identity on tyne

Creative Passions

2012-01-31T00:05:00.002Z

Creative Passions: An exhibition celebrating literature in portraits and words: 1st February – 3rd March 2012

Keen to help the Lit & Phil, photography student Donna-Lisa Healy invited authors, poets, playwrights and publishers to be photographed within the library. Starting at the end of 2010, the project gained momentum and Donna-Lisa soon found the likes of Melvyn Bragg and Kate Adie in front of her lens. Creative Passions comprises 56 portraits and is more than just a snapshot of a year in the life of the Society. It is a record of the diversity of individuals and activity that is so much part of the Lit & Phil’s raison d’être: an independent space for thinking, conversation, and creativity.

Photographs by Donna-Lisa Healy; readings from main of the authors photographed and id on tyne; workshops by Sheree Mack
1 February – 3 March 2012
Photographic Exhibition 10-6 Monday –Thursday/10-5 Friday/10-1 Saturday
£4/£2

Lover

2012-01-31T00:02:00.000Z

You touch me in so many places,
I’m left trembling and tingling.

Yet, these feelings are marred by fear.
Without you, I prefer the nights;

the darkness all around, no moon,
is like the darkness inside of me.

All day there are others around me,
but I am alone with my emptiness.

I know you are near by your scent-
polished mahogany, molasses, and by the heat

that creeps up my black skin
and reminds me to feel again,

the weight of your body on mine.
You have no idea how glorious

it is to be chosen by you,
to be held by you.

I have no voice to call you,
I have no right to love you.

Yet, I want to keep you.

Sheree Mack

Wild Geese

2012-01-31T00:01:00.000Z

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver

published by Atlantic Monthly Press

February Events

2012-01-30T23:52:00.003Z

Next month is a bust one in terms of id on tyne events, when new and old members of the group share their new writing.

Friday 3rd February - Poetry Reading at the Lit and Phil 7.30pm
Saturday 4th February - Writing Workshop with Sheree Mack 11-1pm
Friday 10 February - Short Story Reading at the Lit and Phil 7.30
Saturday 18 February - Writing Workshop with Sheree Mack 11-1pm

Writers included in the events are Catherine Graham, Shirley-Anne Emmerson, Crista Ermiya, Katy Massey, Sue Spencer, Maggie Tate, Degna Stone, Jonathan , Marjorie Pickering, Delia Hume, Lesley McConnon, and Jonathan Okwe-Pearson.

For more information check out the Lit and Phil#'s website here

Bright

2012-01-09T22:16:00.001Z

Lovely bright light today
On lush green subtle wind
But mood grey

Happy New Year

2012-01-07T16:47:00.001Z

We're going to start the new year as we mean to go on- positive. We're dreaming big and gonna make sure we put these big plans into action. We're gonna to be in a venue near you pretty soon. We're dusting off our members, sharpening our pencils and getting ready to explore new avenues. Just like our ancestors did before we- we're gonna to be pioneers. Watch this space!

Settling In

2011-11-22T11:24:00.003Z

At this time of year things start to slow down. We love autumn for it's colours and what the earth throws up in terms of bounties. But it is also a time of taking stock. Getting ready for the cold spell of winter and thinking ahead to the New Year.
id on tyne has been beavering away behind the scenes for most of 2011. We've come out for a reading, a celebration or two, a residency etc. But we have been focusing on making strong our connections and collaborations. We have come a long way since our humble beginnings in 2003. And we can honestly say that we have fulfilled out mission of developing new writing in the North East by writers of colour, or 'others'.
Look out for details coming in the next few months about our members and how they have grown from strength to strength, moving on and out to pastures new as they pursue their literary dreams. id on tyne can take pride and credit in having a hand in their successes.

Baggage - Maggie Tate

2011-10-16T23:30:00.002+01:00

During your afternoon sleep
I reach for my suitcase.

The huge pear tree laden
with summer's ripe fruit
bends the branches low -
only just beyond reach.
The stretched-thin garden
ends at a high brick wall.

I reach out to touch you -
only cot-sides separate us
in this primrose-lemon room
where you breathe easily.

On this temporary bed,
sheets are stripped and folded;
familiar smells will be washed away.
My open suitcase waits,
wants closure.

This dented door handle
survived air-raids; feels brass-cold
to my touch as I look back
at the room, the window,
the cracked lino by the bed.

The suitcase snags my nylons
as I close the door behind me.

Yearly Update

2011-09-24T23:00:00.002+01:00

I was saying to the group just the other day just how quick this year is moving, and I come here to see I posted last in January. The time has definitely flown and it has been another busy year for the team.
We've been lucky enough to do a series of readings throughout the region. The chapbooks are more or less sold out, with SIGNS going into it's second edition.
We spent the summer working on our practice and sharing our work so that we can now enter the end of the year with some new work to perform.
Our most recent performance was at the Lit and Phil last week when we had the pleasure of a number of special guests share out space.

ID on Tyne introduced Lynn Ciesielski to the North East.
There will be a special reading from ID on Tyne poets such as Catherine Graham and Maggie Tate, as well as our special USA guest, Lynn . Lynn Ciesielski is the guest editor of the Poetry Kit online magazine Transparent Words, she was thrilled to be here sharing her work on Tyneside. And the 118 guys made only their second appearance in the region and we were honoured to host them.

Newcastle City Library Reading

2011-01-01T20:04:00.002Z

The writers from ID on Tyne Press will read from their latest chapbooks. Degna Stone, Maggie Tate, Catherine Graham and Sheree Mack and others will strive to ignite your delight in creative writing.
Wednesday 6.30pm Newcastle City Library. Books will be on sale.

METAMORPHOSIS by Maggie Tate

2010-11-01T16:49:00.002Z

ID on Tyne is back for a special 2010 series of chapbooks.
The final gig for 2010 will launch Maggie Tate’s first collection of poetry, Metamorphosis.

Maggie is an active writer and performer within the North East. She has been published in a number of anthologies and is currently a member of the writers’ group Carte Blanche.

Tuesday 14 December, 7.30pm. £2 on the door and refreshments provided.
Maggie will be appearing with special guests.

Degna's Launch

2010-09-24T15:42:00.002+01:00

I'm pleased to say that last night's launch went well. There was a very good turn out of friends, family and newbies. Degna gave a good performance as did Maggie and Catherine. Let's hope our launch next month goes as well.
There should be some photos of the evening on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/album.php?aid=280886&id=654027717.

Postcard - Degna Stone

2010-09-09T21:28:00.002+01:00

Send a postcard to yourself.
Write: Julia’s gone.

Put a second class stamp on the corner
the bad news will arrive more slowly.

Go to the park and quietly post it on the way
forget what you’ve written, what you know.

Sit on the cool grass,
look up at the empty sky ― breathe.

When it’s time to go home
don’t wait for the postman.

A taster of Between The Floorboards, Degna Stone's chapbook.
Out September 23rd at the Lit and Phil.
Degna is also enjoying being Diamond Twig's poem of the month,
with 'Morning Ritual'.
You can read it by following the link -
http://www.diamondtwig.co.uk/poems/ritual.html

Night's Skin

2010-09-03T18:17:00.002+01:00

A celebration of life with the launch of Sheree Mack’s latest chapbook, Night’s Skin and her 39th birthday. The chapbook, inspired by the recent birth of her daughter Ella Rose, will be supported by special invited guest readers including Degna Stone, Catherine Graham, Maggie Tate, Cynthia Fuller, Ellen Phethean, Crista Ermiya, Yvonne Young, Shirley-Anne Emmerson, Sue Spencer, Steve Ronnie, Zeibeda Sattar, Pauline Plummer. Sheree is the editor and publisher of ID on Tyne Press and the one and only Writer in Residence of the Lit and Phil.

A Celebration of Life - 14 Oct, 7.30 at the Lit and Phil –
£2 on the door, refreshments provided.
For more information, call 0191 232 0192 or email library@litandphil.org.uk

BETWEEN THE FLOORBOARDS by Degna Stone

2010-07-28T21:04:00.002+01:00

ID on Tyne is back for a special 2010 series of chapbooks.
The second gig will launch Degna Stone’s first collection of poetry, Between the Floorboards.

She is a recent winner of a Northern Promise award 2010. A regular performer on the North East spoken word scene, her poems have appeared in several anthologies, locally and nationally.

Thursday 23 September, 7.30pm. £2 on the door and refreshments provided.
Degna will be appearing with special guests.

Signs' Launch

2010-07-28T20:51:00.001+01:00

It was a night of success. The number of people who turned out was amazing. The Lit and Phil had to get more chairs. The writers were all on top form as they read their work with conviction.
The star of the night, Catherine Graham, did not disappoint her audience and performed with confidence. Catherine finally believes that she is a poet.

SIGNS by Catherine Graham

2010-05-14T21:16:00.003+01:00

ID on Tyne Press is out of hibernation for 2010.
We are planning to publish three special chapbooks this year by three very talented North East writers.

The first chapbook is SIGNS by Catherine Graham.

She is a Northern Voices Poetry Award winner as well as being winner of the Northumberland Writers' Special Award. Her work has appeared in a number of magazines and anthologies as well as on the web.

The launch event, where Catherine will be appearing with special guests, will take place on Wednesday 16 June , 7.30pm, at the Lit and Phil.
£2 on the door and refreshments provided.

Please spread the word. It would be good to see you there.

Here’s a taster of the chapbook with the title poem SIGNS. Enjoy

Signs

When I set out on my journey
I shall leave home early.

I shall wear shoes that breathe slowly;
button up my best coat.

My scarf will wrap itself around me,
brushing my cheek like a newborn hand

and I shall need a bag - the one
that smells of her favourite perfume.

A simple sign
nailed to a wooden post.

See her alight with only the ghost
of a well dressed smile.

This is the place
where dandelion clocks stand still.

‘Very strong.’ Sean O’Brien.

‘Catherine's poems are from the heart. They have real life force within them.' Pat Borthwick

Like the Wind Over a Secret - Sheree Mack

2010-04-12T16:39:00.003+01:00

January 2009

SEAM - Sheree Mack

2010-04-12T16:35:00.003+01:00

December 2008

A Dying Breed - Grainger Women Writers

2010-04-12T16:32:00.001+01:00

October 2008

Nine 'Til Five - Women's Writing Anthology

2010-04-12T16:30:00.003+01:00

September 2008

Sepia Souls - Masterclass Anthology

2010-04-12T16:29:00.002+01:00

December 2007

Chapati Moon - Asit Maitra

2010-04-12T16:28:00.002+01:00

October 2007

The White of the Moon - Sheree Mack

2010-04-12T16:26:00.002+01:00

September 2007

You Are Not Invited - Katy Massey

2010-04-12T16:25:00.001+01:00

June 2007

Piranha - Crista Ermiya

2010-04-12T16:23:00.002+01:00

February 2007

2010 Series of Chapbooks

2010-04-12T16:09:00.002+01:00

ID on Tyne Press is going to publish three super delux chapbooks this year, from local women. This is an exciting adventure because we've been having a break but the idea of these women fading into obscurity got the better of us. ID on Tyne Press can not let this happen. There will be three chapbooks coming out in June, September and December. There will be a launch event for each at the Lit and Phil , in Newcastle. More details to follow.

Thinking Time

2010-03-28T12:28:00.001+01:00

It has been a while since I've been here. Id on Tyne has done a few readings in the mean time , had a few get togethers. But it has been a time of hibernation for the group. But this morning I woke up with a renewed energy in the group. I got to thinking of maybe clearing away the cobwebs and ID on Tyne Press come out to play again. Watch this space for developments.

Like the Wind Over a Secret

2009-11-23T08:58:00.004Z

Why Did You Come to England?

Name: Charles Mason
English, not the African name.

How can I know the real great granddad
without knowing your real name?

Why did you come to England?

What was wrong with your life on the Gold Coast
that you had to leave all you knew, for another world?

What was the beauty of England
except a word resting on the lips of a sailor?

Why did you come to England?

Looking at your face, with no hint of a smile,
was it worth the sacrifice?

You found a red haired Geordie woman and
two children you never saw reach double figures.

Why did you come to England?

Time Passing

2009-11-23T08:55:00.003Z

It's been ages since I've been here. It will soon be a year now that I hung up my identity on tyne hat and decided to concentrate on the PhD. That move has paid off as I have completed the beast and I am awaiting the viva.
Things are slowly settling down. But I feel as if there is something missing in my life. That feeling of excitement and anticipation and fear I get when managing a project. Maybe I need to get back into identity on tyne. Who knows?
Let's see what 2010 brings.

TV Watching

2008-12-20T11:15:00.002Z

I'm going to spend the day in my PJs and watch some TV.
Christmas has come early for me.
Yippee!

A Dying Breed

2008-12-19T10:55:00.003Z

This anthology was produced through a series of creative workshops facilitated by Sheree Mack in her capacity of Artist in Residence in the North of England Institute of Mining and Mechanical Engineering.

All pieces included are the writers’ response to the theme of mining within the North East; the industry, the community and the social aspects.

The Grainger Women Writers' next reading is Thursday 29th January 2009 at the North of East Institute of Mining and Mechanical Engineering, from 7pm.

A poem from the collection:

The Coal Man

Every week on a Thursday with no fixed time,
along he came with his horse and cart
as we tucked into our dinners.
No matter what the weather,
we were delivered our coal.

The men appeared tough like a pole.
Their clothes were black like beetles.
Opening the coal shed we gained comfort
looking at the coal gleaming like diamonds.
Like a plant needs nurturing,
we needed coal for warmth in our lives

Thud, thud, thud; the coal poured
from hemp sacks by strong coal men.
As the dust settled like snowflakes,
the coal man winked as I shut the yard door.
These men someone’s husband, brother, son
needed to earn a living, knocking on doors
while we tucked into our dinners
in front of the glowing coal fire.

Zeibeda Sattar

Nine 'Til Five

2008-10-25T18:42:00.003+01:00

Nine ‘Til Five, is the latest publication from the ID on Tyne press. Shirley-Anne Emmerson, Catherine Graham, Sheree Mack , Maggie Tate and Degna Stone will be reading from the anthology at Newcastle’s Lit & Phil on Thursday 20 November at 7pm. Influenced by Sheree’s work and research with the Mining Institute writers responded to the ideas of women and work to produce poems that are fresh, touching and illuminate the hidden lives of working women. Admission is free and copies of the anthology will be available on the night. All welcome.

Nine 'Til Five

2008-10-22T08:15:00.003+01:00

ID on Tyne Press is out tonight.
Reading from the new anthology Nine 'Til Five, exploring women and work, is Catherine Graham, Degna Stone, Shirley-Anne Emmerson and Sheree Mack,
Tonight, Wednesday 22nd October at 6pm Studio 1, Gala Theatre, Durham.
Books will be on sale afterwards.
Here's a taster of what you'll hear from Degna Stone

This Love

Her alarm call of “mamma” sounds at intervals through the night.
Tiredness clings to my body as my brain works
out how to convince her that she has woken too early for play.
I avoid the gaze of the clock; ignore how little time is left until
morning,
In the half darkness I wonder how long to leave
her before going in with a gentle “shhh, my love”.

There is no time to shower before breakfast. I’d love
to take five minute’s for myself but instead I clear away last night’s
supper and somehow plan the time left
before bed. I tackle the mountain of housework
when all I want is to sleepwalk through the morning;
all she wants is to play.

As she sleeps I slip the earphones into place and press play.
I sink down and down and listen to the songs you love
to sing and suddenly the soundtrack to my morning
brings you home to me. The smell of last night’s
sex fills the air. Clings to my body. A sleepy assignation worked
into the tight schedule when there is usually no time left.

On Wednesdays she cries when I leave
her . She’s in good hands, she’s in good hands - but the guilt plays
on my mind as I close the door behind me. I switch to work
mode, dismiss the stay at home alternative - battling through days
where love
alone can’t carry me through until the night
and the same old same old begins again the next morning.

Still, no sense mourning
the independence and freedom I willingly left
behind, wasted on my younger self. Each night
chemical euphoria would play
with perception and loved up masquerading as loved...
was never going to work.

It’s a breathing space, paid work,
not my reason to get up every morning.
It’s not the job that I love
but the slight return to my old self. By the time I leave
it almost feels like play
and I arrive home refreshed and ready for the night’s

work to begin. Time to leave
tomorrow until the morning, enjoy now, play.
This love keeps us safe at the end of each night.

Making Clogs at Gallowgate

2008-09-14T10:41:00.000+01:00

for my mother, Doris

I let him believe I'm fourteen; old enough
to be a clog-maker. The rough, green overall
tied tight around my waist gives me the figure
I haven't got: I comb my fringe to the side.
Uppers hang in the workshop like kippers;
the genuine smell of leather all around.
Gripping the sycamore sole between my legs,
I squeeze my knees together, like mam
says I always should, and hammer like hell
at the horse-shoe, braying the nails into the wood:
Slicing leather with the sharpest knife in the world;
my hands bleeding, like Christ up on the cross.
Soon I'll be promoted to stretching the skins
over metal lasts, if I keep my head down.
My workmates are five sisters, all would-be
opera singers. Listen, you can hear them
even now: Si tu ne m'aimes pas prend garde à toi!
And old Ebanezer next door, stitching:
Our would-be baritone. Every morning
we're greeted by a long-tail that runs along the pipes.
The same R.A.T. (for it's unlucky to say the word),
comes out again at noon, scurrying around
like a frantic clerk of works, on the look out
for idle crumbs. The loud clock ticka ticka ticka ticks
its way to Friday when the shop window is filled
with beautiful black clogs, perched in pairs
on shelves, like lovebirds, and I collect my
seven and six. That's when I leave work
by the front door, so I can pass the window -
and Fenwick's with its felt hats and blouses
made from the finest of satins and silks.

Catherine Graham

Learning how to be British

2008-08-21T18:28:00.001+01:00

a poem by Katy Massey

I know you have to ask your questions.
That you’re only doing your job.
I am trying to answer but there’s a problem.
This country, MY country, taught me how to be British
And I love this landscape,
The language, the people, the poetry.
But this country never gave me
The words to talk about, well, me.
Because I can’t speak Patois
Or write in Ragga rhymes
I tried Asian Dub when it was fashionable
But reggae and roots aren’t mine.
I was brought up on the Queen’s English
Not the rants of Mullahs.
Shakespeare, Austen, Hughes.
Their language gave me the tools
To write about the past.
But you’re asking questions about the future.
I’m left not knowing what to do.
You’re right: there are more and more like me,
We are millions, and we don’t look like you
I appreciate your position:
You believe there are enemies within.
And I am trying to explain:
Listen:
I really learned how to be British.
I have earned my citizen’s rights.
I don’t scare horses, or rock the boat
I queue properly, remark on the weather, ask after your health.
I say the right thing. I remain, at all times, polite.
And when events get out of hand, as they have done recently,
I do what every Britisher does
And make strong, sweet tea.
Instead of belly laughs, I have thin lipped irony.

Eyes Down, Look In

2008-08-21T18:27:00.001+01:00

a poem by Sheree Mack

We are sitting, me and Sharon, in a
four man booth. The packed Bingo hall, waiting
for the main session to begin. Eyes down
look in – when Mum comes in, after 6 months
dead. She takes an empty seat, clicks off her
markers and gets ready for prize bingo,
before and between the big money game.

We are sitting in the no smoking section.
Mum lights up and takes a deep draw, she smiles.
She’s pleased with her full head of hair, rollered
into place around her pink-beige plump face.
“3 and 6, 36.” The caller starts.
Chatting is a no-no in any game,
but Mum’s got a life time of things to tell.

“Stop all the crying, Sharon. You’ll make your
self sick. Mick’s shoulder can only take so
much. You know you’re the strength in that coupling.”
Her chastisement a change. No one seems to
notice our table. Eyes down, silently
praying that their number will be out next.
“9 and 0, top of the shop, blind 90.”

Mum’s fingers dance across the numbers, clink,
a comfort sound in the close, heavy air.
“Sheree, I’m working with you.” Her eyes never
leave her board. “Hold on, you not alone.
I’m working to bring happiness into
your life. But you’ve got to let the hurt out.”
Like coloured balls bubbling in the machine,

my grief bursts out in rounded orbs of pain.
I want to scream, you left us alone
to cope, to cope alone. My fantasies
of the prodigal daughter’s return with
babe in arms, were dashed as you slipped away
during the night.“1 and 4, 14.” “House”
Mum groans as if her life depended on

that win. She starts to line up her thick red
and blue dabbers. Not green, as green’s unlucky.
Even in death, she’s still holding out for
that big win. Not wanting to see her hopes
dashed. Not wanting to see her leaving us
again, I look away through the sea of
cigarette smoke, and half empty glasses.

An Immigrant

2008-08-21T18:21:00.001+01:00

a poem by Asit Maitra

The jingle of voices of my mum and dad
and almost the entire neighbourhood's
still rang in my ears as I stood in front of the desk:
a white face armed two blue eyes that shot

at me, a glance, soon a dark stare, then it shifted
like a searchlight onto my documents, passport.
A dryness coiled out of my chest and reached
my throat tightening it slowly, a thick snake.

'Don't forget to ring.' Mum's words echoed
in my head. What's the purpose of your visit,
Doctor? I tried to recall the descriptive speech
I rehearsed with my hospital friends at length.

I want to be a surgeon, a Fellow of the Royal College,
London, England. He stamped hurriedly on the page
as if overwhelmed. I collected my gold and sped
through the passage, my sweat now a downpour.

Today sometime I hear a voice whisper
inside my head, 'Go back, go back, go back.'
I respond - wrap myself up against the cold,
turn the heating up a notch, and dial home.

by Newcastle Central Station I sat down and wept

2008-08-21T18:21:00.000+01:00

a short story by Crista Ermiya

A particle of light can travel the distance between London to Newcastle seven hundred times a second. In the three hours it has taken me to get to you by train, this hypothetical east coast photon has made one million two hundred and sixty thousand round trips; that is to say, it has covered the same distance two million five hundred and twenty thousand times while I have read a mere seventy pages of my paperback, consumed one wensleydale cheese sandwich, a white coffee in a plastic cup, and a slice of fruit cake.

These are the long days of summer. When I arrive at Central Station it is still light. Uncounted photons sleet across the city at cumulative angles conducive to long shadows. Seagulls as big as cats screech in the streets around the station, over the bridges and down the river to Tynemouth and the sea. They wheel around passengers disgorged from a two-carriage train newly arrived from Hexham, seven minutes late on its way to Saltburn, and a 19 year old girl with kohl rimmed eyes wearing a black and white stripy top drums her fingers on her lap and looks out the carriage window, willing the train to depart. Under the Tyne Bridge gulls are nesting in gaps in the bricks that rise like vertigo from the new sandstone coloured quayside to the industrial green railings on the bridge high above. The shadowed ground beneath the arch of the bridge is covered in guano and a big-boned woman dressed in an asymmetric vest, jean skirt and kitten heel sandals, picks up her pace until she teeters to safety out in the open.

Across the river, sloping up behind the millennium trinity of Baltic, blinking eye Bridge and Sage, pigeons fly between levels of the abandoned Get Carter car park in Gateshead, cement-green and bird-mottled in the twilight. A shrivelled woman with a curved back struggles to push her brown pvc shopping trolley uphill past The Metropole, less than ten minutes walk from the gleaming glass curves of the Sage. Inside the pub, the landlord serves a pint of bitter to a man in a football shirt who has been sitting at the bar since 2pm, and wonders if it’s worth putting on a karaoke night. On the other side of the High Street, tied up outside Kwik Save, a white terrier barks while her bladdered owner unzips to pee against the wall around the corner.

There are two cities here, the new silhouette occupying, almost, the same space as the past, separated only by the width of a photon moving in different directions. Time slides over the cityscape with the familiar uncertainty of home: either I know where home is, or I know how fast I’m moving away. In Newcastle Central Station, high-speed trains, dark blue, bright red, pull into platforms arched like the ribcage of a dinosaur. I’m supposed to meet you here, under the clock. Counting down, five, four, three, two …

Spotlight -Crista Ermiya

2008-08-21T18:20:00.000+01:00

Crista Ermiya was born in London, of Filipino and Turkish-Cypriot parentage. She has lived in Newcastle upon Tyne since 2002.

Crista was a winner of the decibel Penguin short story prize in 2006. Her stories have been published in various anthologies: Wonderwall edited by Anthony Cropper and Ian Daley (Route, 2005), Parenthesis edited by Ra Page (Comma Press, 2006), Tell Tales III edited by Julia Bell and Nii Ayikwei Parkes (Tell Tales, 2006) and Volume 1: New Voices from a Diverse Culture (Penguin, 2006). Her short stories have also been published online at Pulp.net (2006) and in Brief Lives edited by Susan Tranter (Route Bytebacks, 2006).

Crista is the editor of the Route Byteback Skin (2007), and Rain from the Hometown (Durham City Arts, 2006). She is the managing editor of Dogeater poetry press, a co-editor of Other Poetry magazine, and the co-ordinator for Independent Northern Publishers.

Crista loves travelling, but hates going out. She holds out little hope of ever being able to make a living from writing, and so buys a lucky dip every week in the hope of winning the lottery. So far, she’s won £10 twice, and may have to come up with a different plan.

Le Coeur de la Nuit

2008-08-21T18:19:00.002+01:00

an extract from a short story by Shirley-Anne Emerson

I find myself here, again. Enveloped by this smoky shadow land. Watching. I like the shadows. I feel comfortable here. I relax into the darkness as if it is a worn old arm chair, grooved in all the right places, a perfect fit for my restless body. Night after night, I come I wait and I watch. Always in the same quiet corner - unnoticed - by all who pass before me. I wonder if this is how it will always be.

I stumbled across this place by chance. Bored by the ‘café culture’, worn by the fanfare of the Burlesque and Cabaret. The name drew me in.
Behind the glamorous façade of this city the world of the jaded thrives. The girls, an exquisite species, are tall and slender like gazelles, with translucent skin and hair that gleams in a palette of rich Autumnal shades. They sparkle with a bold but fragile beauty; like a collectors display of rare Faberge eggs, faultless in their creation, bar the lack of life behind their painted eyes.

“Votre Cognac”.

A finely boned hostess appears like a genie; hair a cascade of burnished copper, skin as inviting as a Magnolia in bloom. She places the goblet on to the table next to my smouldering Gauloise.

“Merci bien.” I slide a note from my wallet and guide it into her small taloned hand, holding it for a moment longer than required, I ask “ Arianne?”

Her eyes, which seemed to brighten at my touch, glaze coldly at the mention of that name. Up close, I notice how weary she looks, fine lines traverse her face and drag at the corners of her mouth.

“ Cinq minutes.” She tells me impatiently, removing her hand from my grip. And, as she turns her back to walk away, I catch the whispered lyrics of her bitter lament. “ Arianne, Arianne, Toujours, Arianne.”

Spotlight-Shirley-Anne Emerson

2008-08-21T18:19:00.001+01:00

I was born in Wallsend in 1970. The daughter of a Nigerian Marine engineer and a local girl. I was adopted at 5 months old. I grew up in a multi-cultural family of fostered and adopted brothers and sisters and a menagerie of stray animals; cats, dogs, bantam hens, hedgehogs, rabbits and one aggressive Turkey jock.

I spent most of my adult life trying to avoid doing what I desired more than anything - which is to say writing. Distraction techniques involved sojourns into the modelling world, becoming a croupier, and a successful 10-year career in Retail management.

When I had my children I gave up 9-5ing and decided any spare time I had I would divide between work in the community - where I worked with post-natally depressed mothers and refugees and developing my writing skills.

I have remained part of a supportive local writing group for nearly 2 yrs and have recently spread my wings to join the 'Writing from Inside Out' group held at the Joseph Cowan building at Newcastle University.

I am yet to be published. But have recently performed my work at an evening of poetry and prose held at the Lit and Phil, in Newcastle. I am currently researching the Sex Slave Trade for a novel.

you are here, 1957-1994

2008-08-21T18:16:00.000+01:00

a poem by Gerard Rudolf

still dark.
you are in a car.
black road ahead.
poles bending past the side window.
bushes blur. koppies drift. far off mountains move slower.
the smell of drought.
you are driving through sameness. the sameness of life.
you speed up. hot tyres drone on cold tar.
below the tar a forgotten dirt track.
deeper still insects tunnel. roots. eyeless things.
now sink lower.
crystalline forms. fractals.
below that shells and bones of ancient fish.
petrified ocean old as stars.
walls between mind and matter melt. glacier slow.
you are here.
you live here.
you have always been here.
terrene, clotted with rootedness.
you are stone. sand. dust. powder. particle.
the past is the present. the past brought you here.
time is the endless fence rushing past.
yet there are other parts to the moment.
the moment is connected to the fading stars.
solar winds billow beyond imagination. air in your nostrils.
air made by plants.
time here is time termless. earth and sky.
dig here and you emerge among the stars.
die here and you’ll be back in the cradle.
life here begins where galileo’s laws never existed.
then the sun.
it flares over the far horizon.
swallow scuds from a thorny bush.
first light.

Spotlight - Gerard Rudolf

2008-08-21T18:15:00.000+01:00

Gérard Rudolf was born in South Africa in 1966. He says he's of a generation regrettably too young for the Rolling Stones and thankfully too old for Michael Jackson - a kind of "cultural car crash zone. But we did have The Clash, The Pistols, Patti Smith, Springsteen and Nick Cave."

He grew up in the comatose suburbs of Cape Town and Joburg during the darkest years of Apartheid. "A rubbish time and place for all concerned. But we had Desmond Tutu, Steve Biko, André Brink, Breyten Breytenbach, the plays of Zakes Mda, the poet Mongane Wally Serote and many others to tell us the real score."

After completing high school he was faced, along with thousands of other South African males, with the cheery choice of two years compulsory military service, six years in jail for conscientious objection or skipping the country. Lacking the funds and passport for the latter option and the bollocks for conscientious objection he resentfully joined the army, an experience he says that galvanised in him a general dislike for the Great Outdoors and awoke in him a fathomless distrust of any brand of flag-waving patriotism and nationalism. After completion of his military service he joined a drama school.

He spent the next 15 years as a successful actor in South Africa. Cursed with itchy feet, a curiosity for what's beyond the next bend in the road, a staggeringly low boredom threshold and, it must be said, for the love of a woman he dropped his life in Cape Town about three years ago and headed for the UK.

He writes because he's got no choice and as "a means to orientate myself on the map." He is currently working hard on a collection of poetry and short prose tentatively titled Godspeed the Punch Line.

The North East

2008-08-21T18:14:00.000+01:00

Submit to iD on tyne

2008-08-21T18:09:00.000+01:00

identity on tyne accepts submissions of poetry or prose for the website for
a) POEM of the MONTH
b) STORY of the MONTH - a flash fiction story of up to 200 words. What is flash fiction?

Submissions guidelines
(unfortunately we're unable to consider submissions that do not meet the guidelines)

What?
Send either:
ONE poem (up to 40 lines)
ONE flash fiction story (up to 200 words)

PLUS a brief biography (up to 50 words) about yourself and your writing.

How?
send your writing to iD on tyne in the body of an email - please do not send attached documents.

Poem of the Month

2008-08-21T18:00:00.000+01:00

Julia
a poem by Degna Bailey

These words
Don't want to come out yet.
Hiding behind quiet tears that
Don't want to be seen.
My head fizzes gently as
They float around
Looking for a safe way out.

I won't imprison them too long;
They'll make sense.
Soon enough.
But I'll keep these words,
Hold on.
Until they can be changed.
Understood.

identity on tyne

2008-08-21T17:59:00.001+01:00

Founded in 2003, identity on tyne has made a significant impact in the field of literature development. Through twice-yearly seasons of live literature events, creative writing workshops, seminars, discussions, reading groups, and one-to-one surgeries it aims to explore, develop and promote literature in all its forms.Our aims are met through:identifying and developing new talent through specific programmes of work and trainingdeveloping the writing economy in the North East through the development of opportunities for writers and the production of literary eventsdeveloping partnerships through working with local authorities, libraries, private literary organisationsdeveloping audiences and new contexts for literatureproviding information and advice to writers within the regionIf you would like to know more about us, are interested in becoming a member, or if you wish to be put in touch with any of iD on Tyne's writers, please add a comment to the blog.