Deborah Edgeley

Deborah Edgeley

Born in Cheshire, UK, Deborah Edgeley is the Editor for Ink Pantry Publishing which evolved from a social media group of creative writing students from The Open University, back in 2011. They wanted to create an inspiring and supportive platform for writers. Deborah has recently published her debut poetry collection Testing the Delicates, illustrated by Mark Sheeky Art, which explores the themes of mental health stigma, identity, isolation, memories, and understanding the past through photographs. Deborah performs her poetry with Mark Sheeky on piano as duo Fall in Green. They have just finished recording an album of Testing The Delicates, which brings an experimental and theatrical twist to art. Soundcloud/Facebook Author Page/Cornutopia Music

Authors A-Z

Literary interview: Deborah Edgeley by Sunil Sharma

Deborah Edgeley

---Please sum up your life-story in a Dickensian manner, albeit briefly, for an audience suffering from attention deficit.

After father's peregrinations in a poor part of Cheshire

It was announced with a flourish in

The Nantwich Herald of '69

that a hopeless romantic girl was ushered into this sorrowful world

by the friendly one-legged immigrant Dr O'Shinsky

wrapped in grey crepe for perusal of gentle, loving parents.

At first, Father was told it was a boy

Yet his football dreams of half the hour had to be reimagined

as the nurse clarified that it was, indeed, a girl

as there were two Edgeleys on the ward

blue AND pink.

Despite this,

they became the best of friends.

The girl grew tall

and worried about everything

just like her Welsh Guard father.

After Father's exit from this mortal coil

The girl cared for mother for twelve years

found a love for literature

and continues to forge the chains she wears in life.

Sunil Sharma

---How you got into writing? Is it lucrative in UK?

I got into writing during my studies with The Open University. By chance, I did a creative writing course to make up my points for an  English Literature degree.

It's difficult as a poet to make a living, or even pocket money, for that matter. So much time has to be put into promoting your work, and keeping a roof over your head, that there is little left for creating. However, many poets I know have been published by small publishing houses, and they hold book launches and readings, which is great, but it's so difficult to hit the mainstream, unless you want to sell out and write for the masses. Maybe that's too much of a sweeping statement?.. However, many local independent bookshops are very supportive to authors, especially poets, so at least their work has a chance of being seen.

---Your experiences as the editor of Ink Pantry?

The initial inspiration behind Ink Pantry was to find a platform to promote our work, and inspire and support other writers, ‘our’ being my comrades from the Open University: Berenice Smith, Jennie Campbell and Alyson Duncan. We had lots of other students involved. During our degrees, we managed to publish two anthologies and maintain the website. Recently, Ink Pantry have been added to Duotrope, which has sparked international interest. We’re thrilled to connect with many authors from America, China, Greece, Italy and India. There have been rumours of a third anthology…

---What are the enduring influences---personal and literary?

It was Thomas Hardy 's Far From The Madding Crowd. It was the character of farmer William Boldwood that fascinated me, with his obsessive pursuit of Bathsheba, buying her fancy clothes and labelling them with a ‘B’, in preparation for their phantom marriage. It was both heartbreaking and exciting at the same time. Clever. Passionate. Romantic. How could an author affect you so much, with words? There began my literature obsession. Jeanette Winterson is also an influence, her humour, imagination, and the fact that she's not afraid to tell the truth.

Personally, my parents have inspired me. My father's love and dedication, my mother's love and bravery. My sister Syl, a photographer. My partner, artist Mark Sheeky. Humans. Nature. Every emotion under the sun. I am a quiet person in general, so I observe and listen a lot, which helps with writing, I guess. A people watcher.

---How is the poetry scene in UK today?

Thriving. Better than ever. So many events, open mics, book launches, book signings, festivals.

---What happened to the famous Osborne legacy? Nobody seems now to look back in anger? Has he been erased?

His legacy lives on. More people than ever are angry about social injustices. The beauty of the technological age is that it's so quick and easy to connect, to join protests, to sign a petition that makes the headlines, altering the course of history to a certain degree. Everyone has a voice, regardless of class, race, gender. Everyone can try and interact with people who were once untouchable.

---Impressions about Crewe, the current town of your residence?

A dystopian ghost town with ever decreasing budget shops, crying out for an art space.

---Are immigrants making a difference to the cultural geography in UK?

Absolutely. They are important, bringing diversity, different life experiences and ideas, which adds to the canon of art, and makes us think in a different way (see last question).

---Your favourite author?

Can I pick two? Jeanette Winterson & Iris Murdoch. Oh, and Katherine Mansfield!

---Literary quote that haunts?

'He is more myself than I am.'

Cathy in Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronté.

---How is the Bard doing in a Britain, undergoing pre- and post- Brexit anxieties?

The Bard can't sleep at night, and he can't afford a haircut. He is a staunch remainer. His latest five act play, Ye Farce (Parts One & Two), is set in Venice. Europe, he says, is so entwined with his scept'rd isle that it would be a backwards step to cut the ties. He says there must be more education for both government, and people who are allowed to vote. What were they thinking?!

---Your message to emerging writers?

--Get organised. Set a deadline for each poem/story/novel, otherwise you will have lots of unfinished pieces floating around on your computer/ipad/notebook/in your head.

--Don't be afraid to tell the truth, no matter how controversial or painful. There will always be someone out there that will relate to your words.

--- A micro poem as illustration of your philosophy.

You,

dead or alive.

Talk with me,

yet don't speak.

Let me make words with your energy.

---Your major concerns---as an individual, female and writer-editor?

Mental health, passive aggressive bullying, poverty, the environment, violence, hiding the truth.

---Your comments on market-driven writing? The craze for awards? The Lit Fests as new industry?

In my opinion, in general, market-driven writing is selling out, giving people what they want. An artist's job is to ruffle feathers and make people think.

There's nothing wrong with healthy competition, so I think awards are a great motivator.

Lit Fests are a wonderful thing, however, one has to have money to attend, travel, perhaps to stay overnight to get the best out of it, so it does exclude many people. Though there's always social media to get the general gist of it.

---What constitutes art?

I believe that art needs to show value by revealing aesthetic qualities through artistic crafting of the work, needs to be aware of tradition, needs to have a purpose and challenge with some form of discomfort, and be original, to make us see things in a new way.

Setu, July 2018

Poetry: Deborah Edgeley

* Author of the Month *

Deborah Edgeley

Whose Apple Thou Art? A Sonnet To The Misinformed

(taken from Testing The Delicates, a poetry collection about mental health & prejudice)

In Greenwood, studded with crab and perry

Out of tempest mind tumbled Caliban

So say yeomen of sixteenth century

'Bring thee where the crabs grow,' said the madman.

Drinking proverbial acidity

Gossip's Bowl was spice sipped by Bidford folk

In restaurants of ancient forestry

Acid draughts intoxicate shallow jokes

But three crabbed months had soured themselves to death

'He'll never have Miranda' they concurred

The Bidford souls muttered under their breath

'Goddess and a madman?' with spoon they stirred

'Whose apple thou art? Gem grown from deep root'

'Yours, but I will never bear sweet fruit.'

Yellow Jacket Matrix

(based on Mark Sheeky's oil painting The Last Madonna)

My Lady

enthroned

Queen of Peace.

Seat of Wisdom.

Devoted medieval mediator

between Him and the crowd.

A hope, cradling.

A breast medallion.

A tender beauty reliance,

reminder

humanity of pure.

My lady

unthroned

steps out of the painting

drops her posy

of red and white roses

seven sorrows under the crescent moon,

crown of stars.

A new hope, cradling.

A breast medallion.

A beam of celestial light

of suckling pixels

yellow-jacket-face matrix

buzzes hope

in

likes, loves, shares.

Portable crowd image piety

framed,

the framed crowd.

Soul on a loop.

A new hope, cradling.

A breast medallion.

A plastic audience for you to hope in

Part of the painting...

We're part of the painting..

We're part of the...

We're the yellow-jacket-face-matrix

Creating our own hope

Is this how we are?

Black Duchess

Jet winter lozenges

of darkness and death

jig-sawed

with orange sunset flashes,

half circles and

flame dots

on Alice's chequerboard.

Bashful Spring page boy,

eyes downcast

in a simple sadness.

Black Duchess behind glass.

Frozen red lips.

Head tilts, away, unwilling.

A thousand voices preserved in the air.

Spring;

the halfway castle

between winter and summer.

Fresh yellow life, free from taint.

Winter doesn't worry as much, it just is; it just accepts itself as it is...

Yet Spring doesn't know who it is, yet,

the choice of flower is many.

Black Duchess stares at his back

as pastel page boy steps out of stasis,

alone.

We Used To Store Sunlight

Patchwork overcoat of amber

waits for gust.

Hark back to the days when

we used to store sunlight.

Leaves,

sighing,

after the laughter of summer,

when our green architecture

supported flowery pedestals.

We used to store sunlight

From green to brown to black to light, and back; we will return.

Juicy to dry willow trails.

Crunch.

Cracked midribs.

Mellow to the core,

before

the freeze.

What was vert, grün

turns to

schokoladebraun.

Noir.

We will show you the passage of time

Rest in peace, dear chlorophyll

Our russet wreaths lie in

Pembrey Woods, with fellow garlands.

We used to store sunlight

Richly veined pipelines

of original solar panels.

Memories of snap.

Snap.

Snap.

Snaps of gold.

Swallowed.

Leaves.

Protection and fun

We make hedgehog duvets.

Snails' hover-boards.

We used to store sunlight.

Pounds To The People

Bossy stomach alarm

says its time....

Yet days pass before

sun baked lips

are prised open

and smeared with peanut paste.

Hunger as a weapon.

Hunger has a voice.

Hunger says:

'Our revenge will be the laughter of our children.'

Widely read Bobby Sands

sews his lips with sausage string

in the Maze...

No entry for 66 days...

Slaves of the Slimming World.

Vanity sins.

Plumpy nut sins.

Fat opportunities.

Seven sins, already, and-I-can-have-a Freddo-before-bed-and-not-put-on-a-pound.

Bobby lost a pound a day, for sixteen days.

He gave his pounds to the people.

Unicef peanut paste

dropped from sky,

like manna.

Ready to use,

therapeutic food.

Ring-a-roses round the 'copter.

Smeared plumpy peanut smiles

reflection in Western wing mirror.

Does my collarbone look big in this?

British Bake Off Winner

of Best Peanut Paste Creation.

published in paper,

which tomorrow

wraps sea creature,

rubbing empty words on its back.

Bio Born in Cheshire, UK, Deborah Edgeley is the Editor for Ink Pantry Publishing which evolved from a social media group of creative writing students from The Open University, back in 2011. They wanted to create an inspiring and supportive platform for writers. Deborah has recently published her debut poetry collection Testing the Delicates, illustrated by Mark Sheeky Art, which explores the themes of mental health stigma, identity, isolation, memories, and understanding the past through photographs. Deborah performs her poetry with Mark Sheeky on piano as duo Fall in Green. They have just finished recording an album of Testing The Delicates, which brings an experimental and theatrical twist to art. Soundcloud/Facebook Author Page/Cornutopia Music

Setu, July 2018

Interview: Sanjeev Sethi

Poet Sanjeev Sethi interviewed by Deborah Edgeley

(Courtesy: Deborah Edgeley and Ink Pantry; Published in Ink Pantry, UK on 22nd May 2018)

Sanjeev Sethi

You have written three poetry collections. Can you tell us about them?

Suddenly For Someone was published in 1988. I was 26 years old. Nine Summers Later, the second one as the title suggests, was issued as many years later. That makes it 1997. This Summer and That Summer was released in 2015/16 and published by Bloomsbury, India.

I see poetry as an extension of myself. I seek it in most settings. Poems are my response to stimuli. They help me make sense of my situation. I wrestle for nuance by wrenching words and woes. Some poems dip into my emotional deposits, others document the demotic. The attempt is to arrest a moment of truth in a tasteful manner. In short, poetry is my engagement with existence.

Each of these books encapsulates my understanding of the world and my capability to express it. The basic premise hasn’t changed, just my skills as a craftsman, and perhaps I have a deeper understanding of what I write about.

Can you share a few of poems from your collection, This Summer and That Summer, and walk us through the idea behind them?

The opening poem is Pigeons. In suburban Mumbai where the average size of a flat is as large as your handkerchief, the poem is about the issues a harmless bird and her progenies create as intruders:

Pigeons

Pigeons have no tenancy laws.
She placed her squabs on my sill.
When I protested, she gazed at me
with looks which were a hybrid
of hesitancy and hostility.

At night, the pigeons cooed.
Throughout the day,
the exhalation of their excreta
wafted across the apartment.
During feed-time, their twitter
was louder than church bells
annunciating crisis. But I was helpless…

Soon I decided — to be kind to myself,
I had to be cruel.
I opted to evict them.
But there are no courts for this.
No legal machinery.
Only feelings.

Feelings have always failed me.

(Soul Scan is a meditation on the travails of being a poet):

Soul Scan

(1)

Shells of silence underneath my skin
burst in a rash of run-ons.
Clear as mud, carp the critics.
But I soldier on like an infantryman
bulwarking his nation’s border,
hoping to be helpful
in an era of nuclear warfare
or bombardments from the Net.

(2)

In my growing years I wished to be famous.
Parents gave value to visibility.
It was reassuring for them
to have others accept their issue.
When their pressure ended
I realized,
I am best in my booth.

(3)

Without strain of the perfect gargle
or granules of pitch
I sing sweetest for myself.
Skills of a soloist
I have not gathered.
I thrive when my skin trills for itself.

(Have a look at):

Realization

Fraught with fissures, I can see
my life wriggling like some children
waggle out of their parents’ care.

In my case there is no one
to chide. I’m ward
and the warden.

Survival anthems urge
you to be accountable.
Here I’m,
mindful of my mistakes.
Now what?

(Ruse is a love poem):

Ruse

Bathed in bounties of the elements
vacillating fronds blushed. On the corniche
your palm in mine, we were at a fork
parrying tines of the past. You & I
told our truth, as we wished it
not how it had panned out. Like maquillage
or habiliments, we tried removing
the restrictions but doing away with untruths
did not blend with our biotope.
Our chansonette ran on another tune.

(I will end this with Friendship):

Friendship

Whenever I call her, she is on the cusp
of an interlude. When we are together
honesty is her other name.

The world riddled with rift must reign
in the sequences of her smile.
Grief is her gatekeeper.

When the phone rings, her callers
have promises to proffer.
Full of fire, she is destiny’s flaw.

Some symphonies will never be hers.
Still my friend’s lilt has the potential
to light the lame. Often she disowns this gift.

Her universe seems untidy,
but it is unsoiled. Her haphazardness
is on display while mine is disguised.

It is things that we disagree upon
are the things that draw me to her.
Fortitude is this friend’s flag.

You live in Mumbai, India. Describe a typical day in your life.

About five years ago I began an intense creative phase which continues unabated. In this phase I have no life outside of writing. All of me is engaged in writing and its auxiliary activity. I’m at my desk for almost 15 hours.

If this seems drudge-like, it is not. I am in it out of choice. I luxuriate in it.

Who inspires you and why?

Life and its layers.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

To not be as tense as I have been. There is no big battle to win. The journey is about small everyday victories and loss. To try to have as clean and meaningful existence as is possible. To be of value to others, and if that isn’t possible, at least try not hurt others.

Tell us a story in five words.

You are your best story.

Have you been on a literary pilgrimage?

Almost every time I am on my desk. For me inditing is a meditative stance, so when I go within and create a meaningful poem, it is a literary pilgrimage. There are days when I end up at the picnic level, the results reach my dustbin. But that is another story.

Why do you think poetry is important?

Because it reminds us of our humaneness, it keeps us in touch with our truths. And perhaps makes us better individuals.

What are you reading at the moment?

In this phase of extensive writing I am not a serious reader. The internet has opened possibilities, on an average day my inbox receives fifty to hundred poems from various sources. As the mood and mind decides, I peruse some of them. But no serious reading.

What is next for you? What plans have you got?

To keep writing and publishing as long as I rejoice in it. I’m published in this or that place somewhere in the world, almost every other day. To continue with vigor.

Setu, June 2018