Diversifly - Poetry and Art on Britain's Urban Birds

Edited by Nadia Kingsley - Fair Acre Press

Having moved out of London to Sheppey, I recognise that my view of birds in an urban setting is different from that in the country.

In London, I got up early to go to work, walking at 5.30am to the bus-stop. Blackbirds sang each morning as I waited for the bus and helped me face the day. A robin sitting on the wall of the small garden cafe below my office cheered me up when work was getting stressful.

Out here, by the sea and on the marshes, there is a freedom and a space which I share with the birds - it is a different feeling entirely. Out here it is nature in the wild - nature in the ascendancy. In town, it was much more about moments of nature within a man-made place - with people in the ascendancy.

This is very much reflected in Diversifly. It is about birds - very much so, but the people of the urban places still dominate - less so in the art, but certainly in the poems. In the interactions between poets and birds, the 'I' - the human 'I' - still stands out. That's not a criticism (look how I described my experience of birds above) - the relationship is fascinating.

Diversifly captures this relationship between urban life and nature beautifully. Matt Merritt, in his blurb for the book (see Fair Acre website), captures its content superbly, leaving little to add. It is a wonderful book, my only regret being that it would have been even better in a larger format.

As a bonus - and it really is a bonus, if you go to www.fairacrepress.co.uk there are blogs and podcasts to complement the book.

Holding on

I have realised that I want things written down on a piece of paper that I can hold in my hands. This does not mean that I can't, for example, enjoy listening to someone reading or performing their poetry. It just means that at the end of it I want a piece of paper with the poem on it. Which, of course, may not be what the poet wanted, unless they are selling their book, in which case I am the ideal customer.

Why do I want that? Partly because that is my way of taking things in. Partly poor memory. But I think there's more to it than that.

I have been trying hard to watch birds, rather than automatically reach for my camera. I know that, however good the photo may be (but in my case, rarely is), it cannot match the bird itself - the feeling, the joy on seeing it, but it can sometimes evoke something of it, perhaps help me see it better, or differently - or perhaps just help me to remember the moment.  

And in that, I think I recognise one of the reasons I want things in writing - which I have now extended to mean in any form which I can hold on to : I have not really come to terms with transience. I want to capture feelings and moments and keep them. More, I have a fear of losing them. (I know - hardly unique.)

I love poetry which captures something worth holding on to - and when it does, I want to hold on to it. It's also why I still take photos - and even print them - and it's what I try to achieve when I write poetry.

Not everyone can hold on to things this way. Many have found other ingenious ways to do so. I hope that everyone finds their way.  Or perhaps finds a way to come to terms with transience?

I have just read Helen Dunmore's 'Inside the Wave', which moved me to tears, and I thought, yes, perhaps it is possible to come to terms with it. But I'm still not sure. If I write a poem which helps me understand, capture, hold on to something - is it just for me, or do I want someone else to read it, and not just respond to the feeling or moment evoked, but also remember me? To hold on to me. 
 

Goldfinch

 

 the goldfinch jitters 

a child's painting of a bird

burbles it's alive