Unholy Trinity
(Angel Readman, Vali Stanley, Heather Young)
(Iron Press) 2002

How’d it happen?
I was extremely lucky here. I know when you want to be published it seems daunting. You can get a lot of setbacks and feel like giving in.

‘This might be good, but no one is ever going to publish it are they?’
comment from MA critique about my work

‘Why do you keep bringing these poems? Quit the poetry, the prose is Ok though.’
Comment from workshop leader

I received the comments in the same year I sent work to Iron - and was understandably discouraged. At around the same time Peter Mortimer held seminars on the MA at University of Northumbria, for feedback on prose. I had heard of Peter, but didn’t speak to him in the student situation. I received extremely negative feedback about a short story I had written - Peter didn’t seem to like anything about it ‘it’s boring’ he said! I was frustrated by lack of comments about what aspects could be improved. I was young and headstrong. I went away and seethed

At the same time, I was obligued to write poetry because it was the first year of the MA, and you have to write poetry and prose for a year before you can choose which one you want to focus. In a session with Pauline Plummer about publishers Pauline mentioned that editors usually send no advice on work or explanation as to why they have rejected it. She mentioned that Peter Mortimer was quite different in this respect, and seemed to be one of the few who will take the trouble to read everything that is sent to him. I could relate to this, for years I ran a fanzine and as the only person on it I had a lot of post coming through my door, and times when I couldn’t be bothered reading another bad poem, or predictable story but I always felt that it was my duty to. I would persevere through pages because of fear that those I didn’t read would be the ones I should have, the pure gold could be found.

I was still annoyed about my short story, so promptly sent a bundle of poems to Iron Press. The reason mostly because I knew he would have to read them all (and like I said, I was young, so I thought serves him right for not being helpful about my story!) I didn’t expect him to like them!

In this case being stubborn paid off. I had a letter from Peter telling me he thought the poems were interesting, saying that he’d like to see some more. He said he would be willing to meet with me to discuss the poems. It is very rare for professional writers and editors to offer you their time like this, and I was thrilled at the opportunity. I met up with Peter several times to discuss the poems. He would say what could be edited, or how something wasn’t working that I needed to fix, and I would go away to change the poems (and write new ones) and send them to him. It was a very good learning process and I am extremely grateful for the time taken by Peter, and the encouragement he gave me. I don’t think I would have been writing poetry today if it wasn’t for him (as I was getting very little encouragement about my poems at the time.) The poems in Unholy Trinity are the first batch of my poems to be published together in a book, and the first to be accepted as a mini-collection by an editor.

My favourite poem in Unholy Trinity is: Always by Heather Young.

My favourite poems of my own in Unholy Trinity are: Jalapeño’s Extra Cheese, Morning after Bronte’s

The poem I most like to do at readings in Trinity is: PVC, DC, Catwoman and Me

Poems I never read in Trinity are: My mother is a Sybil, Previous Tenant

What would I do different now?

Unfortunately, the second page of one of the poems must have been lost somewhere along the way, and the final two stanzas of one of the poems are missing - which drives me nuts! As I tend to read from A4 print outs I didn’t even notice this until last year, so I’m hoping other readers won’t have!

Jalpeno’s, Extra Cheese

Pull open a Stella
I ask how many she’s been with.
Shake up the can till all the fizz is gone;
Flat. She answers question with question.
“Been what?-Naked?-To sleep?-To the movies?”

“Lovers.”

Bends her fingers back, she lists all the lads
she ever kissed. Names like Ste, Andy, Gary,
Sink plunging lips, signing their autographs
with sand tongues.
“How did they love me?”she says
“let me count the ways…None.”

Watching Ricki Lake she slits her wrists;
Open mouthed smiles on her skin
her fingers make talk.
“It was just to see the bones moving”
she says, “I’m hungry, starving, bored.”

Bound her up in a faded Lou Reid t-shirt,
ordered pizza and hired American Werewolf in London.
One eye on special effects, in bed, I ask her.
She said she just wanted to see what was in her,
to see how she worked, before she stopped.

Angel Readman (Unholy Trinity)

www.ironpress.co.uk/ipoetry