What do Dylan Thomas, P G Wodehouse and Aneurin (a 6th century poet) have in common?
Not a lot, but on thursday afternoon I listened to excerpts from each of their writings - and more. I was at the monthly meeting of Blaenau Voices (Lleisiau'r Blaenau) held in one of the upstairs rooms of Siop Llyfau'r Hen Bost, the lovely independent bookshop in Blaenau's main street. Downstairs there are new books and cards, upstairs - under the low sloping ceilings - there is the second-hand section.
From where I was sitting I glimpsed titles such as Reincarnation and Home Decorating and Design and there was that slight aroma of old books which makes me think of Victorian novels and Georgian poetry. Is it the fraying bindings, the glue hardening back to brittle horn and hoof, the musty damp of pre-centrally heated libraries?
For the July meeting (my first time) it was an open choice - people brought a mixture of poetry and prose, their own and that of other writers.
Amongst the excerpts brought in were poems by Longfellow, Langston Hughes and Frank O'Hara. The convener of the group read from her own novel in progress. I particularly enjoyed the three Welsh poems. The first was by the 6th century Aneurin - an extract from The Gododdin (the Gododdin were a British tribe who lived in South East Scotland) - even the English translation was chilling:
'Fresh mead was their feast, their poison too'.
The other two Welsh poems were by the renowned Gwyn Thomas, 'Enwau Lleodd' ('Place Names') and 'Tomen Fawr yr Ocli' ('The Great Oakeley Quarry Tip). Two of the group live near this huge slate spoil tip which dominates the town:
'Mae swn llechi'n crafu'r nos'
('Sounds of slate - they scrape in the night')
They said that sometimes they can hear the slate rubble shifting. The Oakeley Quarry closed several years ago but it leaves an uneasy legacy.
I had been invited to come and read some of my poems. They were on the theme of reading and writing. I read a poem each from my Alphabet series and from my Shakespeare sequence, as well as 'Transcript' (see my blog of 24 Nov 2012) about my mother's occupation as a shorthand typist.
There are two things one should never do in this situation - put in an extra poem and read a brand new poem. Alas, I did both. The extra poem 'A unicorn in the Book of Psalms' bumped up the time too much and in the middle of reading the new poem about the Brontes I realised the imagery in the middle didn't work very well and could do with re-writing (Must do better).
I framed the selection with Seamus Heaney's 'The Conway Stewart' and Naomi Shihab Nye's 'How do I know when a poem is finished?' (a bit of irony there!). Then I got everyone to read a verse from 'Summer Lane' - that seemed to go down well and the ghosts in the last verse were a good link to a prose piece someone had brought about Gwydir Castle.
We read and listened for two hours, apart from a break in the middle for tea and cake. It was good to meet people with a passion for words and I found the diverse range of literature very stimulating - ideas spark ideas.
And now I must revise that Bronte poem.