AmeriCymru: Your latest novel - Uncharted has been described as:- "a tale of Tango, unfathomable mysteries, and two ancient lovers who will not be parted". How would you describe it for an intending reader.

Jon: A friend said that it "mythologizes an Argentine woman's journey around the world" and that pretty much sums it up. The woman, Flavia, is in a sort of purgatory, neither alive nor dead. Her story becomes a myth which becomes a religion, a case of global Chinese whispers.

I tried to write about a character much as Dickens' writes about Little Nell, and wanted people to be moved by her death. To make me care a lot about her I modelled the central character, Flavia on my wife Sarah but when I came to killing her off I couldn't because it seemed too much like wishing my wife harm, so I kept her alive. Or seemingly alive!

AmeriCymru: The story is set partly in Buenos Aries, partly in Oakland and partly in Cardiff ( including a wonderful description of Caroline St, the hub of Cardiff's sophisticated nightlife ). What made you choose these locations?

Jon: I've been lucky enough to travel a lot in Latin America but hadn't visited Buenos Aires. When I did I fell completely in love with the place and came back to Wales on fire with a need to write about it. The competition for the prose medal at the Eisteddfod the following year required an urban theme, so I found myself writing about B.A and after some 10,000 words thought where else can I go? I decided to write about other ports I knew well, so plumped for Oakland, California, my wife's home town and as the Eisteddfod was in Cardiff I thought I'd write a judge-pleasing ending and set it in my own home. So it's a tale of three cities.

AmeriCymru: The book is adapted from Dalar Llanw ( Catching The Tide ) which is the first book you have written in the Welsh language. Is writing in a second language ( or perhaps i should say first ) a problematic or an enriching experience?

Jon: I usually try to write prose that has a melody and found writing the English translation difficult at first as I was trying to impose the Welsh "music" on the English version, that is until I decided to go with the English music. Adapting the book also gave me a chance to winnow out some weaknesses, and to alter the ending. The current archdruid James Jones said he didn't like the ending of Dala'r Llanw and I agreed with him, so I tacked on a new conclusion, which is less Hollywood ending and much more lyrical.

AmeriCymru: This is not the first time that your writing has featured an American location. In An Island Called Smith you presented an account of your stay on Smith Island in Chesapeake Bay. Care to tell us a little more about that experience and about the book?

Jon: I was intrigued to read a tiny little newspaper article about the Welsh and Cornish settlers of Smith Island and kept the piece of paper. Years later I was lucky enough to win the John Morgan travel writing prize which funded two trips to Smith Island, a disappearing island because of sea level rise. Here crab fishing is the mainstay of the economy and it was a rare opportunity for me, as a naturalist, to spend time with people who understand the richness and complexity of the natural world in an instinctive way. It's also a Methodist island, and gave me a glimpse of what parts of Wales were like when it was one of the most religious countries on earth.

AmeriCymru: You have also written short stories, some of which are anthologised in a collection titled Big Fish Care to tell us more about this volume?

Jon: I see myself as a short story writer above all else, although it's a form that doesn't sell. I still find this surprising when you consider reduced attention span, the pace of life, etc: it should be conducive to people's lives nowadays. 'Big Fish' mashes up Welsh themes with my take on American style, reflecting the fact I've always read a lot of American fiction, especially John Updike, Annie Proulx and Alice Hoffman. People found the stories zany, and I like that.

AmeriCymru: What is your working routine?

Jon: I have two daughters, Onwy who is twenty months old and Elena, who is five and a half years old I have to write around them, so it's a case of trying to get up before them to write, or doing so after they've gone to bed. Luckily, owing to years of news journalism I can write quickly in the time available. Though they often hear me getting up early and see it as a cue to get up themselves. Anyway 1000 words a day assuages enough guilt to allow me to enjoy the rest of life, and them. They're great kids.

AmeriCymru: Where do you get your ideas?

Jon: If I'm really stuck I deal a card from the Oblique Strategies website. The musician and record producer Brian Eno used to write post it notes in the studio with tips he and his engineer Peter Schmidt culled from their working day. They turned into a physical pack of cards and now you can generate one at random on the website. Even though they're about music they can usually get you out of a corner, or spark something off.

AmeriCymru: How did you become a writer?

Jon: I've always enjoyed writing, but writing books is an offshoot of earning a living as a journalist and trading words in that way. Gradually I've moved away from non fiction to fiction and like the freedoms of lyricism and imaginative flight.

AmeriCymru: Which of your own books do you like the best?

Jon: I'm genuinely proud of 'Uncharted' and like the fact that many people who've read it have enjoyed doing so. Not that it'll be everyone's cup of tea, of course.

AmeriCymru: Where can people order copies of 'Uncharted' and your other works online?

Jon: In the U.S you can get it through the Big Beast, Amazon.com. You have to hunt for some of the others, but Powells is a good place to start.

AmeriCymru: What's next for Jon Gower?

Jon: There's a new Welsh language novel out next year, when I finish it! It draws heavily on my own life and I spend a lot of time trying to protect the innocent! That will be followed by collections of stories in both Welsh and English ('Too Cold for Snow') in 2012 and then, in 2013 or 2014, I'm hoping that my "deep map" of Y Wladfa, the Welsh settlement in Patagonia will see the light of day, ahead of the 150th anniversary of its establishment in 2015. It's inspired by William Least Heat-Moon's wonderful book about Chase County in Kansas.

AmeriCymru: Any final message for the members and readers of AmeriCymru?

Jon: Do check out the books on the long list for next year's Wales Book of the Year, due out in March. I'm one of the judges and even though we've yet to reach year's end it strikes me that there will be some wonderful books on the list, a very strong year seemingly and hopefully a good snapshot of the variety and confidence of Welsh writing at the moment.

Interview by Ceri Shaw Email

Rachel Trezise studied at the University of Glamorgan in Wales and University of Limerick in Ireland. Her first novel, In and Out of the Goldfish Bowl , released in 2002 received broad critical acclaim. In October 2006, Trezise won the inaugural Dylan Thomas Prize for her book of short stories, Fresh Apples , describing life in the mining valleys in South Wales. In 2007, Parthian Books published Dial M for Merthyr , an account of her time spent on tour with Welsh rock band Midasuno. Her latest novel is Sixteen Shades of Crazy . Americymru spoke to Rachel about her work and her current literary plans.

Americymru: Care to tell us a little about your latest book ‘Sixteen Shades of Crazy’?

Rachel: ‘Sixteen Shades of Crazy’ is a story about three women, Ellie, Siân and Rhiannon, girlfriends and wives of Welsh punk band The Boobs, whose lives are turned upside down by the unexpected arrival of Johnny, a handsome and mysterious Englishman, a rare occurrence in tiny close-knit Aberalaw where very few people leave and even people fewer arrive. I always intended this novel to be an antidote to How Green Was My Valley , about what happened after the mine shafts were filled and the chapels had been converted to nightclubs and Indian restaurants. In it I am writing about a unique environment, the south Wales valleys, which are neither urban nor rural but an intriguing and complicated fusion of both. Since industrialisation the area has suffered an identity crisis; it is predominantly English speaking, yet it is not English. I am fascinated by this paradox and Johnny represents England and the way some Welsh people regard it, at once despicable and exotic. Also it is my paean to the place where I grew up and still live.

Americymru: The book is dedicated to Gwyn Thomas who wrote extensively about life in the Rhondda Valleys in the 1930’s. Do you see any parallels between life in the valleys then and now?

Rachel: The Rhondda Valleys have changed in many ways over the years. Globalisation, technology and economics have had the same consequences in Welsh communities as they have all over the world. The valleys appear less close-knit and have in some ways become suburbs of the city of Cardiff. But one remaining facet is the poverty that the area continues to endure. In the 1930s there was work but it was dangerous and low paid. Now there’s a significant problem with unemployment. The people of the south Wales valleys are the perennial losers in the relentless march of capitalism, but hardship breeds creativity and gall. Gwyn Thomas said that watching real life in the Rhondda Valley was like watching some kind of tragic-comic theatre production and that’s still true. I never have to look far for a good story or character.

Americymru: Your first book ‘In and Out of the Goldfish Bowl’ is largely autobiographical. How difficult was it to write?

Rachel: ‘In and Out of the Goldfish Bowl’ wasn’t difficult to write at all. I’d had a hard time growing up with an alcoholic mother and an abusive step-father. By the time I came to write the book those experiences were burning up inside me, ready to be spewed out somehow. Anger can go one of two ways, inwards or outwards. Luckily mine came out in an artistic way rather than in violence or something negative like that. Writing it all down was quick and cathartic and I felt calm and renewed afterward. The result is really dark though. I have trouble reading that book now.

Americymru: Your first short story collection ‘Fresh Apples’ won the Dylan Thomas Prize in 2006. How important a milestone was that in your literary career and do you have any plans for further anthologies?

Rachel: ‘Fresh Apples’ was a huge milestone in my writing career because it was my first work of fiction; because ‘In and Out of the Goldfish Bowl’ was autobiographical I had no idea how to plan or embark on a fictional story. I didn’t really know what a full and rounded story was. I started three novels and gave up after the first chapter of each. Then I started getting commissions for short stories and started looking for story ideas. They were my fictional baby steps, my first attempts at playing with characters and voices and scenarios, so I was absolutely stunned when they won the Dylan Thomas Prize. I’ve been busy writing novels for the past five years but I’ve written a few short stories between drafts and I’m hoping to put a second collection together in the not too distant future.

Americymru: Your third book ‘Dial M for Merthyr’ which follows a Welsh band on tour was the inaugural winner of the Max Boyce Prize. How did you research the book and how important is music in your life?

Rachel: I researched ‘Dial M for Merthyr’ simply by going on tour with the band, a young unsigned rock band from Merthyr called Midasuno. Initially the book was going to be about the LostProphets. What I actually wanted to write about was their journey from obscurity in Pontypridd to becoming worldwide household names in a matter of a few months, and that’s the story that my publishing company commissioned. But we just couldn’t get the band on board. As it turned out Midasuno were candid and willing hosts. They let me follow them wherever they went and sleep on their tour bus. I think the book tells a universal truth about what it’s like for all young bands starting out. Music is hugely important, both for me generally, and for my work. Since I finished ‘Dial M for Merthyr,’ I haven’t been all that interested in live music or in rock music actually. You’re more likely to find me listening to Leonard Cohen or Regina Spektor on my ipod. I hope it’s a time issue rather than an age issue, and that the music bug comes back at some point.

Americymru: You have also written for theatre. (I Sing of A Maiden, Lemon Meringue Pie). Any plans for further theatrical works?

Rachel: I never planned to write for theatre when I started out; I came to it by accident. ‘I Sing of A Maiden,’ was a favour to a friend, the folk musician and writer Charlotte Greig. She asked me to write some monologues about teenage pregnancy to punctuate her songs on the same theme for a multi media theatre production, which I did. And from there a producer from Radio 4 asked me to write a radio play, ‘Lemon Meringue Pie’, which was broadcast in 2008. I’m hoping to begin writing my first full length theatre play, a valleys family saga, in January 2011. It’s a good way to keep writing about Wales while I move onto other areas in my fiction.

Americymru: What’s next for Rachel Trezise? Any plans to visit America?

Rachel: The novel I’m working on at the moment is set in America, in North Carolina and New York. It’s a love story about an unlikely couple, a Hasidic Jew from Williamsburg and a former prostitute from the South who becomes a madam in New York City. It sounds controversial at worst and kooky at best but it’s actually quite a tender tale about love being able to conquer the tribulations thrown up by dysfunctional upbringings. I’ve spent a bit of time in New York and was writer of residence at Texas University in 2007, so it hasn’t been too difficult to write a book set entirely in America at a desk in the Rhondda Valley. But there is a bit of research still left to do so I’m hoping to be back in New York for a few weeks in 2011.

AmeriCymru: What inspired the concept for “The Banquet of Esther Rosenbaum?”

Penny: It began with a footnote in a biography about the writer Bertolt Brecht, relating to his grandmother Karoline. She caused uproar when she struck up a friendship with a young woman cook and went off to the races with her. It was 1917 and she was behaving in a way that turned the strict social conventions of that time on their head. Karoline was 78 and she decided to party. I liked that. I’d already been thinking about the character of an anorexic chef and had written a short story about a clockmaker, inspired by some wonderful old clocks I’d seen in a museum. I began to wonder if these different elements could come together in some way.

AmeriCymru: What made you choose this period and place for your novel?

Penny: They chose me! When I was at art college I’d come across the work of German artists of the early 20th century and was quite simply inspired – artists like Kirchner, Dix and the brilliant satirist Grosz. The Dadaists in Berlin were amazing – their experimental approach to art, their creative panache and combative way with the world and its failings had me hooked from the off. I hardly needed an excuse to go back into the future, if you like. Look at Grosz’s satirical drawings condemning the fat cats of industry, or corrupt military leaders, of Dix’s powerful prints exposing the horrors of war and it’s hard to imagine you’re not looking at something still relevant and contemporary.

A statistic I’d read about life in Berlin in 1923 – the year of a terrible inflation which wrecked the lives of people from all walks of life – helped me find my starting point. This statistic claimed “less than 10% of Berlin’s families earned enough to maintain a decent standard of living.” What this meant in reality was terrible poverty, contrasting with conspicuous consumption by the few – a surprisingly familiar story if you look at news headlines today. I was also intrigued by the landmark buildings of the period, such as House of Aschinger, a four-storey restaurant which was open all hours. The management offered free bread rolls with bowls of pea soup to bring in the artists who provided colour and scandal. The pea soup was legendary – apparently, it was created by a Nobel Prize-winning chemist. In my story, it has a very different creator, or course.

AmeriCymru: You’ve discussed the role of food in this story, the importance it would have had for people in Germany at the time, was that concept the inspiration for your setting and how much did it affect your development of your characters and their relationships?

Penny: Originally my novel was going to interweave the stories of three different women, my chef Esther Rosenbaum, and two others, based on real people: actress Carola Neher, originally cast in Brecht’s The Threepenny Opera, and playwright Marieluise Fleisser. Food was part of the storyline, but not the only ingredient. I was also interested in the theatre world of that time, and the dilemmas facing a young woman playwright and actress, both of whom were lovers of Brecht in the 1920s. It took a long while to work out the story I really wanted to write. The novelist Celia Brayfield helped me get on track when I went to Ty Newydd, the writer’s centre in North Wales, to work on an early draft. She asked me which of the three characters I really wanted to write about and it was, of course, Esther. I tore up a lot of pages (not for the first time!) and began all over again. The idea of the story recipes came along quite late in the process.

AmeriCymru: Esther cooks fantastic and marvellous food for other characters and starves herself. What inspired that in her character, did you create her whole with this in mind or did it develop with the story?

Penny: I’d had an idea of using an anorexic chef in a short story, before starting on this novel. So, yes, Esther was always going to have a problematic relationship with food. What interested me was the idea of a young woman using her appetite as her only means of exerting control over outside circumstances threatening her. That is a trait found in many anorexics. I’ve not been a full blown anorexic, but like many women I’ve had issues around food and eating. And yes, I have in the past controlled my eating to feel like I’m in control of something. Food is also a currency in this novel – it is Esther’s gift, and her way of forging connections and relationships. That is never lost, even when she gets ill.

AmeriCymru: Some of the book’s characters are historical figures, people who lived, some of them your own. How was it to write them and was there a difference? How much of how you wrote your characters was based on people you knew and how much was out of your imagination?

Penny: Historical figures are interesting to write about. They are “real” in the sense that they once lived, but without having ever met them – and all the historical characters in my novel died long before I was born – I had to imagine them anyway. I did do a lot of research over the 10 years it took me to write Banquet, but the trick I found with my historical characters was to try and bring them to life using a few telling details, rather than laboriously list all the known facts (or even sticking to them rigidly). For example, Thomas Tucholski is based on the real life kabarett artist Klabund, who was prosecuted for blasphemy and jailed in 1918. Klabund was “fiery and thin” – so is my character Thomas. But what gave me the real inspiration for creating his character was something I’d read by Kurt Tucholsky, a left wing journalist and a contemporary of Klabund: “Nothing is more difficult and nothing demands more character than to find oneself in open opposition to one’s time and to say loudly: no.” That, in essence, sums up Thomas Tucholski, a fervent anti-war campaigner. And that’s where I got his surname from – but I realised I had misspelt it when I went back over my research notes for this Q&A!

Grandmother Brecht is based (very loosely) on Karoline Brecht. Whilst researching in Germany, I ran out of money and was unable to go to see where she lived in the Black Forest. So, I moved her to Augsburg (where her grandson was brought up) and turned her into a sympathiser for the Spartacist movement. Bearing in mind her habit of ignoring social convention and the proprieties of the time, I felt that wasn’t such a huge step out of character.

I feel in many ways the city of Berlin is also a character in this book and I adopted a similar approach in trying to convey its atmosphere and appeal. House of Clocks is one of the few real places I found – in reality though it’s an art auctioneer’s called Villa Grisebach. Walking around Berlin in the late 1990s, I soon realised I wouldn’t succeed in finding concrete information of most of my settings, but would have to rely instead on suggestion and echo to suggest what once was. In the end, different scents and tastes became as important as bricks and mortar.

AmeriCymru: How much of Esther is you – your own feelings or realisations of coming on age?

Penny: I think all writing is autobiographical in the sense that you’re drawn to write about things that influence you, affect you, make you think, and so on. That doesn’t mean it’s a straight lift from life at all. As I said earlier, Banquet was a long time in the writing. It really began to come together the year several people I was close to died in quick succession. Rather than a rites of passage novel, shaped by my pre-adolescent experiences, it’s one influenced by months of grieving in my early thirties. It’s no coincidence Esther is an orphan. Losing someone you’ve been close to changes you in ways you can barely comprehend at the time. When I read Banquet, I see very clearly things that happened to me during that time of mourning, but of course filtered through another’s eyes and set in another period of time. It’s not a deliberate distancing on my part, or a cunning way of slotting me in to the book, but something I think is a lot more subtle and rewarding. I grew up a lot at that time, but I also spent a lot of time angry, drunk and behaving impossibly. It’s all there, and so are the good bits, like the lifeline suddenly held out by people I barely knew, or I knew but failed to understand in time could support me.

AmeriCymru: You’ve said in other interviews that particular artists and music inspired you writing this; did you immerse yourself in the art and music and everything else of that place and period to write?

Penny: Absolutely. Recordings of Lotte Lenya singing Kurt Weill; Pabst’s film of Pandora’s Box; photos of Jewish life by Roman Vishniac I came across unexpectedly in a London gallery one winter morning. But there were a lot of contemporary influences too, such as Tacita Dean’s Berlin Works and street graffiti in Berlin. And I ate a lot of fantastic cakes when I was there, all for the sake of research!

AmeriCymru: The real and the fantastical or magical elements in this narrative are so skilfully and subtly interwoven that the reader sometimes forgets that this is not a straightforward biographical narrative. There is no noisy crunching and grinding of gears as we change between registers. Did you aim for this “hypnotic” effect, or did it just emerge as the story developed?

Penny: If I’d aimed for the “hypnotic” effect you describe, I’d still be staring at a blank page! Seriously, I think the characters and the events that happen do help create that seamless tradition. I love books that nudge you into a surreal world, without losing sight of what is familiar, or maybe known historical fact. Gunter Grass’s The Tin Drum springs to mind, so does Lewis Carroll’s Alice Through the Looking Glass, or Patrick Suskind’s Perfume.

AmeriCymru: What are your future plans? Are you working on another novel at the moment?

Penny: Alcemi are publishing my second novel in 2010. The Deer Wedding is a novel set in Croatia, spanning two generations, two brutal wars and the controversial histories of two very special works of art. The main character is an artist called Antun Fiskovic who experiences a sea-change in his fortunes as occupying forces take over the government of his country. Fifty years later, a young woman called Dagmar Petric begins a search for answers to her father’s suicide, a disgraced journalist in Tito’s Yugoslavia. I was in Croatia just after the 1990s war ended, working with a theatre company who were staging a version of The Tempest on an island beach. That partly provided the inspiration for the book, the rest came from meetings with extraordinary people I met out there and visiting evocative settings such as the Jewish Cemetery in Split and the Croatian sculptor Mestrovic’s gallery-home and chapel in Split.

AmeriCymru: The Welsh independent presses are proving very successful at supporting a new generation of writers. What is it like as a writer at the moment, living and working in Wales?

Penny: Would I be published, if I didn’t live in Wales? I have a feeling that the answer is probably a resounding “no.” I’d been approached by a few editors and agents from London before Banquet properly got underway, but nothing bore fruit until I met Welsh-based editor Gwen Davies. Gwen really helped me get the whole thing into something resembling a publishable manuscript. It’s rare to find someone prepared to commit to your work and to help you develop; so many larger publishers are either not taking on new writers, or you have to fit a certain mould, or genre. I can see why Banquet (and me) don’t really fit the bill, but that’s fine when you have a thriving independent sector. Just look at how many bands are coming through the web and social networking sites these days, rather than the big recording labels. I like that DIY approach. Over the past few years, I’ve also been supported by several writing awards made by organisations such as Academi and my “day job” at Welsh National Opera. It was a writing class run at Cardiff Library by my friend Jackie Aplin in the early 1990s that gave me the confidence to start writing. I think living in a bi-lingual country helps give a different perspective too. If you like words, you like languages. Wales has many interesting writers working in both languages; it’s also welcoming of “outsiders” like me trying to find their feet.

AmeriCymru: Any other message you’d like to pass on to AmeriCymru readers?

Penny: An invitation to take part in an event like Left Coast Eisteddfod is fantastic. The writing process is isolating, so the opportunity to meet readers (or potential readers) is always welcome. I’ve not been to the States before, so I’m really intrigued what to expect. It’s already surprised me to discover there’s a strong Welsh contingent in Portland (and further afield) which means I have no excuses not to practise my Welsh!

Penny Simpson on Amazon

Peter Thabit Jones was born in Swansea, Wales, Great Britain, in 1951. His work, particularly his poetry for children, has been featured in books from publishers such as Penguin, Puffin Books, Letts Educational, Macmillan Educational, Heinemann Educational, Oxford University Press, Simon and Schuster, Heinemann Centaur (South Africa), Scholastic Publications (Australia), and Titul Publishers/ British Council Moscow (Russia). The latter was a major British Council Moscow educational project to teach English to secondary school children throughout Russia.His poem Kilvey Hill has been incorporated into a permanent stained-glass window by the leading Welsh artist Catrin Jones in the new Saint Thomas Community School built in Swansea, Wales, which was officially opened in July, 2007.

Peter has been invited back to America in May 2009. He will carry out a a series of poetry readings and literary talks in New York, where he will be hosted by Professor Sultan Catto of City University of New York, The Graduate Center, and his American publisher Stanley H. Barkan.

Whilst in New York he will also participate in a new project with Stanley, who is planning to produce a dvd based around the popular 'Walking Guide of Dylan Thomas's Greenwich Village' , written by Peter and Aeronwy Thomas, Dylan's daughter, which was commissioned by Catrin Brace of the Wales International Center, New York in May 2008. Peter will produce a narrative contribution and Swansea singer-songwriter Terry Clarke, a frequent participant at The Seventh Quarry/Cross-Cultural Communications Visiting Poets Events, will sing original songs and compose the incidental music.

Peter Thabit Jones is also the judge of the 'Left Coast Eisteddfod Poetry Competition'.

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Americymru: Where else in the US are you visiting this year?

Peter: Firstly, I have literally just returned from the World Conference in Boulder, Colorado. I was visiting poet for ten days. I had a truly wonderful time, spent with a variety of leading creative people from around the world (a filmmaker, cowboy singer-songwriter, jazz musicians, politicians, Irish storyteller, scientists, journalists etc.) on stimulating debating panels and I also read my poems whilst there.

In mid-May I go to New York, as visiting poet, sponsored by Professor Sultan Catto of CUNY, The Graduate Center, New York, and Stanley H. Barkan, my New York publisher (Cross-Cultural Communications). I will be giving readings and talks, including a major event at the Mid-Manhattan Library, whilst there. I will also be involved in the making of a celebration dvd built around the 'Dylan Thomas Guide to Greenwich Village', which I wrote with Aeronwy, his daughter, for the Wales International Centre, New York. The dvd is being produced by my New York publisher, who came up with the idea, and will feature original songs about Dylan by singer-songwriter Terry Clarke, and a group of Cross-Cultural Communications- published poets from across America.

Americymru: Do you set out to write a collection for publication, or do you simply write and eventually gather up the ones that seem to go together?

Peter: I tend to write poems in batches and eventually shape them into a collection, Usually, my final choice is powered by poems that seem to fit into certain themes, such as childhood, people etc. However, my last book, The Lizard Catchers, was a kind of Selected Poems for the American market and it comprises poems taken from my books published in Britain.

Americymru: Is poetry a priestly calling for all poets, or just a few? Im thinking of The Priest-Poet R.S. Thomas.

Peter: I think it is for the true poet. R.S. said, 'Poetry is religion, religion is poetry' and I think he was echoing Wordsworth's 'priest-like task'. Poetry for me is a vocation, like the priesthood, and I certainly believe a poet can have - to quote St John of the Cross - 'a dark night of the soul', when he doubts the importance of poetry, in the same way some priests go through moments of doubt about their faith. Alternatively, a true poet can experience visions of eternity. I am, in fact, a real admirer of R.S. Thomas's work.

Americymru: Are poets born or made?

Peter: Well, John Clare, echoing Horace I believe, said 'A poet is born not made'. However, we have Edward Thomas, the First World War poet ( he's of Welsh descent and gave his three children Welsh names), who started writing poems around the age of 37 years at the suggestion of the American poet Robert Frost. Thomas had written quality prose for decades and Frost pointed out that some of the passages were ideal for turning into poems. I have taught potential poets for sixteen years at the Adult Education Department at Swansea University. I think the hardest thing is to develop an individual vision and poetic voice. Maybe one is born with those two vital things.

Americymru: When you teach writing, whats the most important thing you want your students to apprehend and incorporate in their writing efforts?

Peter: I try to get over a real sense of the importance of craft. Vernon Watkins, Dylan Thomas's much under-rated friend, said, 'Cold craftsmanship is the best container of fire': an important statement. It's craft that takes over from that initial and exciting spurt of inspiration. I cover metre and poetic devices and try to get over the importance of the musical aspect of poetry, 'the colour of saying', to quote Dylan Thomas.

Americymru: Post-modern cool poets write in free verse. Why do you choose rhyme & metre? Did you choose them, or did they choose you? Why do you like the traditional styles so well?

Peter: It's possible we chose each other. I think it is because I believe passionately in the music of poetry, the sound as much as the sense. It's also, of course, a Welsh thing: Dylan, the Welsh-language bardic poets. I was lucky in the 1980s when I met the Welsh-language poet Alan Llwyd, the cynghanedd master, who taught me quite a bit about cynghanedd devices. He won the Chair and the Crown twice at Royal National Eisteddfods. I also think the rubber band of poetry can be stretched to take in all kinds of poems. For me, though, if I write free verse I try to sound-texture it with poetic devices. When I toured America last year (and at Colorado a few weeks ago) it was something people pointed out time and time again: the musical quality of my poems, which for me was rewarding when it was noted.

I like the traditional styles because I see them as an adventure rather than a strait-jacket.

Americymru: Why do you think landscape is such an important witness and mnemonic device for you? How do you think it holds memory the way youve depicted it Im thinking of Kilvey Hill and the Lions Head here?

Peter: My first memory is of landscape. I recall, as a toddler, looking through the open kitchen door of my Grandmother's home (she and my Grandmother raised me) and seeing this huge, sulking shape dominating every thing: Kilvey Hill. As soon as I was old enough to explore it, I explored every corner of it. For me, Kilvey and the landscape of Eastside Swansea (Dylan's ugly side of his 'ugly, lovely town' - luckily for me he did not write about it!) confirms a pantheistic belief in me that we are connected to nature (The force that through the green fuse drives the flower). Kilvey Hill is also, for me, the touchstone to that reality that down the years has changed into a memories: my first bonfire night, first gang of boys, first camping out experience, first love etc. I have just finished, after ten years of working on it, a verse drama, The Boy and the Lion's Head, based on my Lion's Head poem and my grandfather's experiences as a soldier on the Somme. It is about the impact of a grandfather's stories and a particular landscape (the industry-spoilt Eastside Swansea) on a boy's imagination.

I am very excited by it and two American friends have been very, very enthusiastic about it.

Americymru: How many years of your life do these poems in The Lizard Catchers cover?

Peter: From adolescence (My Grandfather's Razor) to poems written recently (Night, The Green Bird), whilst in my mid-fifties.

Americymru: How long did it take you to find your voice as a poet?

Peter: A long time. The turning point for me was a deep personal grief in my life, the death of my second son, Mathew. I did not write for a long time. When poetry came back to me I knew I could not fall back on someone else's voice or experiences. To be honest, though, I think it is only in the last twelve years that I have really started to understand and use, as I would like to, my own voice. My dear friend and mentor, Vince Clemente, a New York poet and critic (an expert on Walt Whitman) has helped me immensely since we first started corresponding in 1997 and showing each other poems-in-progress.

Americymru: Why do you think it is that you can see so deeply into the world? Do you think this is a native ability or did you have to cultivate it?

Peter: Even as a small boy I was curious about the reality of things, the depth of experiences. Also, my only memories of my grandfather are of him, seriously unwell, in a bed in our parlour. I think such nearness to death at such a young age makes one really focus on life, the living things. The part of the landscape of Wales where I was born and raised offered so much to focus on, Kilvey Hill, the nearby (then) busy docks, the beach, and the (then) seaside town of Swansea. As I got older I read famous poets, such as Wordsworth, Tennyson, R.S., Ted Hughes, and I soon realised I was not alone in wanting, almost needing, to see 'shootes of everlastingness' beyond the curtain of reality. So I suppose I 'cultivated' my inborn strengths. They say the Welsh are a curious people and I certainly have that trait.

Americymru: What is it about the little things and passing vignettes of life that catch your attention?

Peter: I think the little things are all revelations of the big things, thus when observing soemthing like a frog or a lizard one is observing an aspect of creation, a thing that is so vital and part of the larger pattern that none of us really understand. Edward Thomas said, 'I cannot bite the day to the core'. In each poem I write I try to get closer to the core of what is reality for me, be it the little things or the big things such as grief and loss.

Americymru: When you write, do you write a poem and then pare it down to its bones, or, do the bones come first?

Peter: For me the bones come first, a word, a phrase, a line, or a rhythm, usually initiated by an observation, an image, or a thought. Then once I have the tail of a poem I start thinking of its body. Nowadays, within a few lines I know if it will be formal or informal. If it is formal, all my energies go into shaping it into its particular mould, a sestina or whatever. If it is informal, I apply the same dedication. Eventually after many drafts, a poem often then needs cutting back because of too many words, lines or ideas. R.S. indicated that the poem in the mind is never the one on the page, and there is so much truth in that comment. The actual writing of a poem for me is the best thing about being a poet: publication, if possible, is the cherry on the cake.

Americymru: You have such an elegant and clean style; how did you develop it?

Peter: Thank you,. I think from reading and studying the great poets, especially the Welsh ones (R.S., Dylan T., Vernon Watkins and Merthyr-born Leslie Norris) and the Irish ones (Yeats and Heaney). I also believe a poem should last for more than one reading, that a reader should be able to enter a poem again and again and get some thing from it. So, again, I think if I have such a style it is connected with my commitment to craft.

Americymru: You paint such impressionistic word-pictures the way you hyper-focus on little details and hang the whole rhythm of the poem on them. Can you remember how old you were when you first encountered Monet, and what the process was for you to acquire that same technique he had in paints, for yourself with words?

Peter: I first encountered a painting by Monet in a library book (I joined Swansea Central Library when I was sixteen, mainly to take out poetry books) and the real thing on a school trip to the National Museum in Cardiff. Again, I think by carefully focusing on the little things, and by trying to choose the right words to convey, indeed replicate, a visual experience, you can present a larger picture. Robert Frost (I'm paraphrasing) said that one first had to be provincial to be universal. Also, in the Welsh-language they talk of a poet 'being a master of the exact word', the ability to choose the right and only word. It was a single word rainbow in the Welsh poet W.H. Davies's The Kingfisher that started me writing at the age of eleven. My teacher at Danygraig Boys' School, a superb teacher called Mr. James, read out the poem to the class. The opening line did it for me, 'It was the rainbow gave thee birth'. I could not believe that one single word could convey so much. It lit up in my mind and kick-started my love of language, my love of the wonder and magic of words. Seamus Heaney said, 'Words are doors themselves' and I love that possibility, that way of using them.

Americymru: In Psalm for the Twentieth Century you talk about what a sacrilege were committing on everything that is sacred. Is there something about that desecration you see, that makes the planet more blessed? Can environmental degradation somehow bestow blessings? One line really stood out Blessed is the child that the city drives wild. Do you think the cities bring out the native wildness in children, or do they shatter it? Do you think that the urban wilderness can give us mad and prophetic poets like Lailoken and Taliesin?

Peter: I think as one gets older, certainly for me, the world becomes more incredible, my part in it so insignificant; and, despite what we are doing to it, it is still full of wonders and I do try to see the loveliness amongst ugliness, and the ugliness amongst the loveliness. So I do see the blessings. I think in that line about the child I was thinking of both things: that the packed, impersonal city can impact dreadfully on a child's physical and mental being, and, of course, it can push them into using their innate survival equipment in order to survive.

Well, poets like Allen Ginsberg certainly faced many of the obvious problems of modern life in a very individual and impressive way. I think good poets, whether country-based or city-based, attempt as best as they can to respond to their immediate surroundings, and, yes, many are prophetic in their own way. As Wilfred Owen said, 'All a poet can do today is warn.

Americymru: How did you get the job working with special needs children, why did you take it, and did it change or enhance the way you see the world?

Peter: I was a freelance writer and I was doing a lot of work in schools, colleges etc. The opportunity came up to learn sign language on a college course (I used to ride a motorbike - my first one at the age of thirty something - from Swansea to Barry College, very scary and exciting). Then from that came the opportunity to do work with special needs children. I took it because I wanted to experience a world beyond my world, a world unknown to so many of us. It changed me in that it changed my perceptions of their world, their daily problems, their incredible bravery, and, at times, sheer tenacity. I'm sure, as with all ultimately rewarding and humbling experiences, it contributed to the way I see the world.

Americymru: The themes in The Lizard Catchers childhood and its traumas, the relationships of children to adults and vice versa, the loss and grief they inflict on each other, illness, death, mortality, urban ruin and the omnipresence of Nature even in the pit of industrialization make this a very emotional collection. If our humanity is the connecting thread, then do you really think its possible to re-arrange the beads on the rosary as it were, to get them all to make sense?

Peter: I certainly believe our humanity is the connecting thread. We all share these things, childhood, relationships, grief, the environmental demise of our world etc. We are all, ultimately, very fragile. One of the panels at the World Conference in Boulder, Colorado, was titled Death: Go Gentle into that Good Night, and one of my contributions was that if we all actually considered our own mortality more often then maybe we would be nicer to each other.

These things, though, don't occur in sequence, For example, some experience death very early in life, others very late in life. So it is often difficult to get them to make sense, in a logical, a rosary-bead way. Again, getting older places some of them in more of a context and a kind of acceptance that starts to make sense.

Americymru: Why do you think grief makes all the little things stand out so starkly? Why, or how, does it cause the hyper-focusing that comes out in your poems?

Peter: Because it is such a cliff-edge thing, a paring down to the real basics, the real essence of what we are: fragile and naked. You see this in the big tragedies, world wars, 9/11 etc. People suddenly focus on what really matters, the little things, and they focus more deeply. Many soldiers in the First and Second Worlds Wars suddenly started writing poems, men who had never written one in their lives. When we find ourselves in the the cold corner of grief, the cul-de-sac of shock, the little things seem to light up, be of more importance: a child's smile, a friend's hug etc. The playwright Dennis Potter said in one of his last interviews, before dying of cancer, that the blossoms in his garden seemed to be more bright than they ever were. In my poems, the little things are a kind of reassurance, a kind of confirmation of a small pattern in the bigger pattern of it all.

Americymru: Is childhood really that terrifying an experience for a majority of people, do you think? Im thinking of the Boy and the Lions Head and The Protest.

Peter: Probably not. But I do think children experience fears of what is not understood, such as the boy in the poem about the strange man and the Lion's Head. The Protest is one way of me looking at my not having my real parents as a child. It's not, of course, as emotional or as powerful as John Lennon's Mother.

Americymru: So, Seamus Heaney has been known to praise Eminems rap-poetry. Any thoughts on that, on rap as a poetic form born of urban ruin, and on where that might fit into a 1000 year old poetic tradition?

Peter: I can understand Seamus Heaney's praise for Eminem, certainly the musical quality. I have always liked Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues, probably the first 'rap song'. At the World Affair Conference I shared the stage several times with Lynne Johnson, a young female Hip Hop poet from New York, who was really great, engaging, musical and exciting. Rap seems the ideal response of young people to urban ruin and I'm sure the form will snuggle into its rightful place in poetic tradition.

Americymru: Wildness and Nature always seems to overcome our best efforts to cage, encrust, or otherwise tame it. Why do you think so many people, and the modern world as a whole, think they can best it? What is it about people, do you think, that they just have to keep trying at that?

Peter: Well, man has to dominate, not just nature but each other. Man strives to be godlike and getting nature/wildness under his thumb maybe confirms that side of his ego. Maybe there is an element of envy too, the freedom of an eagle in the sky, the sheer force of a river, the dignity of a mountain. Modern man has also lost his respectful relationship with nature. Pre-literate people understood and appreciated the preciousness of the world they inhabited, that they were mere brief visitors to the Earth, protectors of it for the generations to come.

Americymru: Do you think mankind can save ourselves from our own bloodthirsty destructive tendencies, and if so, how do you think were going to be able to do it?

Peter: I hope so but one feels so pessimistic for so much of the time. Materialism seems to gnaw away at our sanity, fool us into not wanting to see what damage we are actually doing. We have to try to do something for future generations, our grandchildren and their children and so on. To achieve changes, we have to consider this whole business of materialism, this 'fast food' approach to everything, this 'I want, so I must have' mentality. Maybe mankind will arrive at a cliff-edge that cannot be ignored, a natural or man-made catastrophe that will stop everything in its tracks: and then force a real change in things.

Americymru: Are we going to destroy ourselves do you think, or will Nature beat us to the punch?

Peter: A big question again. I hope no-one is mad enough to set off the first bonfire of vanity that will mean our mutual annhilation. Our daily destruction of the actual planet is probably a bigger threat and one we cannot ignore forever. Nature, of course, can happily get on without us.

Interview by Kathleen O'Brien Blair