pawing his hunger
through cavities.
We saw only hints –
gnawed plastics,
icing sugar pawprints,
droppings scattered
like hundreds
and thousands.
Each morning we
scouted for evidence,
saw the trail
of him skirting
the washing machine.
When he left for
warmer weather,
I missed the search,
missed
unfolding the dawn
with you.
