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The Two-Way Poetry Podcast

The Two-Way Poetry Podcast

Di: Chris Jones
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In each episode Chris Jones invites a poet to introduce a poem by an author who has influenced his, her or their own approach to writing. The poet discusses the importance of this work, and goes on to talk in depth about a poem they have written in response to this original piece.Copyright 2023 All rights reserved. Arte Storia e critica della letteratura
  • Stephen Sawyer on Jorie Graham's poem 'Time Frame' and his own poem 'What We Did Know We Had or Running Thin'
    Apr 8 2026
    In this final episode of Season Three, Stephen Sawyer discusses Jorie Graham's poem 'Time Frame' in relation to his own poem 'What We Did Know We Had or Running Thin'. Together, we explore Jorie Graham's journey as a poet. Stephen provides a concise biography, and then goes on to explore how her writing-focus has changed over the course of her career. He spends time, in particular, on Jorie Graham's techniques and approaches as a poet, eschewing linear narrative and the idea of the 'clear' ending, and also concentrates on her attention to climate change, and articulating the consequences of the Anthropocene. We discuss the poem 'Time Frame' at length, reflecting on the 'instabilities' in the text, on the narrative voice, on time itself, the 'American project' and the disappearance of the fortune teller as the poem progresses. We then go on to explore Stephen's poem. He 'unpacks' his own techniques and how Jorie Graham has influenced his ways of communicating in his own work. He talks about the idea of why the poem is right justified, for instance - in relation to Graham's own practice. He ruminates on the rise of the notion of 'climate crisis' over the past fifty years - from his childhood experiences on the north-west coast of England to now. He reflects on the role of the poet, and finding an audience. What moves him to write long poems? You can read Jorie Graham's poem 'Time Frame' here (with an audio reading by the poet) in the London Review of Books archive. This poem comes from the Collection To 2040 (Carcanet, 2023), which you can read about here. You can read about Stephen's book - There Will Be No Miracles Here - following this link. You can read about (and order a copy of) Carrying a Tree on the Bus to Low Edges here. What We Did Know We Had or Running Thin It’s a shock I know the drowning sea, fishes floating between sharp stems in the slowing current at the water’s edge, the disturbance of our parting. Don’t worry, it’s still the past, the fast and furious, furious, the utter, instant now, the later-human voice, fishes breaking camp, unsettled in their skin, hastening remorselessly, as arrows in a free flow diagram to the zero- point. Are you the seventh generation staring back at me as me. What we did know we had. I remember the sea touching the clouds in the voice of the rain, net curtains nailed up, a single yellow daffodil in the garden next door. If the worst should befall us. Aren’t those the garden steps where Rhianna, your neighbour, shone her torch? What is it you know about me, I don’t. Which part of the body am I. Which part of which body am I. How many self-destructive parts of now? To whom am I not listening. The wind is a wounded creature. The sea is a wounded creature. I feel so much more and less than a mental bird in a mental cage hastening to that rip in the fabric at four hundred and forty parts per million of atmospheric CO₂. Companions will be found for you, a reflexively contrarian shadow text →Choose Gospel→Cloud Tech →AI Systems→Species→Menu and ‘I’ was to think ‘you’ thinking ‘me.’ Tentacles! Six ‘personal others’ between you and me, a set of suckers, jet propulsive, high-fiving that bottle-backed bubble-headed, giant frog. How much of us have gone. Remember me, says Sea-roar. What it was to run after that orange Trophy football on Ainsdale village green, bent double, gasping for laughter, our one thousand odours of salt, the boat is lurching purple waves claw the sails, small as grains of rice. Remember, the valley of dormant smokestacks, the man in Y-fronts on his drive way unabashed by your appearance at the gate, “So beautiful … they see nothing,” says the failing light. Who is the ghost, who is the ghost’s ghost? a ghost asks. Is this a now. Am I still in minutes. Can all this happen in reverse. Butterflies were giants once. Elvis waved rain from the sky so his friends could play racquet ball, before projecting himself to the stars, wearing trainers and a guru scarf, The Leaves of Morya’s Garden Volumes 1 & II tucked under his arm. You feel it before you know it. I can’t hear them screaming, weeping, see them doubling down on Nettleham Road. Is that are they drums drones, tanks? Hurry, →Hurry, Faster, Faster Do you prepare? How do you prepare for the Venus effect. Some people scuba dive, cruise and fly. I keep looking for left- over signs, hieroglyphs, jutting spikes, a human hand finger- shaking on a red background. Please, don’t follow me to the right...
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    1 ora e 36 min
  • Meg Gripton-Cooper on Anne Carson's poem 'Short Talk on Hedonism' and her own poem 'Excavating the House of Love'
    Mar 8 2026

    In this episode, I talk to Meg Gripton-Cooper about Anne Carson's prose-poem 'Short Talk on Hedonism' and her own poem 'Excavating the House of Love.'

    Meg reflects on how she came to encounter Anne Carson's work through her online reading, scouting a charity shop in Sheffield, and sitting in a festival tent in Leeds. She then goes on discuss where and how she has built up her library of Anne Carson collections through judicious purchasing in locations around the country. We then begin to 'unpack' the different ways this short piece can be read - its brevity, in certain respects, adding to the proliferation of meanings. Meg considers the idea of hedonism before focusing on the 'intentions' of the narrator. How does each sentence sit in relation to what has come before and what develops afterwards? How much can we trust this speaker? We discuss the importance of the physical intimacy of reading from a book (as opposed to scanning a digital copy) before we go on to explore Meg's own poem.

    I ask Meg about her use of the word 'excavating' as a way into thinking about her own piece. We talk about the 'holes' at the centre of each of the three stanzas in the poem - what do they represent, and how could they be 'performed'? We discuss the relationship between the speaker and the angel in relation to this idea of 'fear'. Meg reflects on the processes of water in the piece. I ask her why she ends the work where she does - just as the angel is 'unearthed', and the two figures can observe one another.

    Finally, we discuss Meg's plans for the future - not only in terms of her poetry, but also her prose fiction projects as well.

    Meg Gripton-Cooper is a writer and library worker living in Nottinghamshire. She is a graduate of Sheffield Hallam’s Creative Writing BA and MA courses where she was awarded the Percy Snowden Writing Prize and the Ictus Poetry Prize. Meg is particularly interested in experimental forms of poetry, gothic house fiction, and beautiful windows.

    The first chapter of her novel The Vulture is available in the Northern Gravy Fiction Anthology (Valley Press) and here. Her poem ‘medusa’ appears in the RESISTANCE zine produced by Dead (Women) Poets Society.

    She is currently working on her second novel, alongside a collection of poetry.

    Excavating the House of Love

    You can follow me on Bluesky - @cwjoneschris.bsky.social for more updates on future episodes. You can find out more about my own writing through my website or on my Substack Swift Diaries.

    The end music was composed and played by William Jones.

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    1 ora e 22 min
  • Part Two: Brian Lewis on his memoir 'Last Collection' alongside Chris Jones on his book of poems Little Piece of Harm
    Feb 8 2026

    Here, in the second of two episodes, I continue a slightly different approach and talk to Brian Lewis about his essay/memoir ‘Last Collection’ alongside my own book of poetry Little Piece of Harm.

    On Friday 26th March 2021 Brian set off on a ‘round’ of Sheffield to deliver copies of my recently published poetry book Little Piece of Harm. He went on to write about his journey, a meditation on city, place, home and art itself in his extended essay/memoir ‘Last Collection’. In our conversation we explore connections between the two pieces of writing - both of which focus on traversing the city of Sheffield in ‘stressed’ times.

    We begin where we ended the first programme with Brian reading (the same) extract from ‘Last Collection.’ We then go on to reflect on the care and attention to the object of the book that is central to Brian’s practice as both a writer and a publisher. We spend some time discussing This is a Picture of Wind by J. R. Carpenter (Longbarrow, 2020) as a way of thinking about publication as part of the ‘journey’ of the book - and how the reader is involved in the ‘construction’ of the artefact. Brian also goes on to explore the evolution of the ‘walking’ anthology The Footing (Longbarrow, 2013) as a pivotal moment in his development as a publisher. I go on to read the introductory poem in Little Piece of Harm, ‘Blue Abandoned Van’ and talk about what it initiates in the light of how the narrative develops over the course of the collection. Is the city itself the central character of the poem? I elaborate on the formal designs of the sequence and dwell on the idea of trauma as one of the main ‘engines’ that drives the trajectory of the book. We then reflect on the rhythms (walking or otherwise) of both Little Piece of Harm and ‘Last Collection’. We end our conversation by thinking about the ending(s) of both ‘Last Collection’ and Little Piece of Harm - and the final touches/drafting that will bring Brian's book Local Distribution to completion.

    Brian Lewis is the editor and publisher of Longbarrow Press, a Sheffield-based collective whose activities include interdisciplinary collaborations and poetry walks. His publications include East Wind (Gordian Projects, 2016), an account of a walk across the Holderness peninsula, and White Thorns (Gordian Projects, 2017), based on a series of walks through the Isle of Axholme. A full-length book, Local Distribution, is in preparation.

    You can find a full account of Brian’s Lockdown walks here.

    You can find extracts from ‘Last Collection’ on the Longbarrow website here - ‘One-Way Mirror’ and ‘Last Collection’.

    You can read my poem 'Blue Abandoned Van' here.

    You can find out more about Little Piece of Harm here.

    At one point I mention the sequences ‘Sentences’ and ‘Death and the Gallant’, both poems that you can read in my 2015 Longbarrow collection Skin.

    You can follow me on Bluesky - @cwjoneschris.bsky.social for more updates on future episodes. You can find out more about my own writing through my website or on my Substack Swift Diaries.

    The end music was composed and played by William Jones.

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    1 ora
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