I occasionally write poetry but only for myself – except on three occasions (so far!).
Royal Scottish National Orchestra (RSNO) commission
Firstly, when the RSNO contracted me some years ago to write some promotional material for an early years music project. A tiny poem I wrote was used in the sleeve notes of their CD and in the marketing campaign.
26 Treasures project
Secondly, when I took part in 26 Treasures, a project by the 26, writers group that I belong to. My poem ended up in a book, was translated into Welsh, and myself and the Welsh language poet/translater read both the English and Welsh versions to an invited audience in the V&A.
I’ve included below the text of the poem, and the narrative that accompanied it.
MAP OF THE BRITISH ISLES
Ptolemy, 200 A.D; Johann Reger, 1486
Whatever people say I am … I’m not
I am not what I seem.
An anomaly in cartography,
my longitude and latitude,
meridians and idioms,
created, fêted, and then lost.
Time passed.
Great nations rose and fell,
the world turned,
knowledge froze, until
Rediscovered in Corinthium,
Dark Ages turned to light,
they printed me, pressed me, and shared my truth:
perhaps the distance inbetween us,
is small, after all.
Creation story
I was really pleased to have a map as my object, because it offers so many possibilities for writing: about journeys, connections, things being viewed from different perspectives and great voyages and voyagers.
In the end, my poem wasn’t anything like that. I decided to follow my instinct: that most people, like me, would find the ‘map’ confusing because it almost has a double life. I also found that its ‘truth’ (eventually found to be a lie) had a significance in terms of my own beliefs about the world and the people in it.
The distance from Rome to Ulm
The map was labelled ‘Ptolemy (200 A.D.), Prima Europe Tabula, [Ulm, Johann Reger, 1486]’. So although it was created in Roman times, the map wasn’t printed until 1,200 years later. Why, I wondered? And why would people at that time, have been interested in using something that was 1,200 years out of date?
The more I found out, the more my response to the map was about things – particularly distances – being not what they might seem (and as a big music fan, I couldn’t resist the Arctic Monkey’s reference – the title is a play on their single, ‘Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not’).
Ptolemy wasn’t, in fact a Roman: he was a Greek who lived in Alexandria, Egypt. And he wasn’t just a geographer, he was an astronomer. More confusingly, what he ‘created’ wasn’t a map, but a book called ‘Geographia’, which was full of co-ordinates and place names. It contained a mathematical method for creating a flat map of the world. His system was the first known projection of the map as a globe, the first to use latitude and longitude, and its principles have shaped the way maps are made today.
Amongst these and many other fascinating facts, the map expert at the National Library of Wales (thank you Huw!) also told me that the well-known Columbus story – about having to convince the church leaders that he wouldn’t fall off the edge of the earth – was untrue. People knew the world was round long before that. What they were actually arguing about was the size of the circumference of the earth.
But getting back to Ptolemy: his book was lost in the fall of Rome, rediscovered after the fall of Constantinople, and taken to Italy. By this time – in the late 1400s – people were emerging from the Middle/Dark Ages. It was the Renaissance, and there was a rediscovery and rebirth of the classical knowledge that had been lost when the Roman Empire collapsed. There was a thirst for exploration, and great mariners like Columbus set off on epic journeys to learn more about the world.
By this time the printing press had also been invented, which made it possible to print these classical works and distribute them to a wider audience. In this case, Johann Reger – a printer based in Ulm – employed a cartographer/artist to create maps from Ptolemy’s manuscript, which were then printed into bound volumes.
Truth or lies?
The rediscovery of Ptolemy’s method was a huge step forward for map-making, but even so, it was wrong. He underestimated the circumference of the earth, and overestimated the size of certain continents, like Europe and Asia. So in fact, the distance between places was incorrect. It’s said that if Columbus had known the true distances involved, he may never have set sail on his journey of discovery.
I liked the idea that, if we were to believe Ptolemy, the world is smaller than we think. It chimed with something that happened to me during the process of researching this poem: rediscovering my childhood pen pal after 30 years – still living over the other side of the world. Which reminded me that the distances between people aren’t really so great as they might seem. I’m with Ptolemy on that one.
26 Neurodivergence project
Most recently, I took part in another project from 26, this time about neurodivergence. I worked with my daughter on a poem about her experience of being autistic and dyslexic, and you can find the poem and an essay about our experience on the 26 microsite for the project, along with the other beautiful poems from the project.
Young woman, 23, autistic, dyslexic
Whatever people say she is … she’s not
In the moment of its creation
her brain began to diverge.
Intricate tendrils, dendrites, neurons
static-charged with possibility
overwhelming impossibility.
She feels
Excluded
Eluded
Lost, in social cues.
She knows
Passion
Action
Found, in creativity.
Her brain is a marvel
that defies disputed terms.
Yet where does one label end
and another begin?
Perhaps the distance
in-between us
is small after all.
Over the last few years, the subject of neurodiversity has had increasing importance in my life. Firstly, when my daughter was diagnosed as dyslexic aged 18, and autistic aged 21 (she’s now 24). Secondly, as I began supporting neurodivergent people professionally. And, in parallel, as I’ve gradually realised that most of the people I’m drawn to through work and friendships, are neurodivergent in one way or another.
As I’m not diagnosed as neurodivergent, I wanted to work with my daughter to create the poem. We had a couple of chats and set up a WhatsApp group, where I would ask questions, and she would post her reflections on what it means to her to be neurodivergent.
I asked her to give me six words that she’d like included, which were: Outsider, fixations, overwhelming, excluded, creative, passionate. I’ve only managed to include four. But I have included ‘Marvel’ as she’s a fan of the filmes.
It’s been a privilege to have these conversations. It’s helped me to understand her more, and I hope, helped her to understand herself a little more too.
It’s also made me reflect on the way my brain works. That was firmly kicked into touch when, at our first chat, she said to me: “Can I be really frank with you, Mum? It’s pretty clear to me that you’re neurodivergent.”
This project has also given me a reason to ‘geek out’, as I love to (hmm … an indicator perhaps?). In particular, I’ve been reading essays from Judy Singer, originator of the term ‘neurodiversity’. These helped me to resolve something I’ve been wrestling with for a while. How might we acknowledge the diversity of all human brains, without detracting from the very specific differences, strengths and barriers that come from being dyslexic, autistic, having ADHD, etc?
So it was a lightbulb moment for me when I read that the term ‘neurodiverse’ applies to us all. But ‘neurodivergent’ applies to a specific set of people: See: https://bit.ly/JudySingerNDfromwhat
Once again, I thought about one of my favourite quotes from Dennis Potter: “The trouble with words is that you never know whose mouths they have been in.” There’s so much misunderstanding and misuse of the terms – by both neurotypical and neurodivergent people. So as people who care about language, one of the things we writers can do is to make sure to use those words well, and with clarity.
Other creative writing
Before social media became ‘a thing’, digital storytelling was a means for people to tell their stories using words, images, and audio (the author’s voice, no video) – and to share them with others. They’re written to a strict word count and number of images. BBC Wales ran an initiative to do this in the early 2000s, called Capture Wales, and I took part in the project that brought the BBC to Monmouth.
My story was about my Dad and was called, ‘A man of few words’. Here’s a description of the story and an interview with me on the BBC website: https://www.bbc.com/wales/arts/yourvideo/media/pages/anita_holford_01.shtml
And here are the words. Sadly, the film footage no longer exists:
A MAN OF FEW WORDS
[image of Dad]
My Dad only wrote me one letter. It’s one of the most precious things I own.
There are many words I associate with Dad …
[images of words – gentle – genuine – warm – hard-working – funny – kind – caring – wise – selfless – respected ]
… but to him, words were used too much (particularly by the five women of the family). He often joked he could never squeeze a word in! Instead, he listened, often amused and sometimes bewildered.
[photos of letters piling up on the mat]
When I left home, letters to and from my Mum and sisters were a lifeline for me.
Every day these little parcels of stories and feelings would arrive on the doorstep, and I’d savour every line.
[series of photos of Dad reading newspaper in woods]
But Dad was a man of few words. He preferred peace and quiet. And his newspaper.
[images of books, newspaper text, media directories]
So when I found myself shunted into the world of media and marketing, it seemed at odds with where I’d come from. Dad never said – of course, he wouldn’t – but I knew he was concerned. It wasn’t his world, because it wasn’t solid, and it often wasn’t truthful.
Gradually things have changed. I’ve made choices that mean I use words more responsibly now, and for things that I care about, values that Dad taught me by example. I’ve come realise that Dad is still shaping my life, even though he’s no longer here. And that perhaps we’re not so different after all.
When I left home, I asked Dad to do just one thing – to write me a letter.
[image of the letter]
He was a man of his word.