Wilfred Owen’s ‘Dulce et Decorum est’

When reading anything I love to be shocked or horrified, if your poetry can give me palpitations then you know you’ve written a cracker! This is why my favourite poem of all time is an old classic, Wilfred Owen's 'Dulce et Decorum est. '

 

Owen fought in the First World War and the poem is famous for containing the horrible truth about fighting for your country.

 

The earliest draft found of this poem was dated back in 1917 written while he was stationed at Craiglockhart in a letter to his mother. This was a whole three years before the poem was even published.

 

The poem centres round the Latin phrase (originally written by the Roman poet Horace) 'Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori', roughly translating to: it is sweet and honourable to die for one's country. Throughout the poem Owen disputes this idea by presenting the horrible truth about war life.

The poem begins with a description of the men. The second line of the poem says, “Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge.” The reason I like this line so much was simply because of the word “cursed.” Normally you’d expect a verb here, for example: ‘we walked through sludge’ or ‘we crawled through sludge.’ However Owen uses an adjective instead to show the soldiers frustration about having to push through this sludge when they’re clearly not in the best physical condition. They are described as “knock-kneed” which is severe muscle and bone pain, which makes it incredibly difficult to move.

Owen goes onto describe the physical ramifications of being a soldier, “And towards our distant rest began to trudge/Men marched asleep” and “Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots.” “Hoots” is the noise made from the shells rushing through the air.  I find it horrifying how tired soldiers must have been. Owen has mentioned going to their “distant rest” which is said to have been a camp away from the front line where exhausted soldiers might rest for a few days, or longer. To be that tired you’d need possibly more than a few days rest is astounding to me. It really puts a picture in my head of the conditions these men were in.

The next part of the poem is the section Owen sent to his mother in 1917. Owen sent her the first draft of this piece, he states in his letter to her, “Here is a gas poem done yesterday (which is not private, but not final).

This description of being gassed by the Germans is very long and detailed.  Owen does make you feel like you were present during these descriptions as he speaks directly to us: “Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!” You almost feel like you have to put your gas mask on.

I’m going to quote the whole description below so you can see what I mean.

 

“And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud”

I mean, where do you even begin? Are you as horrified as I was to read in such detail what the gas used to do to men who couldn’t get their masks on in time? When you panic, you are more likely to be clumsy, which immediately ups the chances of you being caught in the gas.

By the description Owen gives, it is most likely it was chlorine gas, as that does make the lungs fill with blood so you feel like you are drowning.

Through this description I felt like I was Owen, inside my helmet, watching through this thick green haze a man drowning on his own blood, begging me for help and knowing there was nothing I could do to help. Imagine having to watch a man choking on his own blood in front of you. It’s just unimaginable. No scratch that, it’s very imaginable, Owen makes it so. That’s what’s so disturbing.

What really sent chills through me was Owen saying they had to throw the body into a wagon and then watching while his lungs are still filling and he is still choking. I just couldn’t imagine discarding a human life in such a cruel way. The fact soldiers were ordered to do this and it practically became a routine for them is just inhumane.

Despite the circumstances of being in war, I felt he still deserved a burial, instead of being discarded like a spare part, or something just getting in their way. Could you imagine having to do that frequently? Put your compassion for others aside because men are dying all around you. I think even the most bitter of people would struggle to do this.

The speaker of the poem tries to reinforce the idea that if people were to witness what war was really like they wouldn't be so quick to believe the Latin saying, this is proved by the final few lines of the poem: “My friend, you would not tell with such high zest/To children ardent for some desperate glory,/The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est/Pro patria mori” Simply translated: My friend, you would not speak with such enthusiasm, to children desperate for glory that it is sweet and honourable to fight and die for your country. Owen makes his views explicit as he refers to the Latin saying as "The Old Lie."

Due to my extreme interest in history, Owens poem has been a constant favourite of mine and the inspiration for many of my poems, including Adam Ward's editors pick for Under the Fable’s August issue. It can be found on their website, pages 6 - 9, in which I try to replicate Owens shocking imagery when talking about the Merseyside blitz during World War II.

Yours weekly,

Jennie Byrne

@mustbejlb (on Instagram and Twitter)

 

 

www.underthefable.com

 

Share your thoughts below. All comments and suggestions are welcome.

The Hidden Chorus

The chorus. Where did it come from? Why is it so important? Why have so many writers included it within their work such as Shakespeare? Well, let’s take a trip back to 776-336 BC.

In Ancient Greece, the chorus was a very important part of Greek tragedies, if not the most important part. Daniels and Scully, authors of “What is really going on in Sophocles' Theban Plays”, state, "No feature of Greek tragedy is more intractable than the chorus." For Ancient Greeks, the chorus' role was an obvious one and although the language was always in a formal dialect, it wasn't difficult to understand the chorus' message. Tragedies were written in verse, and actors would either say or sing their lines. Only men could perform in the plays, females performing was unthinkable. In Ancient Greece, the playwright was a choreographer and a composer in addition to being a playwright. He choreographed the dances for the chorus as well as composing the music that the chorus sang. The chorus usually sang and danced between lines, and the role of the chorus, in this regard, could be seen as a form of entertainment and the audience would have been highly interested upon watching this.

Aristotle argued in “Poetics” that “…the chorus should be regarded as one of the actors; it should be a part of the whole and should participate in the drama not as in Euripides but as in Sophocles.” From this we can gather that Aristotle values the chorus greatly as part of a play and believes that Sophocles was superior in his choral writing. Choral odes should not be “mere interludes,” but should contribute to the unity of the plot – which according to Aristotle was the most important element in a tragedy. The masks that were worn during the performances were generic for the chorus, and this was to highlight the chorus as a whole rather than individuals. This reinforced the viewpoint of how the audience of the time would view the chorus as a whole body, rather than individuals and the viewpoints of the chorus was relatable to the viewpoints that the community held as a whole, not just individual beings.

Like most of the ancient Greek tragedians, Sophocles divides his choral odes into strophic pairs – strophe and antistrophe. Both sections have the same number of lines and metrical pattern generally. In Greek, ‘strophe’ means ‘turn,’ and ‘antistrophe’ means ‘turn back/against.’ During the strophe, choruses danced from right to left and during the antistrophe they did the opposite. Sophocles may have split the chorus into two groups, so that it was as if one part was conversing with the other. The oppositions created by strophe and antistrophe may represent the endless, irresolvable debates which were prevalent in Ancient Greek society.

An example of the chorus’ integral role within a Greek play, ‘Oedipus Rex’ serves a fitting illustration. The first time we hear from the chorus in ‘Oedipus Rex’ is directly after Creon, Oedipus’ brother-in-law returns from the God Apollo, with Apollo's message about how to save the city of Thebes from plague and ruin. The strophic pairs are generally in more extravagant and ambiguous verse than the actors' lines are. The strophe is reacting to the news from Apollo and in some ways foreshadowing the events to come when it says, "I am stretched on the rack of doubt," and then words are used that express fear and foreboding, like "terror and trembling" and "full of fears" and "doom." The language is rich with metaphors, and for Aristotle, “it [metaphor] is the mark of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblance.” The antistrophe is calling on the Gods to help them, such as ‘Athene’, ‘Artemis’ and ‘Phoebus’, thus reflecting the polytheistic beliefs held by the Ancient Greeks. The function of the chorus here is split into two. The first function is to show a reaction to the news that they have just received and the second is to plead to the Gods, thus showing the integration of the chorus into the play. G. M. Kirkwood states in his journal “Phoenix”, titled ‘The Dramatic Role of the Chorus in Sophocles’ that “It is generally assumed that the main function of the Sophoclean Chorus is a philosophical one; that it serves above all as the spokesman for a certain view of life.” The chorus were seen as the voice of the community and perhaps due to this, those that were performing as part of the chorus were local men and it was seen as their duty.

Unlike his contemporary Euripides, Sophocles was known to mix his chorus into the action of the play. In ‘Oedipus Rex’ we see the chorus advising Oedipus to remain calm, such as when they tell Oedipus and Creon to stop arguing, “My lords, an end to this.” There is direct address between the chorus and Oedipus which shows that the chorus were not just overseers but involved in the plot too. After Oedipus pieces things together and realises what he’s done and sees the truth, ‘anagnorisis’, the chorus mourns the tragedy.

Alternatively, the chorus in ‘Oedipus Rex’ manages to convince Oedipus not to banish or execute Creon at the start. Although the chorus only speaks once in a while, it is present throughout the play as an observer. This is rather significant as they oversee all of the action and help make decisions, such as when Oedipus asks the chorus to help send him out of Thebes or kill him and the chorus leader replies that Oedipus should go “To a fearful place from which men turn away, a place they hate to look upon.” This shows the significance of the chorus, not just as narrators of the action, but as an integral core to the play.

Therefore, the chorus especially within Greek tragedies has a variety of roles and functions. The chorus comments on the play's action and foreshadows future events. As well as this, the chorus help characters of a play and therefore are connected directly within the play. The chorus also give an in depth view of the character’s emotions and thoughts as they explain Oedipus’ feelings, “Unhappy in your fate and in your mind which now knows all.” Sophocles also used the chorus to comment on the larger impact of the characters' actions and to illustrate a play's central themes. Shakespeare’s use of the chorus in a similar manner can be seen to have drawn from the Ancient Greeks.

Yours dramatically,

Sadia Parveen.

@Sadia_x95

www.underthefable.com

Have something to say? Please comment below, all feedback is welcome.

Shh Happens - Losing our Libraries

When I was young, my local village, town and city (Middleton, Driffield and Hull respectively) all had one, wonderful thing in common. They all had a library, ranging from Middleton’s Mobile Library which stocked about twelve books but could order more to Hull’s all singing all dancing mega-library, home to a heady number of wonderful, wonderful books. Driffield’s library was located in its secondary school, and it’s here that I really cut my teeth on literature.

                It’s probably deemed ‘sad’ or ‘uncool’ (I myself am clearly these things for even using the words) to admit that my prized possession when I was younger was a Library card. Libraries were escapism, adventure and romance all rolled into one, beautifully quiet place. The meaning of the books escaped me, and the adventure and romance of the words would come later, but as a boy of 11 it was the peace and quiet I loved (I haven’t changed, I now live in a tiny village in deepest darkest Wales, home to 100 other peacekeepers). A place to escape the teachers, the workload and the bullies. Oh the bullies. They never set foot in the library. To many books, they said.

                The first real books I read were the ragged, torn pages of the Doctor Who paperbacks I found nestling in the corner of the Classics section (I still haven’t worked out why they were there). I skipped pages to get to good bits, half the words confused me and I never finished a single one, but I had fallen in love all the same. From the good Doctor I discovered Terry Pratchett’s Nome Trilogy, Stephen King’s tamer novels and eventually authors like Asimov, Waugh and Murakami. As I travelled through the stresses of education in the early nineties one thing remained constant. The library.

So why am I telling you this?

Well, currently 10% of the UK’s libraries are under threat of closure. Almost double that number are under threat of being run by volunteers, not trained library staff. Libraries are closing every week. In my local town now, Llangollen, there are 3 E-Cig shops but no real library. The library I loved so much at school has now gone.  Fewer people than ever are borrowing books from libraries, and this means more and more are closing.

While I appreciate that Kindles etc are wonderful things, and the internet is a brilliant resource for finding things to read, they are not libraries. They do not shelter a young boy from the storm outside, offering so much while expecting nothing in return. They do not replicate the exhilaration of returning home with several books to read, knowing in your heart and mind that you will be a richer person when you have finished.

Statistics can be manipulated. While the statistics say more of us are reading than ever, and more of us are researching than ever, they do not detail what it is we are reading. What it is the young people nowadays are doing on the internet? I would wager they are not discussing Keats or Austen. Libraries are useful there as well, as they provide a working statistic on what we read. I hear every day that we are becoming more literate but I do not see the evidence. The library in Wrexham is full of people using the computers, but no one reading. The general answer nowadays to ‘what are you reading?’ is usually ‘I don’t read books mate’.

The only way to reverse this trend is to make libraries feel loved again (and possibly elect Jeremy ‘champion of the arts’ Corbyn but that’s another debate). Get down to your local library before it’s too late, get a library card and get reading. You will be adding your invaluable input to a matter that could well be at the heart of whether we truly fall back in love with books.

The question is, do you love libraries like I do? Or do you think they are a thing of the past? Let me know below!

Yours Quietly

Stuart Buck

@stuartmbuck

Poe and Psychoanalysis

When I first came across the works by Edgar Allan Poe truly, I was confused. It was during my first year at university through the first semester. I had come across ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’ previously for my A-Level as it was used to compare Gothic aspects within ‘Jane Eyre’ however I never paid much attention to the deeper meaning behind his texts. So when asked to read ‘The Purloined Letter’ and secondary reading on Poe and his works to prepare for a seminar, I didn't think much of it.

That all changed when I started to learn about his abnormal life and that’s putting it as politely as possible. His mother died when he was three years old, he married his first cousin who hadn't even reached the age of fourteen and he was twenty-seven. His wife also contracted TB – the same disease that killed his mother, foster-mother and brother.

You may be wondering what this has to do with his writing. Well, Poe’s work is packed with reference to his life which he may not have intended to include himself. The death of female characters, the sexualisation of woman all represent Poe’s inner consciousness.

The definition for psychoanalysis within the Oxford dictionary provides a brief yet informative summary of psychoanalysis. “Psychoanalysis: a system of psychological theory and therapy which aims to treat mental disorders by investigating the interaction of conscious and unconscious elements in the mind and bringing repressed fears and conflicts into the conscious mind by techniques such as dream interpretation and free association.”

Psychoanalysis is a form of literary criticism that focuses on the minds associated with a certain piece of literary work. This could be the mind of the author or the mind of a character within the text. Sigmund Freud developed psychoanalysis as a literary critique and believed the text is not written out of mere coincidence but like dreams it is the unconsciousness and repressed memories within that of the author that is escaping through the text.

Psychoanalytic critics affirm that a text’s true meaning lies with the author’s unconscious desires and issues. To completely understand a text, we must focus on a particular character within the literary work; however it is to be presumed that all of the characters represent the author’s unconscious thoughts in one way or another. A psychoanalyst’s interpretation is that everyone’s actions are driven by sexual and/or pleasure seeking intentions, so nothing is really how it appears. We can use ‘The Purloined Letter’ as an example of psychoanalysis within Poe’s works.

A ‘classical’ psychoanalytical approach to 'The Purloined Letter' such as Marie Bonaparte, believed that the true meaning in Poe's work is hidden and needs to be found. In 'The Purloined Letter' a letter is stolen from the Queen by the Minister, when she tries to conceal it in plain sight. When the police cannot find the letter, they approach Dupin, thus leading to him finding the letter at the Minister's, hanging over the fireplace in plain sight and they bring it back to the Queen.

Bonaparte believed that the fireplace is a symbolisation of the female genitalia and the letter symbolises regret for a missing maternal penis and reproach for its loss. The letter, according to Bonaparte is the, "...symbol of the maternal penis, also 'hangs' over the fireplace, in the same manner as the female penis, if it existed, would be hung over the cloaca which is here represented... by the general symbol of fireplace..." (Muller, J. P., & Richardson, W. J.: The Purloined Poe: Lacan, Derrida, and Psychoanalytic Reading).

Therefore, the story of the missing letter and finding it displayed over the fireplace on the mantelpiece is all truly, according to Bonaparte, Poe's unconscious wishes of finding his mother's maternal penis. As classical psychoanalysts would argue, literature is the fundamental outlet that reveals the psychology and personality of the author. Bonaparte goes on to state that Dupin is actually Poe himself on this pursuit and Poe is also the narrator who is observing his own triumph.

From Bonaparte’s viewpoint, we can see that although the author controls language, the unconscious comes through, so what is read is not literal, but the unconscious thoughts of the author which are hidden throughout the text and need to be found.

Jacques Lacan, a ‘structuralist’ psychoanalyst, however, “does not talk about the psychology of the individual author, but sees the text as a metaphor which throws light upon aspects of the unconscious, on the nature of psychoanalysis, and on aspects of language.” (Peter Barry: Beginning Theory: An Introduction to Literary and Cultural Theory).

Lacan’s seminar on ‘The Purloined Letter’ in 1954 itself was a critique of Marie Bonaparte's interpretation of 'The Purloined Letter' and mocked the idea of taking Freudian concepts and finding them in any text, in whatever way possible.

Although Lacan also considers the maternal penis, not as an anatomical object but an apparatus which enables the first meeting with absence when the child senses that he or she is not the mother’s world and that the mother wants more than the child. The child wishes to be the phallus for the mother, according to Lacan. So although this correlates with the Freudian concept of psychoanalysis, Lacan goes on to further this and uses it as his starting point.

Lacan stated that language positions you and it’s through the structure of language that we get to see the unconscious. Lacan uses literature because he believed that it can tell us something about the unconscious as a whole, and believed the unconscious was structured like language, unlike Bonaparte who used it to analyse the author.

So what do you think? Do you agree with Lacan’s viewpoint that language merely tells us about the unconscious as a whole rather than an analysis for the author like Bonaparte believed? Can you think of other examples that suit a classical or a structuralist’s psychoanalytic theory? What do you think of Poe’s work in general? I personally find that he is like marmite, you either love him or hate him. I have yet to make up my mind about which category I fall into, however.

Yours Analytically,

Sadia Parveen.

@Sadia_x95

www.underthefable.com

A brief history of nonsense - Flarf poetry

 As a self confessed lover of all things pretentious I have a soft spot for Flarf poetry. Chances are you do not. Flarf poetry is as unloved as it is unknown, lost in the fog of the internet (ironically so vital in its creation) and the sheer volume of poets and poetry coming out of the wires nowadays. Those who have heard of it, or even read some of it, almost universally hate it.

 To be fair, it is easy to see why. But before we castigate it and push it to one side as nonsense for nonsense sake, we should have a look at where it came from.

Flarf was born in New York at the turn of the century, and its creation can be attributed to one man. Gary Sullivan created a nonsense poem to send into a scam poetry competition (no names here, we all know who they are!) and Flarf was born. The poem, the first lines of which are shown below, is meaningless and has no context or poetical merit, but was of course included in the poetry competitions winners;

Yeah mm-hmm, it's true
big birds make
big doo! i got fire inside
my huppa chimp (tm)

Gary sent this masterpiece off to his friends, and pretty soon they were all involved in sending poems around the group. Flarf became a serious poetic consideration soon after, with people taking Google-search snippets and forming them into humorous/disturbing verses. This took Flarf from nonsense to something more, injecting it with a dash of pop/meta culture and meaning it started to mean.

You can read a lot more in-depth history on Flarf if you so wish, but to me that is missing the point. Flarf wouldn’t want you too. Flarf is only concerned with the now, the hyper-real and the nonsensical. In its brief history, it has grown only in one area. Now a few of the poems are good, whereas once they were uniformly awful.

If you love your hog of a oneself
grinding up against a dirty guitar
kung fu-style

in negative space
then you are cocked up with lollipops,
doggie style.

Expect toy ATM's next.

The lines above are taken from Sharon Mesmer’s ‘I am cocked up from overpower’. This is a great example of Flarf starting to mean something rather than just be something. The poem is satirising the very culture and saturation it was born from, a key element of Flarf. Flarfist’s know how ridiculous the fact their poetry is seen as art is and have integrated that in to their poems.

awe yea I open a photo album I found under my bed 
uhhuh, The dusty, leather cover decaying and smelling of the years 
awe yea baby Regrets mingling with my tears 

The above is an exerpt from Drew Gardner’s ‘As Dolphins Langour’. Using the same technique as other Flarfist’s, Drew has constructed something with actual emotional heft. Not easy to do, in fact I would argue it is the more difficult task. Flarf poets limit their palettes (maybe I should write poetry with lines like that) and therefore making something worthwhile becomes more difficult.

The writing of Flarf poetry is not solely down to Google searches. Another popular method is to take a phrase and run it through translators until it takes on other meanings entirely. This juxtaposition allows for some interesting creations but also can have a subtext. What happens, for example, when we run ‘I shatter into a thousand porcelain shards’ through translate a few times, we get ‘I own a piece of cloth decomposition’ as highlighted in the fantastic (and free) E-Book ‘Ten poems ruthlessly mangled by Google Translate’ by Ari Eckols.

But is Flarf something that requires anyone’s interest, or is it just tripe for tripe’s sake. Does it have any meaning? Does it have any place in serious literary circles?

Yes. Yes it does. Flarf is the trip-hop of poetry. It’s the pop-art of the Meta-age. Taking samples and pasting them together to become more relevant is practiced in all art forms. Forming something beautiful from otherwise unrelated snippets. Flarf is this generation’s Beat poetry. When Kerouac wrote How to Meditate, I am sure people reacted in the same way as they do when they read Flarf.

the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind

Not that different is it? Just as beat poetry was taken in and adored by those ‘hyper-intellectual’ enough to instruct the rest of us in what to enjoy, so Flarf was/should and will be heralded as a harbinger of cultural nirvana.

But what do you guys think? Is Flarf purely an attempt to cash in on meta-culture and not real poetry? Or, like me, do you love Flarf with all your heart!

Yours Nonsensically

Stuart Buck

@stuartmbuck

Assuming Responsibility: Becoming Editor in Chief

"I am going to be an Editor in Chief".  It sounds like something I might have said when I was eight years old, the week after I had proudly announced I wanted to be an astronaut, and the week before I decided I was going to be a fighter pilot.  Even ten years ago, when it was still OK to have some kind of dream, it would have sounded ludicrous.  But with Gareth Davey stepping down from the plate at the end of last month, Under The Fable changed hands.  And here I am.  The boss.  In charge of an online magazine that I love.  So what's next?

In my mind it is going to be a hard job trying to accomplish half of what Gareth did.  He had nothing, and made a magazine out of it.  Under Gareth a team of hard working Sub Editors tirelessly sifted through a megaton of competitive creative pieces, and a Social Media manager decided just to give up sleep.  With Gareth at the helm an enthusiastic photographer trawled through England snapping anything she thought he might like to use in his magazine.  For two issues Under The Fable's enthusiastic team edited and presented prose and poetry and made our dream of entering the Creative Industries a reality.  January, Gareth and I were sitting at a table in Northampton University thinking of clever names for the publication.  September we traveled back from London after performing on a small tour of spoken gigs across the UK.  So I ask myself again: 'what's next?'

In my mind, it isn't simply about stepping into warm shoes and continuing with the work.  If the right person is to insert themselves into a role as grandiose as 'Editor in Chief,' then that person needs to be able to bring something new to the table.  What is the point in change, if it doesn't equate to progress? The magazine is approaching it's third issue, so is it too early to change anything?  How will the team respond to any changes after getting attached to Gareth's leadership?  So come on then, let's be having you: what is next?

Busy bees

For the past two weeks, Under The Fable regrouped, reeling from the news of Gareth's imminent departure and made the decision to carry on.  Sub-Editor Bethany McTrustery undertook my previous role as Creative Editor, Ashleigh Morris accepted the post of Events Manager to build our tour for 2016, and Meg Shipham accepted the role of Design Editor.  The Website has had a facelift, and four intelligent bloggers have been added to the team using platforms on Blogger and Medium, so that Under The Fable always provides the readers with some interesting literature.  Submissions are already flying in through the email, and work has begun on November's issue.  The office is buzzing with ideas, I needn't have worried.  The change has been accepted better than I dared hope.

A shared vision: a recognisable brand

Yes I have a vision.  I have my own ideas of what I want Under The Fable to represent, and how I would like it to look.  But focussing only on my own desires seems to be an incredible waste of my new position.  I enjoyed being the magazines number two.  Gareth gave me the power to build the team, and act in his absence.  But I don't simply want a number two.  There is not a single imbecile representing Under The Fable, and that creative energy needs to be garnered.  As a unit we have decided upon our new look, created a unique and recognisable logo, and as a unit, Under The Fable will gather around my coffee stained desk and decide together exactly what each issue will look like.  Ideas have been pouring in from all sides of the office, not one of them unheard or ignored.  It is safe to say that any future publication of Under The Fable will be owned by the whole team, and any ideas coming from the readers will be brought to the table.  I still want to recognise marginal voices, I still want to read something unique, I want every sleeping part of my imagination awoken by the work that is coming in.  What I am hoping to publish in November is a shared vision.

Looking to the future

So what does this mean for the future of Under The Fable?  I would like to think that I am providing an exciting yet stable future for this magazine.  I left the position of Editor in Chief at My Student Style to focus on this project, and I would like to think that at this time next year, I am still trusted with the leadership of the Magazine, and the team remains unchanged for the most part.  I do, however, think it is important to let the readers know what plans are in process for change:

1. Myth-behaviour: Why should adults have all the fun?  Under The Fable has been to a family planning clinic, and all being well, offspring are the on horizon.  We wish to create a platform for younger writers to have their own magazine and shared alongside Under The Fable.  I am working on bringing UK schools on board for the first issue, although I would like it to match Under The Fable for it's global appeal.
2. Global tour of the UK: Next years tour promises to be bigger, approaching more venues in more cities.  Already talking to venues in Wales, we hope at the very least to double the tour, both in capacity and overall awesomeness.  If you live somewhere that we missed the last time, we would like to hear from you.  We will try and get there.
3. Happy anniversary:  Next May, after a year of collecting stories and poetry, and obviously with permission from the writers, I would like to publish our first annual anthology to be sold on Amazon, and any other platform that would accept it.
4. Kindling the words:  In 2016 I hope to release Under The Fable's issues onto Kindle, for those who want to connect to our world in an appropriately twenty-first century manner.  The world moves at one hundred miles an hour, literature has to strive to keep up.

On a personal note, and to conclude what I worry might be turning out to be mission statement, this is the most exciting project I have ever undertaken, let alone find myself in the driving seat.  I am always open for suggestions, from the team, bloggers, and the readership alike, because I wouldn't have anything to drive without them.  Feel free to send your feedback and suggestions for improvements through our website: www.underthefable.com and help me put a copy of Under The Fable on every laptop screen possible.

Yours Excitedly

Adam Ward

Twitter: @WardyBoy82
Instagram: @poet_adzx2

www.underthefable.com

Have anything to say?  Please comment below, and continue the conversation.

Was Wordsworth worth words?

In 1989 I was on holiday in the Lake District at a log cabin not far from Cockermouth and it seemed that no matter where my girlfriend and I drove to (Hadrian’s Wall, Carlisle, Keswick, Workington, around the Lakes) all roads led back to Cockermouth. We, like silly children, thought this rather hilarious. For a start why is it named ‘Cockermouth’? The most sexually suggestive town in the UK. What’s it like to live in Cockermouth? What’s it like to tell people your address? Does the name always elicit sniggers? How did William Wordsworth feel about having been born there? On that holiday of long ago we passed the birthplace many times, but never went in. I would now. Born in 1770 Wordsworth would become Poet Laureate in 1843 and would stay in situ until his death in 1850. It would seem that the Establishment thought Wordsworth very much worth words.

Which brings me to my point. Why do some of us love words so much? We all speak and communicate obviously, but for those in the world of poets, storytellers, songwriters and authors words have a magical quality. This ability to express words and ideas, to quote Walt Whitman, and John Keating from ‘Dead Poets Society’: “The powerful play goes on and each may contribute a verse.” As Keating asks “What will your verse be?” This is more than a piece of poetry or a story told, here Keating, and Whitman, are asking “What will you make of your life?”

Words came to me young and books were my passion from as early as I can remember. To this day there is something magical about holding a book in your hands that a Kindle can’t replicate. Some books, the hardback of “The Book Thief” by Tomas Suzack comes to mind, feel like a piece of cloth to a tailor or a piece of oak to a carpenter. It just feels good. Other books I have are almost falling to pieces so often have their pages been turned. When I was exposed to the spoken word in performance last year I gained a new appreciation for language and how people used it. I would be sitting listening to a poet, storyteller or singer and hear a phrase that caught my ear and I would marvel at other people’s turn of phrase. This passion that made us laugh, to think on a new tangent or explore a memory of our own. We would learn more about each other as regular performers, we would hear the life stories, absorb someone else’s pain and empathise with them.

Festivals gave me a new experience, you had to listen a little harder, concentrate a little more and each time vowels and consonants would dance upon the air, to enter your ear and create new symphonies within.

Every day I read, I usually have three or four books on the go at any one time (at the moment it’s a biography of Elvis, another of Marilyn Monroe, Seve Ballesteros autobiography and another about the Norman Conquest) and pick each one up depending on the mood I am in at the moment. Novels absorb my life, I have to turn each page in the best of them. I love learning about the history of words – did you know that the Orcs of Tolkien’s Middle Earth books were what the Anglo Saxons called the Normans? It means ‘foreigner, invader, monster’. When you consider that Tolkien was a professor of Anglo Saxon English it all makes sense.

Stories, poetry, screenplays, movies, tv shows, songs – all have the ability to capture your mood, to change your emotions in a second, to take you to faraway places and bring you back to earth with a bump.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me” so goes the old rhyme, but is it satirical because we know of all weapons words can wound the most, but at the same time nothing can move us as much as phrases like “I love you”, “yes,” or “I do”.

For me words are the daily movement of life, a process to move me forward, I don’t really mind how they are brought to me (as in all the methods discussed) and you know what? I bet Wordsworth felt exactly the same.

PS Cockermouth is so named because it is at the merging of the River Cocker as it flows into the River Derwent, so now you know.

Andy Gibney

@andygibneystwitter

www.underthefable.com

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Cats And Other Myths Review

J. S. Watts’s collection of poetry was published by Lapwing Publications in 2011. The collection, Cats and Other Myths is centred on the theme of myths that find contemporary relevance. Many of the poems heavily feature animals and quite a few are written in the point of view of one, however there are two particular poems that caught my eye in this collection.

1.

‘Mirror’

Page 13 - 16

This poem is about a princess, longing for a prince to find her. She looks into a mirror where her prince appears, she’s blissfully happy and in love until he disappears. Two other princes appear, but her hope diminishes when no prince comes to claim their love for her and there is no happily ever after.

To me, this presented many similarities with present day life. The mirror felt like a metaphor for online dating, you never quite meet that true love in person, and the distance ends up being the downfall. As it was for the princess who needed the love of a man in person, and not through a mirror.

I like how there was an element of fairy tales returning to their roots and not always getting that “happily ever after” as we’ve all come to believe was the origin of fairy tales.

This is why this poem was one of my favourites from the collection.

2.

‘All Hallows’

Page 64 - 65

The first stanza is what immediately drew me into this poem. Watts begins by using antithesis by saying “nature demands balance” for every light there has to be a dark. Antithesis is something I enjoy reading in poetry as it shows both sides of a coin so to speak.

In the last three stanzas of the poem there are two descriptions of a woman.

Watts refers to the woman as a “She-Devil, Fire goddess, born from the flames;” in the first description. This was a particularly strong line to me as I could really see the image she was painting of this woman bathed in flames, with her hair wild.

In the last stanza Watts moves onto describe a purer woman, “meek virgin, I trip my way to church/Mousy hair tied sensibly; linens precisely pressed/If I lack, it does not show.” This tied up the poem perfectly for me.

I believe both descriptions of the women are describing the same woman, but the first one is the woman during the night and the second is the woman during the day when she’s “pure” again. Whether or not this is what Watts was going for, I loved this poem regardless; it was probably my favourite poem of the whole collection. The great thing about poetry is it’s all about the readers interpretation.

If poetry is your thing and you enjoy reading pieces surrounding myths, fairy tales, and animal points of view then I would suggest you give this collection a read. It is a thoroughly enjoyable read, particularly the poems I mentioned above. Give it a read, and let me know your favourites.

 To pick up a copy of this collection you can either find it on www.jswatts.co.uk or good old www.amazon.co.uk

Yours weekly,

Jennie Byrne

 

@mustbejlb (on Instagram and Twitter)

www.underthefable.com

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My top ten highlights from the Under The Fable tour.

I got home last night at about 01:00am, my poetry portfolio in hand ready to be pushed aside for a little while.  Pouring myself a whisky I sat and reflected on my adventures.  Touring different places in the country was exhilarating, and there was so much to enjoy.  I almost wished I had kept a diary of each event.  Next years tour promises to be bigger though.  There are more places interested in hosting our events, people from cities we didn't reach indignantly asking why we didn't go there.  We promised we will make there nearest venue, and we intend to keep that promise.  But there are always memories to treasure, and a whole new tour won't overshadow the memories created this tour, nor the people that have turned up and shared their words, and their visions.  So, here are my top ten highlights from the Under The Fable 2015 tour.

10 - Snow knit slopes

We were spoiled rotten with our first venue.  Xscape in Milton Keynes allowed us to use their bar.  There were big open windows from the performance area, and all you could see was the ski slopes.  I have never had a backdrop like it.  People skiing, or snowboarding down the slopes as poets such as Melanie Limb performed their poetry.  It felt so holistic, something very natural about it.

Skiers falling down in the back, animated poetry at the front, there couldn't have been anything more authentic.  No blank background, just live sport and fun happening together, each poet looking like an Olympics commentator speaking as the action was going on in the background.  It couldn't have been stranger, or more interesting to perform in this venue.  

9 - Telling stories

London, the final show, was probably the most trying performance.  The venue blasted music over the performers, and glass was found in the lime pickle.  Sounds ridiculous, and perhaps it was.  A lesson learned I suppose. But out of that came our opening act Michael Julings.  The talented swine told me he had been writing a mere few months, which I am inclined to hit him over the head for.  The young lad captivated us with his poetry, his easy rhymes, and he taught me something.

Although his poems rhymed, they were stories, with intricate characters and diverse situations.  I am not talking Dr Seuss-esque, I am talking about a very original poet who doesn't simply want to sit and reel off his rhythmic observations.  If you happen to find yourself somewhere near London, and Michael Julings' name is mentioned, then go and find out why.  It was impossible not to like this set.

8 - Lifting the sirloin

Parnwell Community centre was another strange venue, not the sort of place you would expect to find a poetic spectacle.  But it worked, and the crowd were responsive and a joy to perform to.  Cue Jo Orbell to the stage.  Such a quirky set, and some very original lines, puns and rhymes, I realised that there is no poet not worth listening to at least once.

One poem in particular, You can't lead a cow downstairs, had the crowd in stitches.  It sounds like such a strange topic to write a poem about, but there she was, spinning her rhymes and keeping the crowd laughing.

7 - Real Ale

OK, poetry wasn't the only thing on the menu.  The Castle Hotel, Manchester, had a wide range of real ales.  I am not going to blame the ale for me tripping over on the stage, but there are people that would.  If you are in Manchester, and you like a good ale, you would silly not to go in and sample.  You might just find some poetry going on too.

6 - From Wales with love

You have to admire the dedication of a poet who drives from Wales to Manchester just to perform.  Stuart Buck, now a blogger for Under The Fable, turned up with his poems, a love for Charles Bukowski, and a tight performance.  The fact that he had taken this trip only affirmed that there is still love for poetry in the UK, and what is a whole other country?

Through his poetry you heard of all sorts of dedication.  Dedication to his children, to his wife, and to the art of wordsmithery itself.  Really glad to convert this man into an Under The Fable regular, and I hope we make it to Wales, so he can have a drink next time.

5 - Performing

I am not going to put my own poetry down as a highlight, not only would that be arrogant, but downright misinformed.  But the buzz of performing is impossible not to list.  Performing at these places, whether I fell onto the stage or not, was nothing short of exhilarating.  I am already looking forward to the Under The Fable tour 2016.

4 - Sex and scrapyards

Now that got your attention didn't it?  Not as much as J.S.Watts, a published poet and author, when she took the performance space in London's Adventure Bar.  I had not heard poetry like it before, exploring life and ecology through the adventures of Sue, a mechanised humanoid that lived, and loved, in a scrapyard.  

To write her own review, J.S.Watts told me her voice could cut cheese at one hundred yards.  But that was only in volume.  Her performance was very aware of the emotions of her own piece.  It was such a breath of fresh air to hear poetry taking on such a brand new, and speculative, concept.

3 - One's own bullshit

In Manchester, Poet and Radio DJ, Modal Roberts took the stage and gave the crowd the most innovative and exciting performances you will ever see.  There is nobody, and I mean nobody at all, as innovative and original as Modal Roberts.  He would tell us a story about a horse that thinks it is a shark, or a man who was the second man to join a fight club, which pleased the other member who had "been self harming for three weeks".

I could have listened to Modal all night, a chance open mic performer who turned up on the off-chance and stunned the audience into a standing ovation.  The tongue in cheek performance left us with only one message: "one's own bullshit is still bullshit".

2 - Ashleigh and Meg

Sounds like such a cop out to mention staff at Under The Fable, but none of this would have been possible without them.  Ashleigh liaising with venues, and the performers never seemed to stop.  Meg who traipsed around the country, sometimes even to play chauffeur, with her camera made it possible for all the performers to have their photos branded about the internet, and of course record our adventure.  

1 - Variety is the spice of life

I don't want to quote Forrest Gump, or mention a box of chocolates at all, but that line pretty much nails exactly what this tour taught me.  You can't have a preconceived idea of poetry, when there is this much variety.  Dean Cleary's highly religious poetry, Michael Julings' storytelling, Bethany McTrustery's prose amongst everyone elses highly individual pieces proves that you can't just bracket poetry into one small box.

Feeling surprised at every performance made it worthwhile attending.  Plus the contacts and friends you make along the way, it is without a doubt the most liberating experience a writer can endure.

So in 2016, the tour promises to be bigger.  I can imagine in 365 days time I am going to have a much harder time thinking of only ten highlights.

Yours wearily

Adam Ward

Twitter: @WardyBoy82

Insta: @poet_adzx2

www.underthefable.com

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