Guest Blog by Pete 'Cardinal Cox', Poet

I hope everyone had a good Christmas and New Year. As Poet-in-Residence for a church I managed to write around a dozen poems inspired by Christmas, some religious, some historical, some reflecting a handful of the minorities of Peterborough. I wangled a performance at one carol service, though some ask why I might go to such a thing being an atheist, I point out that my love of mince pies outweighs any ethical or philosophical objections I might otherwise have. The church also hosts the annual Holocaust Memorial Service and so I penned a poem for that too.

As part of a local circle of poets I performed at the Whittlesea Straw Bear Festival at the beginning of January. The festival is one largely of folk dance and music that also includes storytelling and (for the fourth year now) us performing our poetry in the local library. We always manage to attract an audience and always enjoy the day. However, any description of the festival has to include the phrase “Well, you know the film The Wicker Man …”

I was idly remembering a poetry festival I attended in Oxford ten years ago. On the Friday night I got to the venue early and so had a bit of a wander around to waste some time. When I returned I could see some people lounging around outside, apparently enjoying the evening air and sharing some liquid refreshment. Fortunately before I haled them as fellow poets I realised that they were actually using the homeless day centre next door. Well, it’s an easy mistake to make …

Sometimes you’ll get into a discussion about the relative merits of poets, and previously there has been no firm way to decide who is the better. I say previously because I’ve just bought the book “Poets Ranked by Beard Weight” by Upton Uxbridge Underwood, with commentary by Gilbert Alter-Gilbert (published by Skyhorse Publishing). No longer need we ponder over the relative merits of Lord Tennyson or Walt Whitman, as this tome clearly states Tennyson had the better beard. Sir Walter Raleigh or Dante Gabriel Rossetti? It’s the Pre-Raphaelite by a whisker (if you’ll excuse the pun). The introduction to the book is by Jack Passion, who won a title at the World Moustache and Beard Championships held in Brighton in 2007. By a curious co-incidence (and for reasons I’ll not go into here) I hi-jacked and took control of the photography lounge at that very championship.

Pete 'Cardinal' Cox, Poet - Guest Blog 27th July 2012

July in Peterborough started with the Summer Festival the finale of which is a weekend in our glorious Central Park, except it was raining, as it was over most of the country, so about 3 o’clock the whole event got closed down. Well, I say whole, while the organisers' collective backs were turned Mark Grist kept the Live Literature tent running for another half an hour. The intermittent rain had actually been helping to drive an audience into the tent. Come for the shelter, stay for the rhymes, could have been the motto. I had done a few poems early in the day as part of the general start-up of ‘make some noise and try and attract people’s attentions’. After that an organiser of some local events had asked if I wanted to run a workshop, but the truth is, although I have done a couple in the past, I have to admit I’m not that good at them. I have attended a number of workshops by other people (a particularly good one run by Sue Butler and held at Cambridge’s Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology always stands out http://haddon.archanth.cam.ac.uk/haddon-specials/library-online/writing-workshop-30-october-2010 ) as I figure there is always something to learn. Plus athletes always train to keep their muscles in top condition, so shouldn’t poets equally train to maintain the old noggin? However many workshops I attend though, I never find I can replicate the ability to inspire others to create. Which is a shame because when you come down to it, workshops are one of the main earning potentials for poets. Back at the festival (or more accurately, after it’s early closure, down the pub) the person who had invited me to run the workshop said that they’d signed up an excellent local rapper to run the day, and I’ll admit I thought good for him.

The week after was the John Clare Festival in Helpston (organised by the John Clare Society http://johnclaresociety.blogspot.co.uk/ ) that I’ve been going to for many years. Ok, not strictly true, I go to Helpston, but never actually make it to the Festival proper. First this year was a visit to the pub The Blue Bell where Clare had been a pot-boy, then to the John Clare Cottage next door (http://www.clarecottage.org/ ) for some cake, Bakewell Tart, I think. Then across the road to an artist’s studio where I chatted with the abstract painter. His wife offered a cup of tea and I declined as I was next going to the village hall where the W.I. put on refreshments. “Oh no”, she looked as though I’d said something terrible, “I promised to bake them some scones”, and scampered off. As I said, next was the village hall for another piece of cake (a lovely sponge with enormous strawberries and thick cream) and then into a local gallery to buy some cards. Then to see some more local artists (one of whom had asked for a poem from me to accompany a piece of work, but that’s still in the creative process) then to The Exeter Arms where John Clare had laid before being buried. The Exeter Arms has just been bought by the John Clare trust so was closed, so a visit to the church was in order before catching a bus home. At the bus stop I bumped into an old school teacher of mine who was bemoaning that she’d been refused service at the village hall. Apparently they’d thought she wouldn’t have had time to drink her tea and eat her cake before the bus came. To stir it a bit I described how tasty the cake I’d eaten had been. Caught the bus and continued chatting and just before I got off (to really put the cat amongst the proverbial) showed her the slice of cake I’d bought for my girlfriend. So no, I never quite make it to the Festival itself.

At the end of the month I took part in a guided tour with various artists and playwrights (I contributed some old riddles I’d written for my first poetry trail for the Cemetery where I’d been Poet-in-Residence for three years) and all went well until we were stopped by the police. Perhaps we were a suspicious looking bunch of middle class, middle aged ne’er-do-wells. Can’t have that sort in the run-down areas of the city…

To finish with, another plug for something from the small-press, this time Leeds’s based poetry publication Krax. 60 pages filled with excellent poetry, plus a fantastic review section covering a good number of publications from Britain and the rest of the world. Well-worth subscribing to, I think, so send an SAE to Andy Robson at 63 Dixon Lane, Leeds, LS12 4RR for full details and buy yourself a sample copy before submitting to.

Guest Blog from Cardinal Cox, Poet-in-Residence at St John the Baptist Chruch, Peterborough

Earlier in the year I heard that I had been appointed the Poet-in-Residence of the early-15^th century church of St. John the Baptist in the heart of Peterborough. The post is to run from Easter 2012 through to Easter 2013. Having some lead-in time I could visit the church on some Saturday mornings when they have a coffee shop open. So in advance of taking up the post I wrote a couple of initial poems, including one for the coffee shop. We also produced an initial press release to go out to the dozen-or-so listings magazines that cover Peterborough and Cambridgeshire.
 

When I took up the position I started to write in earnest, looking towards forthcoming events that the church was hosting (very much a community hub since recent redevelopment of the area). So in the first few weeks I have had one poem (about the church clock) printed in a newsletter for the congregation and another (inspired by a Jazz concert) printed in the city’s daily newspaper.  I also did two interviews on local radio that were (to be honest) less than successful. On the Peterborough Breakfast Show (on BBC Radio Cambridgeshire) the DJ started an argument about the correct pronunciation of scone. I then read my poem to the coffee shop. The following weekend I was then interviewed on Radio Cambridgeshire’s Sunday Breakfast religious affairs show. “Do you have a faith?” the presenter asked. “No, I’m an Atheist,” I replied. Then she moved on with, “You’re not actually in residence at the church, are you?”, “No,” I retorted, “they take a dim view of me sleeping in the porch at night!”. I then read a poem for the craft fair that is held at the church once a month.

So that’s before my first month has been completed. I have some rough ideas for the rest of the year. Whether I get a chance to do them, well, I hope I get to let you know!

Cardinal Cox