Ledbury poetry festival
29 JUNE - 8 JULY 2012
'A rare genuine joining of place, poetry and people'Carol Ann Duffy

Ledbury Poetry Festival 2012

29 JUNE - 8 JULY

The Festival programme is coming together with poets including Owen Sheers, Simon Armitage, Jane Hirshfield, Paul Muldoon, Helen Dunmore, Andrew Motion, Sean O'Brien, Esther Morgan and Sophie Hannah confirmed.

Bill Manhire will be our poet in residence. He was the inaugural Te Mata New Zealand Poet Laureate and is currently director of the highly influential centre for creative writing at the Victoria University of Wellington. So this is a unique opportunity to workshop with him.

Tony Harrison, 2 June

Can't wait for 29 June? Then we are excited to announce that we will be warming up with Tony Harrison who is appearing on Saturday 2 June (Jubilee weekend!) to celebrate the launch of the Festival programme and our new Friends' scheme. Venue now confirmed as The Feathers Hotel, Ledbury. 8pm. Box office open shortly.

If interested in volunteering for the Festival email: manager@poetry-festival.comto find out about the opportunities available.Or to join our mailing list (we promise to only send you relevant information - news, ticket offers etc. - and not to share your information with third parties) email boxoffice@poetry-festival.com

Chloe Garner and Victoria Patch

Ledbury Poetry Competition 2012

The Ledbury Poetry Festival Competition is now open! We are re-launching the competition with a fabulous first prize of £1000 cash and a residential course at Ty Newydd, The National Writing Centre for Wales. Ian Duhig will Judge the competition. Please click on the link below to take you to the competition page.

Deadline: Tuesday 3rd July 2012

Ian Duhig wrote a sequence of three sonnets for the 2011 Festival: here is one.

III Skew Bridge

Ian Duhig

I felt quite at home,

As if it were mine,

Sleeping lazily

In this house of fresh air.

-Sora, in Bashō's The Narrow Road to the Deep North

I knew I was lost passing the Ross Maze Museum

a third time, late for connections at Skew Bridge.

Missing the Orient Express, the Troy quinquireme,

the last magic carpet and Pharoah's golden barge,

I settled with ghosts from its old navvies' shanty

to drink in that night the spirit of the navigator,

whose camp might mean a song, or build upon ty,

the Welsh word for house, our house of fresh air.

I turned in and dreamed of a nearby skew bridge,

built yearly from fresh words which only connect,

though turning like pages, a verse-end or sonnet,

or any of the coats worn by the English language.

I slept soundly. When I woke and rose next day,

I found a thousand years had passed away.


2011 below.

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