John Siddique reading – 'offer your openness with no thought of loss'

22nd October

John Siddique is a poet, story-writer and essayist. His poetry collections include Recital – An Almanac, Poems From A Northern Soul and The Prize; he's written for Granta, The Guardian and Poetry Review; and his children's book, Don't Wear It On Your Head, was shortlisted for the CLPE Poetry award in 2007.

This year, John was jointly commissioned by Manchester Literature Festival and Manchester Art Gallery to write a series of poems responding to the exhibition Exporting Beauty: Pilkington’s Pottery and Tiles, which is on display in the Gallery at the moment and features over one hundred pots and tiles made by Pilkington’s Tile and Pottery Company between 1893 and 1938. John's weeks of research in the gallery's archives culminated in a selection of poems that can now be downloaded from the Festival website, and on Friday 22nd, he read from them in front of a crowd of eager festival-goers.

First up was Lustre, a piece which the poet said looked at the role of the artist and the function of art in society, and how the glistening and colourful pots we could see on display throughout the room were linked to the wet earth of the collieries where the coal for the furnace was dug.

Then he read a selection of haiku – accompanied by some very suitable and accomplished chin-stroking from the audience – after explaining that the Zen-like form suited the industrial, pre-war environment in which the pots were made, because the beauty of that poetic form, like the beauty of the pottery, was designed to interrupt the humdrum routine of ordinary, drab life with a flash of something extraordinary. Next came Cypress, and this line stood out for me: 'crowned by sun, shadowing the hands of day.'

In Swan Ship, Siddique took a Keatsian approach and questioned an urn about its own story; in The Fox and The Grapes, a poem for younger readers, he rewrote Aesop's fable, and I loved this bit: grapes as 'the sweet unmade wine of the year.' In Belle Vue Narrative, he took a local setting, Belle Vue Zoo, where the Pilkington artists used to go to find inspiration, and matched it with his own memories of visiting the same zoo as a child with his parents. As he read, Siddique pointed out the various pots and tiles that inspired particular poems and lines and words, so the whole nature of the commission, its process and execution, became clear to the audience, who were sitting clustered in amongst the display cases.

After reading from a few of his earlier works, Siddique opened the floor to questions from the audience. He was asked about the commissioning process and if it was difficult, and he said that it was, that writing to order always seems impossible at first, but that it's also a test that enforces discipline and makes sure that poetry emerges from its hiding places and enters the world. His first ever poem, he told us, was inspired by a ballet, but that we'd never get to read or hear it. He showed us his notebook and read part of an early draft of Lustre to give us an idea of how a single work can change over the editing process. Somebody asked if he was now a fan of pottery and he said he was, but that, sadly, Manchester Art Gallery seemed to have bought up all the good stuff. He said that the Pilkington work showed the other side of Victorian society – the Sapphic, unrestrained passion that works in counterpoint to the stiff, repressed stereotype of that era that still lingers today in our imaginations.

Finally, he read one last poem from the commissioned series. Here's a line from it: 'offer your openness with no thought of loss'. I thought that was a pretty good exhortation to creativity and a fitting end to a very enjoyable reading.

If you're interested in checking out John's work in more detail, podcasts and PDF files of the Pilkington commissions are available for download from the Festival site, and, for those of you based in Manchester, the Big Screen in Exchange Square will be showing films made of two of the poems, so head on over there and just look up.

by Valerie O'Riordan

Valerie is a Manchester-based writer, and she blogs at not-exactly-true.blogspot.com

Manchester Sermon – It was funny, it was moving, it was powerful.

21st October

Like most people of my generation, barring weddings and funerals, I have not stepped foot in a church in twenty years. I thought the Manchester Sermon might be a nice place to break that habit. Happily I was right. It was a brilliant evening.

The location, Manchester Cathedral, is stunning. At night it is warm and welcoming at its centre, but at the edges lie gloomy corners, dark and full of mystery. Chocolate brown stone pillars prop up giant ceilings. Sodium street lights shine through stained glass windows. It is a venue that invites contemplation.

Canon Andrew Shanks introduced the evening by explaining the philosophy behind its conception (I’ll stop the religious puns now – sorry). The sermon, as a form, was until very recently a major branch of literature, practiced by some of the greatest British poets. The Manchester Sermon was an attempt to revive an almost lost part of our literary heritage. So unused to hearing a sermon is the majority of the audience that we are given a little hint of sermon etiquette. We are politely asked not to applause the sermon but to sit in silence for a few moments: “It’s like when you microwave something and leave it to stand.”

After the introduction, and before Jeanette Winterson speaks, a choir sings. The devil hasn’t got the best tunes, he just has a better press agent. The music is beautiful. Some of it, written in the time of the Tudors, is still incredibly effecting and the acoustics in the cathedral were stunning.

And then there is the Manchester Sermon itself. I’m afraid my notes get a bit sketchy here because I stopped writing and started listening. Winterson used the temptation of Christ in the desert as her base text, and from it delivered a secular sermon which looked at the current economic climate, celebrity culture, and our responsibilities to each other as human beings. It was funny, it was moving, it was powerful. It was surprisingly edgy. It was a triumph.

You can read it at the Manchester Literature Festival website and hear it on the BBC's.

The evening ended with a question and answer session. The questions were answered by Jeanette Winterson and Canon Andrew Shanks, and also the poets Michael Schmidt and Michael Symmons Roberts. The discussion was chaired by Rachel Mann.

The panel discussed whether or not we had heard a sermon, the need for spiritual guidance in an increasingly secular world and the place, and role, of the church during the terribly difficult economic period the country is entering.

At the risk of sounding controversial I would say that it may well be events like this that show the church’s relevance in the coming years. By interacting with the community, by reaching out, by being able to surprise, churches like Manchester Cathedral will continue to remain relevant and important. That the evening was such a success is due not only to Jeanette Winterson but also to churchmen and women like Shanks and Mann who are brave enough to open their doors to argument.

It would be hard not to be effected by the Manchester Sermon. It was important as well as being interesting. I hope very much it will be the first of many.

by Benjamin Judge

Benjamin is a sort-of writer whose blog Who the fudge is Benjamin Judge? was shortlisted for two awards at this year's Manchester Blog Awards. He also read from his one flamingo against the world novel at this year's Is There A Novelist In The House?

Family Secrets – The trials and tribulations of a deranged public

19th October

Though she is given a microphone, Chinese short story writer and poet, Ding Liying, is barely audible as she begins reading her featured short story, Family Secrets. The story's English translation is projected on to a screen and the audience holds its collective breath in order to hear her unfamiliar sounds and try to piece together the correlation.

And it's difficult: it's possible to understand the intention, the emotion, of other European languages of which I don't have any knowledge, but I find it impossible to know where in the story Ding Liying is currently reading.

Nicky Harman, who has translated this piece amongst many, many others, agrees. Prompted by a question from the audience, we learn that translation cannot be attempted without a full grasp of cultural context - though British, Irish and American literature is very popular in China, Liying explains. Her favourite is James Joyce's The Dubliners, which lends to a comment that there have been two translations of Ulysses in recent years, one of which took over ten years to complete.

Wild Swans-type literary trends, plus the assumption that Chinese arts are stifled by state censorship (as is touched on in the question and answer session), has perhaps given rise to the assumption that Chinese literature is austere, heavy-going, politicised, concerned with toil and struggle.

But here we are presented with Liying's hilarious account of a newspaper agony aunt, forced to listen to the trials and tribulations of a deranged public. A young woman threatens to jump off Shanghai's tallest tower; the agony aunt tells her the tower isn't complete yet. A man calls to ask whether suffering with gonorrhea is similar to that of suffering with a common cold, and our protagonist is left speechless.

However, the audience is left on tenterhooks at the most poignant moment of the story - the most developed character has been introduced, and we have to wait a couple of days before the final story will be posted on the Manchester Literature Festival website.

The audience are noticeably disappointed, especially as it is clear this event is flying by at tremendous speed, but inevitably they will welcome the return journey into Ding Liying's world when they arrive online at her completed story.

by Sophie Parkes

Sophie is a literature and folk music enthusiast who runs a folk music night and blog not-so-wittily entitled, For Folk's Sake

You can now read the whole of Ding's translated story on MLF's Commissions page.