On two Monday evenings in January, the Westminster School chapel was veiled in calmness, as minds mused and whirred in quiet contemplation.

Sat at tables piled high with paper and pens were pupils from Westminster and its two closest partner schools, Harris Westminster Sixth Form, and The Grey Coat Hospital. All had attended Thalassa Poetry to hear expert voices, explore published works, and develop versecraft.

Meaning ‘sea’ in Greek, ‘Thalassa’ symbolised the purpose of the workshops: an unknown voyage, in a poetic ship being steered by Harris Westminster’s Head of English, Dr Freddie Baveystock, and National Poetry Competition winner, Susannah Hart.

Focusing on humanity’s relationship with climate and nature in works by Elizabeth Bishop and Karen Solie, Dr Baveystock asked pupils to dissect the works verse-by-verse, finding relatable meaning.

Susannah Hart read her own work, including Stepfather: Three Likenesses, a metaphor for dementia and the pain of witnessing a loved one disappear. Pupils were encouraged to think about a person they hold in high regard and to write with each line beginning ‘He is’, ‘She is’, ‘You are’ or ‘They are’, using metaphors to express that individual.

Between the talks, the readings and the discussions, ideas were imagined and realised in the form of new poetry.

Westminster’s Director of Widening Access, Solly Hardwick, said: “As English teachers, we believe passionately in the power of poetic communication and its ability to express the difficult depths of human feeling. That means it’s a wonderful way to bring people from our three schools together, as the exploration of poetry is a hugely unifying experience; you share thoughts and emotions that create connection and build relationships.”

A poem by Emri
(Harris Westminster Sixth Form)

Prince,
You remind me of those bells outside
My grandmother’s house. For some
Reason the birds like the bells.
I do too.
Sometimes the wire goes out of tune
So you have to tune it. My grandmother
Will take me to the piano, the note rings through the wood.
The wood is your eyes.
To tune you must listen. The note speaks for you.

 

A poem by Sebi
(Westminster School)

He is a fizzing firework, or is it firecracker?
Maybe the latter bunched around the former,
And he makes light of his path as does the rocket ship,
And he leaves behind thick smoke,
A column of smoke bombs tripped,
And through foggy white you might see him far off,
You know he is far for his ember tail burns dimmer.
Now, he is dark, electric, green droplets from a sprinkler,
And behind green follow purple and blue,
Bleached a little, still true.

But if, transfixed, holding on too long,
you fall victim to his cataclysmic colour:
Head.
Smithereens.