Tag: Poetry Prize

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Results of the 2019 Mother’s Milk Books Poetry Prize

I am delighted to be able to share the results of our 2019/2020 Poetry Prize. Huge thanks to all those who entrusted us with their poetry (I now have a good-sized list of excellent poets I want to keep an eye on!), and many, many thanks to the judges, Ruth Aylett and Beth McDonough for reading, considering and making final decisions. I would have found it really tough to make those final choices as there were many poems that I loved.

Adult category

Winner: Blue Hour by Patricia Brody
Runner-up: Maternity Leave in the Age of Giorgione by Sarah Watkinson
Runner-up: Walk by the Thames by Vicky Morris

Commendeds:

At the Museum by Anna Beattie
Crying the Banns by Maggie Mackay
Plum by Erin Coppin


Children’s category

Winner: I Am The One by Felix Kennedy

Commendeds:
Our Problem by Ayla McKenzie
The Puppy by Orion Conning

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Judges’ Report

Ruth Aylett and Beth McDonough

There were so many moving, and often clearly autobiographical poems submitted. There was significant sharing of the very personal, which was frequently courageous, and moving. What then, made the winners stand out?

Essentially, although all the poems chosen are very different from one another, what they all share is a commitment not only to their story, but to language and to the discipline of poetry. Those standing out from the others showed evidence of not only writing but of careful reading of poetry. Each of them found an unexpected way into the subject.

The winning entry, ‘Blue Hour’, from the outset, with its oblique title, its shape on the page and typographic inventiveness, invited attention. Those features were far from superfluous, but captured the photographic nature of the poem, as did the use of line breaks… and yes the sharp and quirky language. So many snaps of arresting detail, and every word, and space, earning its place. A very clear winner.

‘Maternity Leave in the Age of Giorgione’ flitted beautifully between the viewed and the viewer, and the strange grasped moment of these times with an infant in sometimes seemingly judgemental interiors. A lovely balance of painted detail, well-considered on the page, and with a pleasing wrap in the final tercet.

Again, an unusual perspective lifted ‘At the Museum’, and also there was a very assured use of language…”One arm hammocks her small orrery” …marvellous. We had great difficulty deciding on the other runner-up place, and ‘At the Museum’ was only edged from it by a hairsbreadth by the following poem, ‘Walk by the Thames’, which came from a different, but equally unpredictable place, and controlled its narrative and pace beautifully in quatrains. What a fabulous final line.

‘Plum’, with its perfect metaphor, and great opening line is a joy. Meanwhile ‘Crying the Banns’ (marvellous title) evokes a bygone Paisley in so few lines… and is wise enough to show much more than it tells.

Selecting the Children’s winners was in a way rather harder, but‘I Am The One’stood out for its boldness and chant-like qualities and confidence. What a mission statement! A clever acrostic in ‘Our Problem’ tied up a very topical poem, and ‘The Puppy’ played with a great deal of rhyme in a way that mirrored the subject matter.

However, well done to each and every entrant.

Blue Hour

She is photographing this moment.  If she could
CLICK!   7:00 cloud-swirl
              feathered lobsters (who forgive humans  their huge hunger?)
The family lies on sand under Down East’s bowl
the sun an ice-pop flare   nestling the pines.
She is reading   Aurora Leigh,
her son, the Iliad,    her daughter, Holden Caulfield.
They come at close of day to Little Tunk
                                                                          (the lake)
     of course like glass, which speaks:
In seven days the son’s moving away.
                                                                          (this suckled life)
Balsam dusk.  The mountain cools to black.
Schoodic Head in smoke across the water.
To their right, last slant-of-sun  — — reeds with golden frogs.

Running to catch one, the little sis calls Zak, Zak!
Help me!
He won’t get up now.     Must finish book
before next week.   ZAK!    She wails,   her Speedo suit
a flame in the bulrushes,  blue.

≈     ≈

PATRICIA BRODY

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I Am The One

I am the one who lights up darkness
I wonder what the world could be
I hear the sound that grows in darkness
I see what is right and wrong
I want what cannot happen
I am the one who lights up darkness
I pretend that everything’s all right
I feel the success of my future
I touch the living things that are sore
I worry for the people who get bullied
I cry when friendships die
I am the one who lights up darkness
I understand that not everything is perfect
I say don’t run when you can’t conquer bullies
I try to make the perfect image
I am the one who lights up darkness

FELIX KENNEDY (age 10)

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Interview with Michèle Beck, winner of the 2018 Mother’s Milk Books Poetry Prize

Many thanks to last year’s winner of the Poetry Prize, Michèle Beck, for taking the time to reflect on my questions and to answer them with such great insight. I hope it inspires readers to get submitting to this year’s Poetry Prize. (Below photo courtesy, Michèle Beck​.)

Michéle Beck is an emerging poet from Doncaster, South Yorkshire. Her work has featured in Open Democracy and Ink, Sweat and Tears. She is a mother, activist, word lover, creative writing facilitator & a Project Coordinator at Right Up Our Street. You can find out more about Michéle here:

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/michele.beck.735

Twitter https://twitter.com/michelebeckpoet

1. Can you tell us a bit about yourself?

I am a mother first and everything else second.

2. How, when and why did you first start writing?

I started to write what I suppose were poems from a very young age, maybe seven? Although, I never really associated them with “poetry” – I think I was trying to make sense of my emotions. I started to need to write as I moved into the dreaded teenage years and it became prolific – I think I purposely set out to write a poem aged thirteen after my father took me to see Sylvia Plath’s grave in Heptonstall; he then loaned me a copy of Ariel (which incidentally I never gave back – sorry dad!) and I went on my personal poetical journey. It has been a long one though and one I feel I’ve merely scratched the surface of. It took me a long time to get published.

3. How often do you write?

I write when I feel the urge, generally I write at least something – even if it’s just a description, a feeling or a memory – weekly. I don’t pressure myself to write anything daily because I have a son and a job and a whole long list of life to prioritise. I would like to write more though… that is the truth.

4. What made you decide to enter the Mother’s Milk Books Poetry Prize?

I first became aware of Mother’s Milk through a great friend, mentor and brilliant poet Becky Cherriman after I read her pamphlet Echolocation (which is exceptional by the way) like Becky and myself, Mother’s Milk’s ethos aligns the commonality of motherhood and poetry, as for me the two are intrinsically linked; being a mother is not all of my identity but it inspires me creatively. I like that there is a support network for mothers who write, because finding time and raising a family is a challenge. Motherhood is a beautiful thing so let’s continue to celebrate it.

5. How did it feel when you’d heard that you’d won?

I was sat at work and my personal email flashed at the top right-hand side of my laptop screen. I announced it to my boss, I was elated and ecstatic and suffering a little from imposter syndrome. I felt surprised. I was honored.

6. Can you tell us a little about your winning poem?

This poem was a slow burner. I had my son five years before I finished this poem. I have probably edited it a hundred times. I was trying to relive the moment and share it as exactly as I could. I had an emergency C-section after seventy-seven hours of labour. I was absolutely terrified and I wanted to specifically recall this feeling, as I know many women experience trauma during birth. I added the Nosferatu reference in the final hour and I thought it was a big risk, but I suppose as clichéd as it is, risks pay off.

7. What are your writing plans for 2020?

Big plans! I want to (hoping and praying) get my first pamphlet out there! I’ve held it close to my chest for a few years so fingers crossed. I would also like to start putting all the little scraps of paper I have in many different note pads and shaping them into something that vaguely resembles poems.

8. Any tips for writers?

Trust your authentic voice and use it always. You can read Michèle’s stunning winning poem, ‘9 1/2 cm’ here. And if you feel inspired to take part in this year’s Poetry Prize (and I’d really love it if you would!) please read the full guidelines here.

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Results of the 2018 Mother’s Milk Books Poetry Prize

Today I am very pleased to be able to share the results of our 2018/2019 Poetry Prize. Many, many thanks to all those who entrusted us with their writing (I have made a note of some excellent poets I want to keep an eye on!), and huge thanks to the judges, Ruth Stacey and Katy Wareham Morris, for reading, considering and making final decisions (that’s them above, busy making their choices).

Poetry Category (Adult)

Winner: ‘9 ½ cm’ by Michèle Beck

Runners-up: ‘Boarding now at Gate Seven’ by Hannah Stone and ‘Much improved’ by Scarlett Ward

Commendeds: ‘Ponies’ by Caroline Stancer, ‘New Born’ by Ruth Aylett, ‘YOU ARE NOT NIGELLA LAWSON’ by Sallyanne Rock, ‘Spun from the Same’ by Jane Burn, ‘Uncle John’ by Rufus Mufasa

Poetry Category (Children)

Winner: ‘Do you want to play?’ by Darcy Rourke

Commendeds: ‘Song for Mummy’ by Gabriel Hennessy and ‘We Go’ by Pippa McGonigal

Judges’ Report

Ruth Stacey and Katy Wareham Morris

The entries for the competition encompassed a variety of themes, some choosing to focus in on aspects of motherhood and birth, raising children and being a writer. Others chose to work on original subject matter. We had no particular preference for either approach; we sought out poems of high quality, which surprised us in some way. We thoroughly enjoyed reading each poem, more than once, then finally getting together to compare notes and shortlist our winners. It was good to hear such insights into parenthood, family and memory.

Judging as a pair was an interesting process as some poems appealed more to our personal tastes and styles of writing. However, it was reassuring during our final session to find we had almost got exactly the same shortlist of ten from the poems submitted. Our winner was an easy choice which we both agreed on, our runner-up poems took more discussion and re-readings but it was clear which ones to choose.

There were many accomplished poems in the submissions. Some had brilliant lines or images, but lost focus through structural choices or overwriting. There was sometimes a tendency to over-tell an ending. There doesn’t need to be an explanation all the time. There must be trust that the reader can do some of the work as part of the process. There were poems that were particularly emotional, drawing on personal memoir, that caused both judges to feel moved. We felt many of the poems were a draft or two away from being a finished poem, and we hope the poets who submitted will continue to work on them and send them out again.

The children’s poems were all charming and we felt heartened to see children engaging with and writing poetry.

Adult Category:

Winner: ‘9 1/2 cm’. The winning poem utilised an extended metaphor of horror films to describe labour and birth that surprised and unsettled us both. The gothic horror references shine a lens on medical childbirth as something quite otherworldly and chilling. The narrator is both an expectant mother and a female character pinned down in a Hammer Horror film awaiting the monster. The title, describing the opening of the cervix, can also be read as the length of a wound. The structure of the poem is sparse, using white space and dashes to indicate time; the long wait of labour. The sharpness of the enjambment echoes the horror metaphor, cutting through the lines in a jolting fashion, and the rush of words through the fourth stanza, losing punctuation in the middle, adds rising tension and a shortness of breath before the entrance of the creature, who fills their lungs for the first time like Frankenstein, and screams. We thought there was a lot happening in this carefully constructed poem, and we both found it memorable for its visceral and nightmarish elements.

Runner-up: ‘Boarding now at Gate Seven’. We were struck by the brutal honesty in the first two stanzas of this poem, finding the imagery to be both striking and poignant. The first stanza successfully accomplishes a sense of bitterness and frustration, which we could immediately identify with as fellow writing mothers. We think this is powerfully communicated and extended through the beautiful precision of the folded muslin which represents all of the writer’s creative output at this time: it is both vital for the nurturing of the child, in one regard the ultimate creation, whilst simultaneously seeming so mundane and binding in terms of potential creative output. We feel this poem also addresses the still contentious issue of equal parenting and childcare within the debilitating system of structural patriarchy, which demonstrates how poetry continues to be a powerful personal and political tool, making way for important conversations.

Runner-up: ‘Much improved’. We loved the awkward wordiness, rhythm and prosodic features of this poem – particularly in the first two stanzas which really went some way to replicating the uncomfortable demands of having another language/dialect literally in your mouth. There is an authenticity here and a strong sense of voice, which is often a challenging task for writers.

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9½ cm

Alarmed eyes, coffined under fluorescent lights
elongated Nosferatu shadows move back from
behind the make-shift blue screen.
Epidural ice-cold nitrogen, up-streams

my spinal cord. The long wait —

a tear slips
giving away my position.

Mummified, bestowed on a steel bed
hospital native tongues whisper procedures 
apprehensive faces ascend their masks
a scalpel wounds its permanent, numb scar 

and your entrance into the world. 

7.01 am—
silence. 

You fill your lungs
with inspired air 

and scream to let me
know you have arrived.

MICHÈLE BECK

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Do you want to play?

Mam Mam do you want to play? Isn’t it quite so beautiful today.
We can play and play until the rain touches the floor again.
Will you say yes oh please today?
I’m busy why not ask Dad? Surely Dad would like to dance.
Hey Dad do you want to play? Isn’t it quite so wonderful today.
We can play and play until the wind blows again.
Oh please say yes just for today.
No I can’t I’m getting ready for our holiday.
Why not play with the dog? I know she would love to play.
I can’t ask Sadie. I guess it is just me again…
Betsy! Let’s play until the sun comes out again.

DARCY ROURKE, aged 8