"Art is born out of an ill-designed world.” ― Andrei Tarkovsky (who took photograph above)

On Friday 13th December 2019 we woke up in bleary shock. Worried for friends, seething with blame, indulging in self pity, ignoring the phone. Numbers fell like rain: 17.4 million, 16.1 million, 13.9 million, 10.2 million, 365, 203, 48, 11. Landslide. Against all this we scramble for kindness. Avoid gloaters and gloating. And let our imaginations ask: what will the government do with its new power? What rights are threatened? What will happen to the 14 million people here living in poverty? The 1.5 million who experienced destitution in 2017? What is it like to live like that? And the 130,000 killed by austerity since 2010 - how will they be grieved? Where’s the nearest food bank? Migrant solidarity group? Or mental health charity? What can we build now?

It is bleak. Yet, false consolations aside, hope is a resilient kernel. Imagine. Wherever you lie in bed this weekend - rearrange dreams. The lies that brought us here will one day unravel. Love the NHS. Love our social fabric. Think of the beautiful young - the seeds waiting to bloom away the psychopaths. Tears will pool up and we’ll grow. Imagine the weeping 20th century subcultures that changed the world. Empathise with losses in far away places - Iran, Bolivia, Syria, Saudi, China, Russia – troubled visions everywhere. We’re just a footnote in a global trend – India, Brazil, USA, Israel. We can buck it. It will be bucked. Admire the horizon that won’t stop rolling over struggles and hopes. As Pablo Neruda wrote ‘you can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.” It was never going to be easy. We may be faced with the common ruin of all. Yes, a great flood may sweep us away. Cry. Cry. Get drunk and cry. But don’t waste your precious energy on anything other than yearning.

We’re compiling a 2020 poetry ‘yearbook’ anthology. In reaction to the mammoth event, the deadline for poems is now extended till December 21st. Our previous submission window closed on December 1st – we’ve had excellent poems sent in for that (thank you to the submitters! Sorry haven’t got back to you all!) - but it now must open again for this blizzard’s fresh air.

Last year’s book When They Start To Love You As A Machine You Should Run featured over 220 poets from Iceland to Pakistan, aged from 13 to 83. Our poet Robert Lundquist described it as a celebration of inclusion, rich imaginations, and love of poetry. That’s all we can offer right now.

So please send us your poems. They needn’t be topical. News-worthless singing. The mood music blistering inside of you. Essays on what we struggle to name. Give voice to that knot in your stomach. Pay tribute to whatever makes your life worth living. Squirrel together your half-thoughts. As Walter Benjamin wrote “history breaks down into images not into stories”. What’s your image of beauty for 2019?

Encourage others to send poems too. Forward this to the poem writers you know. Collaborate. Poach. Brainstorm. The deadline’s not strict. If you’re working on something not finished on the 21st just write and let us know so we can make space for you.

At times when art feels not enough, think of the greats. The filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky lived through a starkly totalitarian period of Russian history under terror and censorship. He made timeless existential masterpieces. Slow, somehow very dark, very emotional films like visual poems. Tarkovsky wrote in his diary a testament to creativity:

Life contains death. An image of life, by contrast, excludes it, or else sees in it a unique potential for the affirmation of life. Whatever it expresses—even destruction and ruin—the artistic image is by definition an embodiment of hope, it is inspired by faith. Artistic creation is by definition a denial of death. Therefore it is optimistic, even if in an ultimate sense the artist is tragic.

So, in that spirit, please send us poems. Up to three pieces and a passport style image of yourself to newriver@thenewriverpress.com by December 21st- the darkest day of the year. You can read the original submissions call out here.

Have faith in beauty. Accept defeats. Find someone to love, a community to stand with, and think long term. Realism fades and dreams endure. Believe in the good society. Yesterday’s full moon will be full again.

Love,

New River Press

Numbers fall like rain. Help. Please send poems.