Applause

The final moment of the Ilkley Literature Festival, curtain call for Poet Laureate, Carol Ann Duffy; the wonderful Poet in Residence, Imtiaz Dharker; and winner of the Ted Hughes Young Poets Award, and local girl, Lizzi Hawkins.

I've never previously been to as many events, having the time for once and also some headspace - although that was challenged at times. I'm a bit evented-out right now. 

I'm exploring my relationship with the English language, exercising my ear as well as my hand. I don't think you can do one without the other. I've been persuaded along to a number of poetry readings in the last two weeks. They require a certain level of concentration that I find hard to sustain. It's a sign of a great poem when I can maintain my focus through every word and line and stanza. It's a sign of a great poet when their poems repeatedly hold me in that way. Imtiaz Dharker achieved that, as did Mimi Khalvati and Julia Deakin.

I've discovered that it's generally not the done thing to applaud after each poem during a recital. Because not everyone understands this there can often be heard an uncomfortable stutter of applause after the first has been read, a few people clapping, drawing out applause from a few more, while the majority, cognisant of the etiquette, stay silent. I think it's best that the poet makes it clear for everyone at the outset so as to avoid embarrassment. Not many do.

However, I do feel a sense of regret that I can't acknowledge the fact when a particular poem moves me. Halfway through her recital, Mimi read a pantoum based upon two lines from the artist Paul Gauguin. It was so wonderful, so clever in its construction, so moving, that I felt suspended by an overwhelming desire to show my appreciation. My hands were poised to clap, on the very edge of succumbing to my need to break the scintillating silence. I soon realised that I was not alone. One person broke rank. That was all it took to trigger a tremendous splurt of applause. It wasn't the polite applause of obligation. It was entirely spontaneous, bursting right from the heart of everyone there.

I heard lots of good poems. I heard just a few great ones. This was one of those. Best of all, I was able to recognise it as such. That made me happy.

If I had to name the reading I enjoyed most at the Festival, it would be a fringe event featuring local poet Julia Deakin, launching her latest collection, Sleepless, from Valley Press. She finished with a poem called "Bradford", a funny and poignant homage to the city. It blew me away. He poetry was great, and she read so very well too. Hers was poetry that surprised, not least because I had no expectations. Search it out.