Loughborough Artspace Poetry

The facilitator for the workshops is Deborah Tyler Bennett

Workshop during the 'I-SPY' exhibition 2004

Using 'I Spy at the Gallery' as inspiration, you will first view the exhibits then respond in words, creating poetry based on your experience. Debbie is a lecturer, poet and editor of the periodical 'The Coffee House'. Please bring a notebook and pen.

Workshop during the 'IDENTITY' exhibition 2003

Poetry with Deborah Tyler Bennett
Exploring the theme of Identity using words in this poetry workshop.

Poetry workshop with Deborah Tyler Bennett

Poetry workshop during the 'Deceive' exhibition
Wednesday June 19th 2002

Deceiving Words

A poetry writing workshop
with Deborah Tyler-Bennett.
1.00pm - 3.00 pm.

Poetry workshop with Deborah Tyler-Bennett.

Wednesday 20th June 1pm – 3pm. YEAR 2001
01poetry1.jpg=Poetry workshop at the'BIG' exhibition 01poetry2.jpg=Poetry workshop at the'BIG' exhibition 01poetry3.jpg=Poetry workshop at the'BIG' exhibition
Poetry workshop at the'BIG' exhibition

June 1999 Art Gallery Poety Workshop.
SLOW GROWTH DYING - a tree sculpture.

Clever shapes to please,
aesthetically taut in space.
Well done, congratulations;
Connotations of a Japanese style.
The sculpture’s form
Like a make-shift pair of stocks.
A horizontal oar like beam
Balancing as a weight; bearing down.
Beneath the cross bar
A small tree is tied, circle bowed,
Tendrils reaching out towards the light.
The stress sapped leaves
Are dying in the plant’s extremities.
The tree desperately needing water,
Gasping half alive,
Slowly, silently struggling
Like Japanese woman’s feet
Strapped and bound in small tight shoes.
It has no chance.

© Chris English

chrispoem1.jpg - June  1999 Art Gallery Poety Workshop.
SLOW GROWTH  DYING  -  a tree sculpture.



The clothes will be musty,
Borrowed, unwashed, not properly pressed.
She sits in a sepia underworld:
White cotton with yellow stains,
Pinched face old-woman brown.

I buy her for 75p.
The shop owner, with a weary headshake, haggles, but only a little -
She’s not worth the effort.
She’s not the alderman’s wife, local-girl-makes-good or even nice-to-look-at.
Just a life gone past and slipped into pages
Of Maurice Walsh or Mary Webb.

There’s no name or date or endearment.
I guess it’s 1910
By the high hair and collar.
After some days, I see ‘Bedford’
Stamped in blotted letters on her faded sleeve.

December, 2000

Peter Matthews

And then a photograph amongst several in the back room, that of a turbaned man, only his head above the water. The rule for creating the work was that the first line would be, “I was waiting” and the final line, “this would never be enough.” I cheated slightly having edited.

I was watching,
all those turbaned heads
and steps descending
to immerse, observing dhotis floating,
those ahead and supplicating chants rise up
whilst torch lights double shine on Ganges fine
dark peace but I just stare, defensive for my God
and half in everlasting doubt, aware again, that
this would never be enough.

Peter Matthews