There are many ways of approaching poem indexing:  my friends at the Scottish Poetry do a splendid job of indexing their collections, but I’m thinking about personal retrieval.  I could use form as one facet, if I were to make a rigorous facet analysis as my library training might indicate, but frankly most would be in the free verse facet, with a few haiku, renga, ghazal and sonnet forms. What’s more useful is a list of categories; a typology of poems. So I went through the spreadsheet for a single year (2008) and for the 40-odd finished poems from that year. I came up with the following categories:

travel
love
nature
humorous
‘imagist’ (can’t think of an alternative term)
scientific
religious
philosophical
personal
historical
celebratory
political

Some of these overlap, sometimes within a single poem, but it’s already been a useful exercise. I now know, for that year anyway, what types of poems I was writing, and in what proportion. In fact travel and nature were the largest categories, with 11 and 8 poems respectively.

At the next level down I’ve got the subjects, and there’s a far greater variety of those terms as they become really specific. So within ‘travel’ I’ve got Lithuania, China, Tibet, France, Germany and Assynt.  Within ‘nature’ I’ve got birds, plants, walking, gardens and others. The most difficult category for me is the one I’ve called ‘imagist’. These are mainly mood pieces, when I try to evoke emotions through images, real and surreal. I don’t know how else to typify them.

I don’t know where this is going to take me. Am I going to go through all my finished poems the same way? That’s a daunting task, and I don’t have time at the moment to do it, but I may come back to it.

1. I will turn 70 this year. That’s a definite. Sally Evans and I will be celebrating at a 140th birthday bash in Dunblane in April, although my birthday isn’t until July.

2. 2012 will be the Year of the Dragon. That’s another definite. I’m told by One Who Knows that it’s a fairly auspicious year for a Horse like me.

3. Jane and I are off to Madagascar very soon. I will soon be able to see if lemurs really do say “Move It” as my grandson tells me they do.

3. My new poetry collection will be published this year by Red Squirrel Scotland. It’s called ‘The Propriety of Weeding’, that being the name of the gardeners’ lodge in the Summer Palace, Beijing, and given that this book contains a lot of poems on plants and gardens, among other subjects.

4. I’ll be at StAnza in March, taking part in Alastair Cook’s filmpoem set, along with other friends.

5. I’m publishing Alec Finlay’s ‘Question your teaspoons’. Subtitled Stonypathian memories, it’s a series of very evocative poems about his childhood.

6. Dunbar Writers will get a grant to compile and publish an anthology of imaginative writings about the closes that lead off Dunbar High Street. (That one’s a hope)

7. Calder Wood Press will get a grant to publish an anthology of new poems on climate change. (Another hope)

8. Jane and I will be visiting Avignon in September (that’s definite).

9. I will be leading an expedition of friends around Dunbar in April (definite). These visits are of an historic and cultural nature, as befits our circle, and will include offering and receiving libations in several ale-houses in the town in the interests of quality control for the Dunbar Experience.

10. I will find my old address book, which I am certain I did not throw out.

A Guid New Year tae yin an a’.

The new Makar is Maggie Rabatski, originally from Rodel in South Harris, and now living in Glasgow. She grew up speaking Gaelic, and indeed she writes poems in Gaelic and in English. Her first collection – Down from the Dance – was published by New Voices Press recently. I wish Maggie well in her Makarship year, and as I said to her last week, I have no doubt she’ll enjoy it as much as I have.

To answer the specific question on the font on the cover of Ross Wilson’s The Heavy Bag, it’s Cooper Black, more often used in advertising than on book covers. I’ve used it in red to make the title stand out, and in white for the author’s name to contrast with the background. You wouldn’t want to set a whole book in Cooper Black, nor even a whole paragraph, but for this title it’s (forgive me) punchy and eye-catching.

The text of The Heavy Bag is set in 11pt Palatino. It’s a fine font for books, balancing nicely rounded, distinctive characters with economy of spacing, so I can usually get fairly long lines between the margins.

My house style for the verso page is 9pt Verdana, my wordmark on the title page and back page insert (that’s publisher name, date, ISBN) is Copperplate Gothic, and my logo is in a font called Neurochrome, which I set in green.

In other recent books I’ve used Goudy Old Style and Century Schoolbook. Times New Roman is perfectly fine for newsprint, but to my eye it’s too narrow for books. It makes the text look mean and spidery.

For books containing a lot of haiku or which have short lines, I’ve tended to go for sans serif fonts, including Verdana, which is a bit ‘fatter’ than Arial or Futura.

Covers are where you can be creative, typographically. Alistair Noon’s cover has Valhalla in white, which works well with the deep red cover image.

I always set the title in a larger size than the author’s name.

For Marion McCready’s Vintage Sea I used Corsiva, a cursive type with good clean lines.

It goes without saying (but I’ll say it anyway), that these and many other titles are available from the Calder Wood Press online shop.

Ethnography
In pre-Roman and Roman times, a number of tribal territories existed – the Damnonii, Selgoviae, Votadini, Novantae, Caledonii (Picti) etc (these are the Latinised names). One of the largest was based in the Clyde Estuary, and its fort was at Dumbarton Rock (Dun Breatainn). ‘Alt Clud’, or the Kingdom of the Rock,  was a large area ruled by successive kings, whose names have come down to us. This was before there was a Scotland or an England. In the east, the Votadini (whose Celtic name is Gododdin) had their main fort at Dun Eidin (Edinburgh), and other settlements in East Lothian and the Borders. North of the Humber was the kingdom of Bryneich (Bernicia).  After the period of Roman rule the Angles landed in the area now called Northumberland and forced a wedge across the country, forever dividing the Old North and its kingdoms from the rest of the Isles.

Linguistics
The peoples of the Old North spoke a language from the P-Gaelic or Brythonic roots derived from Old Welsh, and similar to Welsh, Cornish and Breton. The Scotti, Irish raiders and settlers, brought with them the Q-Gaelic, or Goidelic, when they settled in Argyle and the West Coast, together with the name which was later applied to the whole of Scotland. This language became today’s Gaelic. The Germanic language of the Angles gave rise to Lowland Scots, while their relatives, the Saxons, brought the other Germanic language Inglis (or English) to the lands to the south.

Genetics
I know I have the DNA marker S245 in my Y-chromosomes, which puts me in the Pretani genetic group, one of the earliest groups to settle in the West of Scotland. I know also that my family is from Buchan, the heartland of the Picts, although I don’t have the Pictish gene markers, and nor do I have the Irish marker (S222) of the Scotti. So somehow, in the post-Roman conflicts and alliances between Old North, Angles, Scots, Vikings and Picts, my ancestors moved North-East. Looking at the maps, I can see the possible routes they may have taken. They’re quite widespread; I’ve seen their headstones in the cemeteries of Longside, Lonmay, Strichen, the Newburgh, Foveran and Crimond. I’m reluctant to see the surname-based clan connection which puts the family in Clan Gunn. That’s in Caithness, and I don’t buy that, although I’m happy to wear the tartan on occasion.

So when I’m asked to state my nationality on forms, I do hesitate, because it’s complicated.

Field Notes from Alastair Cook on Vimeo.

I remember, back in that days when I was involved in amateur drama, how going backstage opened opened up a magical world of sound, lights, and stage management, and it still feels very special being part of the machinery that makes a production run smoothly, efficiently, and without the audience being aware of how it happens. (Unfortunately that has its down side; whenever I watch a theatre performance I’m often aware of the work of the lighting designer and/or the director, because I did these jobs for  so long myself).

This year I was in the venue crew of the Hamilton Marquee, setting up seating before and between events, making sure authors had what they needed onstage, doing the safety announcements, stewarding, setting out mikes for the question and answer sessions, working the house lights and doing anything else that needed to be done. For almost all events, there was only a half-hour turn-round, so it was very hectic, and then we had to allow for technical set-ups (Power Point presentations,  CDs and the like) and sound checks (with Barbara Dickson – be envious, be very envious – who was terrific).

So I only saw those parts of the Festival that were in ‘my’ venue, but I was very happy with that. I helped with a lot of the childrens’ events, and they were great fun. I’m going to single out Martin Brown’s brilliant session on how he draws The Horrible Histories, and Kristina Stephenson, author of the Sir Charlie Stinkysocks books; consummate professionals, both. Adult events included Claire Tomalin on Charles Dickens, Allan Little on dictators, Isla Blair, and the very wonderful Barbara Dickson. Our final event was a virtuoso performance by historian Tom Devine, being interviewed by Alan Taylor. Of course, passing through the bookshop and other venues, I did get to meet some of the other stars of this year’s festival – John Byrne, Julian Glover, Michael Frayn, Michael Morpurgo, Bill Paterson and John Sessions. They all seemed to be enjoying the festival too.

Did it all go according to plan? I’m not going to tell you, but I’m confident that if there were glitches, the audiences weren’t inconvenienced. I’m looking forward to 2012 already.

Above all else, I have to like your poetry. It has to be well-written, demonstrating the author’s writing  skills. It has to be original, a fresh voice, saying something new or in a new way. It mustn’t be clichéd. It must say something to me personally. And I have to like what’s being said.

You have to have a track record of publication in recognised magazines. It’s very hard to sell a book by someone who is completely unknown to potential buyers (my fingers have been burned a couple of times). If they know your name from seeing it in a magazine, it becomes much easier. That’s the way poets of my generation got their first books published, and the merry-go-round of submitting, being rejected, and submitting again elsewhere hones your self-critical skills, if nothing else.

I have to have heard you read in public, and to know that you are a good reader. The way the poetry publishing world is these days, each poet is part of the publisher’s sales and promotion team. In my case, since CWP is a one-person organisation, it’s crucial that the poets are enthusiastic about building and sustaining audiences for their work, and a major part of sales happen at readings. Besides which, readings are enjoyable for authors and audience alike.

I have to like you. Putting a book together builds a relationship between author and publisher. The way I work with authors involves continuing co-operation and agreement, from the selection of material, editing text, sequencing content, typography, page layout, book and cover design. If I sense that an author and I are going to have difficulties over these things, there’ll be no book. (I’ll be 70 next year, and life is too short.) The relationship doesn’t stop when the book is printed; it continues through the launch, reviews, readings and so on. Even after the edition is sold out, the authors and I maintain our friendships. These relationships are rooted in trust, respect and affection, and I value them highly. I’ve said it’s a family, and that’s what it still feels like. If it didn’t I’d stop doing it.

On the train journey home, I was mulling over his remarks, and the remarkable slide he showed of a rapidly uplifted  55MYa land surface buried under the sediments and water between Scotland and Iceland. It was, he said, the last time the planet had experienced a massive, sudden dump of carbon into the atmosphere – 2,000 GTonnes in fact. It raised the global temperature by 7°C, an event named the Paleocene-Eocene temperature maximum. He didn’t speculate on the mechanism, but one suspects the melting of methane hydrates on a massive scale, possibly caused by the thermal flux from the hot blob which uplifted the ancient landscape. If readers want to follow the geological discussion, a good starting point is the piece by Caroline Williams in New Scientist, 12th March 2011.

The idea I’ve come up with is to publish a poetry anthology – Connecting to Climate – in 2012. I’ll post more details and invite submissions early next year, but here are my initial thoughts.  I’m not sure if the final book will be internally structured, but off the top of my head I’ve come up with some possible categories:

• Hotting Up – temperature rise
• Drowning by Numbers – sea level rise
• Losing Our Cool – icecaps and glaciers melting
• Living Dangerously – effects on plants and animals
• Growing harder – agriculture
• Moving on – human migration
• Going Under – extinctions
• Drying Out – water resources
• Stormy Weather – extreme events
• Losing the Money – economic effects
• Modelling the Air – measuring and GCMs
• Air Conditioning the Planet – engineering

These are only suggestions, and I’ll probably alter them as things progress. I’m not sure that we’ll end up with an In Memoriam H.s., I hope it doesn’t come to that, but let’s make a start.