Each of my poems has a picture and a name. You can select what you want to read by browsing though the gallery of poems, or you can choose a mood from the line below.
Haddon Library Poetry Competition, 2009
University of Cambridge, UK
The Haddon Library of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of Cambridge ran a poetry competition to celebrate the University's 800th anniversary. The competition was for poems inspired by the numbers 800, 1209 and/or 2009. The prizes were presented in Cambridge on Friday 25 September 2009, during the University's Alumni Weekend. Mary was awarded second place in this competition.
The Story of 800
Out of the blankness of nothing came four zeros.
Eyes in flying saucers of bewilderment.
And they looked 'round, but couldn't see, until two
became spectacled and two monocled.
And they adjusted their view. But after a while
became accustomed and no longer saw anything new.
And so zeros became telescopes. And the sun
and the moon and shooting stars enveloped them.
And as the far drew near they became accustomed
and no longer saw anything new.
So they turned then to eyes of a microscope and
the near changed; into a most curious stranger.
And they saw cells and the nucleus of cells and all
the circles we are made of. With eyes refreshed, zeros
were everywhere. In straggles of hair and sticks of chalk.
In transverse section, bronchioles, for air to talk.
In rolls of papyrus, neurones and old bones. In oak
trees, battered coins, bath-pipes and tins of peas.
And the zeros glimpsed their arc of possibility. And
two tried seeing themselves new. One balanced on top
of the other, to become an infinity. A figure of eight.
The dance of perpetual quest.
And the other two grew, in the knowledge of infinite
possibility. And this is how the story of 800 began.
Click here for audio version
Out of the blankness of nothing came four zeros.
Eyes in flying saucers of bewilderment.
And they looked 'round, but couldn't see, until two
became spectacled and two monocled.
And they adjusted their view. But after a while
became accustomed and no longer saw anything new.
And so zeros became telescopes. And the sun
and the moon and shooting stars enveloped them.
And as the far drew near they became accustomed
and no longer saw anything new.
So they turned then to eyes of a microscope and
the near changed; into a most curious stranger.
And they saw cells and the nucleus of cells and all
the circles we are made of. With eyes refreshed, zeros
were everywhere. In straggles of hair and sticks of chalk.
In transverse section, bronchioles, for air to talk.
In rolls of papyrus, neurones and old bones. In oak
trees, battered coins, bath-pipes and tins of peas.
And the zeros glimpsed their arc of possibility. And
two tried seeing themselves new. One balanced on top
of the other, to become an infinity. A figure of eight.
The dance of perpetual quest.
And the other two grew, in the knowledge of infinite
possibility. And this is how the story of 800 began.
Click here for audio version
A Commended Winner of the National Poetry Competition 2008
Mary's poem 'Feeling Trapped (A True Story), the tale of the improbably named Jonathan Trappe, a man most prone to day dreams, secured her a winning place in the UK's largest poetry competition. Carol Ann Duffy, the current Poet Laureate, is a former winner of this prize...
Read more.
"From" is a response to the third question in the pantomine, the third question at a party: "Where are you from?". The response can be simple enough. Automatic even. The naming of a place, where you live, where you were born. But if we move beyond the automatic, like the four year old very small child at the Coventry pantomine, who when asked said, "My daddy" - and when the audience giggled, readjusted and said, "And my mummy" - then we can be taken to different places. To ghosts from the past, to the sea where we crawled from, to the sun, where our elements were formed, to the cross, the kiss, the twirl of ancient chromosomes. And to stories, our inheritance of stories. This display in Earlsdon library, in the "cradle of stories", tells the story of mother sun and father sea, the cradle of the lost face and the birth of triplets, one tale that is part of my family mythology, a particular part of the main story to which we all belong.
The Hippocrates Prize for Poetry and Medicine, April 2010.
Two poems by Mary which received double commendations in Warwick University’s first international medical poetry prize: "Patriotic for the Past" and "Tiptoe". Published in a book of 46 poems with the other winning entries.
FORMER intensive care nurse and university lecturer Mary Courtney only started writing poetry, as an escape from the debilitating effects of ME, two years ago. And she’s really rather good at it. Read more.
It's
going the way of the collar and chain for the insane,
asylums, beehives, ash-middens to crap in, the handicapped
idiots, gluttons, imbeciles, fat people. Paper hats for nurses
and kitchen table grit in your nails surgery.
It's going the way of those long lists you never get round to.
Mr Sawbones doing it quick on a ship, chicken in the basket,
giblets, geriatrics. The workhouse screeching curses on you.
Dunnock. Fusty luggs, creepers crackish!
It's going the way of the never seen and the did they reallys.
The way of the the quirkies. Curiosities. The way of the yo-yo
and dodo. The kakapo, cocoa and toast on a tray for two weeks
post-confinement. Convalescence. Never heard of it.
It's going the way of the rest. Nostalgia. Into the looking-glass
of crusty sleep. The museum piece. Somewhere to drowse on
a listless afternoon. Like The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar
Tongue – something to flick through. Dead as a parched page.
But what if David Attenborough was persuaded to make a
documentary for posterity. Recording the bass notes, tremolos
thunder, high whistles and wheezes; the long wild trumps and
farting snores of the night jungle. A record of the raucous
Last song of the lost choir of the Nightingale Ward. And saved it.
asylums, beehives, ash-middens to crap in, the handicapped
idiots, gluttons, imbeciles, fat people. Paper hats for nurses
and kitchen table grit in your nails surgery.
It's going the way of those long lists you never get round to.
Mr Sawbones doing it quick on a ship, chicken in the basket,
giblets, geriatrics. The workhouse screeching curses on you.
Dunnock. Fusty luggs, creepers crackish!
It's going the way of the never seen and the did they reallys.
The way of the the quirkies. Curiosities. The way of the yo-yo
and dodo. The kakapo, cocoa and toast on a tray for two weeks
post-confinement. Convalescence. Never heard of it.
It's going the way of the rest. Nostalgia. Into the looking-glass
of crusty sleep. The museum piece. Somewhere to drowse on
a listless afternoon. Like The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar
Tongue – something to flick through. Dead as a parched page.
But what if David Attenborough was persuaded to make a
documentary for posterity. Recording the bass notes, tremolos
thunder, high whistles and wheezes; the long wild trumps and
farting snores of the night jungle. A record of the raucous
Last song of the lost choir of the Nightingale Ward. And saved it.
I mean
how can you tiptoe round that one
introduce it slyly, shyly into conversation
Oh by the way whilst I think of it
would you mind
waiting whilst we tiptoe round his bed full of
efficiency keeping his blood pressure primed
to the level that his vital organs remain vital
would you mind
awfully thinking of someone else at this time
perhaps several who are tiptoeing round death
who could benefit from the end of this suspense
would you mind
awfully donating the organs of your loved one
whose stem has just died or should I say your
loved one who is tiptoeing between death and
life would you mind
introduce it slyly, shyly into conversation
Oh by the way whilst I think of it
would you mind
waiting whilst we tiptoe round his bed full of
efficiency keeping his blood pressure primed
to the level that his vital organs remain vital
would you mind
awfully thinking of someone else at this time
perhaps several who are tiptoeing round death
who could benefit from the end of this suspense
would you mind
awfully donating the organs of your loved one
whose stem has just died or should I say your
loved one who is tiptoeing between death and
life would you mind
I was born in Coventry to Irish parents - and started writing poetry as an escape from the debilitating effects of ME, an illness that descended in late 2007. Painting followed a year or so after that. These new aspects of my life have been a vital means of expression, creativity and productivity. A way of channelling the love I've always had, of ideas, words, colour and stories.
Tandoori and Tall Stories
Food and Poems at The Saltaire Festival
West Yorkshire
Saturday 10th September 2011, 7:30 to 9:30pm
Watch, smell, hear and eat this masterclass in Pakistani cuisine, with the delightful Rahila Hussain, Huddersfield born and brought up with a priceless spicy inheritance. Joined by the award winning poet and painter, Mary Courtney, for that extra ingredient - tall tales. Hear the true family story of triplets sprinkled in flour on the table in Clouncuneen in the West of Ireland and the strangest of remedies for the staggers...
"You'll need knives, forks - and elbows, to fight your way to the front. Wonderful food." Alan Rickman
"After sampling my first genuine Pakistani cuisine I can safely say Rahila cooks to perfection - a fusion of spices and tastes that I have never enjoyed so much before." Rhona Cameron
Prints are now available for sale through Lens Art
A Story of Energy Exhibition
April 2011, Friswells Gallery, Coventry
Currently at George Eliot Hospital, Nuneaton
Mary tells the story of the colours and shapes of emotional energies, through eight paintings, a metre-high hand-made book, poems and audio files called Dragging, Dragon, Cake, Energy, Apple, Gathering, Ravenous & Twirls. It is a story of increasing energy through creativity, from the lowest ebb, the weariness of weariness, to those moments of twirlyness, of joy, that feel like dancing in life. "Energy becomes apparant with its lack, and through my experience with the energy sapping illness, ME, the chronic fatigue, I've come to a new perspective on what propels and quells us".
Like the painting Gathering, which depicts thumbprints coming together to push someone up a hill, Mary attributes the exhibition happening because of her friends gathering around her, “It was Anna-Marie Keane who found out about the councils' art fund and filled in all the forms - when I had no energy my friends used theirs and without them, "A Story of Energy" would not be happening.
The exhibition will go next to to Warwick University Medical School, before going on a tour to Manchester/Dublin, returning to London in time for the Olympic Games in June 2012.
This exhibition would not be possible without Pam Drower, Anna-Marie Keane, Jim Sheridan, Helen Talty, Eleanor Murphy, Paul Curtis, Kevin Vaughan of Lens Art and Patrick Kelly of Friswells Art Gallery and funding provided by The Coventry & District Charitable Trust and Coventry City Council.
A limited edition set of artist approved prints can be purchased via Friswells gallery.
Friswells Art Gallery, 223 Albany Road, Earlsdon, Coventry CV5 6NF. Tuesday to Saturday. Tel: (+44) 024 7667 4883
©Copyright Mary Courtney
Web design by Patrick and Nick Courtney
Artwork, watercolour and hot wax, by Mary Courtney