EXAMPLES OF WORK
Review writing workshop at Hay Festival, 3 June 2011 with Horatio Clare.
The Magic of Hay
A great sense of excitement and anticipation massed as the crowd was led like a herd of eager animals, into the tent. Tickets had been bought, the chairs were aligned and books, great brilliant books were pressed to the chests of fans. Perhaps the air had been filled with an overwhelming atmosphere that hung like a picture for all to embrace… It seemed that everyone suddenly had to have that extra brush of their hair or a desperate splash of make-up. However it was not to be, the tent itself was occupied with a different kind of show. For this is Hay, and Hay is the pounding heart and graceful soul of the world’s finest works of literature.
I sat, or perhaps it is better to say I collapsed into a deckchair that sat before an awfully impressive wooden bench that was an art form in its own. The day was incredibly warn, clearly evident from the river of sweat trickling down the face of a keen reader…
Sitting near to the edge of the path I caught snatches of conversation like fireflies (except that fireflies take effort to obtain). Everyone here, the elderly, the young and the distant seemed at this one event to let go of all sense of privacy. Maybe I was nosey, maybe I was not but it appeared to me that everyone near was of an open nature, no hushed conversation or feeble whispers between glances. It was almost as if I could stroll across the mellowing grass whilst soaking up the atmosphere and cherry-pick my choice of stories.
That is what Hay is - not the books, neither is it the famous names taking to the stage – but the stories themselves. If one is to depart and to retell these stories, these moments and memories (held fondly or otherwise) then that in itself is the true magic of Hay.
- Ethan Evans
Our trip to the festival.
We once went to Hay on Wye,
The heat, oh the heat made us sigh,
Ice creams were flying,
Books! We were buying,
In the deck chairs all day did we lie.
Authors speaking about their books,
Listeners with all different ‘looks’
Explaining their story,
Sometimes boasting their glory,
Persuasion to buy all their books.
Sunglasses cover each face,
The smell of icecream you can almost taste,
Running children get a row from their mums-
“Stop that now!”
Then the children slow down their pace.
The atmosphere is very busy!
Drinks are shared between friends (coke – so fizzy!)
Conversations all round
All sat upon the ground
All the boise fills my ears; very dizzy!!!
- Sophie Evans
Haiku Encounter with a Harlequin
Dancing and prancing
Harlequin goes all around
It’s coming closer
Walking towards me
Fez on a jauntry angle
It’s coming closer
Scarlet tight jacket
Threaded with gold knotted string
It’s coming closer.
Berry Red, long skirt
Ebony thread-bare stretched tights
It’s coming closer
My head is spinning
I would really like to run
Lipsticked lips open
“Would you like to come”
It shrieked “To Gifford’s Circus”
Her high voice ringing.
“Um” I say, unsure
“Of course you would” she told me.
I then ran away!
- Geraint Davies
My Day, in Hay
Surrounded by huge white tents, laughter and talking all around me. As I walk past a never ending queue I see two little girls, one holding a pink, brand-new book, (I can tell as the white receipt in peaking out of the top. While the other has a face like thunder, sulking. I hear the girl holding the book telling a short stewardess how her mother would only buy one book for her to get signed.
I walk a bit further down and smell the overpowering whiff of coffee. Looking to my right I see a small coffee shop packed tight with smiling people.
I carry on walking and see an old woman of about seventy, dozed off in a deckchair, oblivious to the chatter around her.
As I am walking through the sea of the people all of a sudden I hear a thunder of clapping from a ten on the other side of the square. It goes on for a few seconds, then the doors open and another crowd of people sweep on out.
I finish my walk around the colourful square. I hear a little girl say to her mother, “Mum, I feel sick,” then the mother said, “oh, so you don’t want an ice cream?!”
“Oh…I feel better now, a vanilla cone please!”
I laughed as I walked out of the door, away from the fun, the noise, the colours, and I walk away from Hay On Wye.
- Catrin Powney