Stamford Poet Laureate Rob Ellks discusses taking on role during coronavirus pandemic
When Rob Ellks took on the role of poet laureate for Stamford he had many bright plans for his year in the position.
However, as the coronavirus pandemic put a pause on events and forced the country into a second lockdown, Rob has had to adapt to the new way of life.
Many of the duties included recording poetry to be uploaded online for people to listen to and see performed.
Rob, a former teacher, said: “It’s been strangely different.
“Normally, as a poet laureate you’re asked to write specific poems around particular events, such as for the new mayor, the Battle of Britain, the allotment society’s big presentation, Remembrance Day.
“All those events obviously haven’t happened as they did in previous years, but I have written poems.”
Despite not being able to meet in groups at the moment, Rob says he has met “some wonderful poets”.
“The people at Stamford Arts Centre have done everything to keep poetry out there,” he added.
The pandemic has restricted Rob in some elements of the role that he had hoped to fulfil.
“I wanted to build greater links with schools,” he said.
“Also, and not to do with lockdown, a lot of people writing poetry recovering from various addictions.
“My aim was really to liaise with these groups.”
Rob, who was awarded the role of Stamford poet laureate in May, has had a passion for poetry for many years.
The 74-year-old said: “I have always loved poetry.
“I did quite a bit of street theatre at the end of the 1960s - I kind of kept the
interest.
“I started it again a few years ago. It was the people at the arts centre that said ‘come to these poetry evenings’.
“I started writing and performing - it was really good to get back into it.”
He added: “I just love the diversity. It is very interesting in times of stress and difficulty how often people turn to poetry.
“In lockdown a lot of people turned to it to record how they were feeling. Poetry is a very personal medium as there is no one way of doing it.”
During the pandemic, many creative people took inspiration from the world around them, but Rob decided to take a different approach and not write about the effects of the coronavirus crisis.
Rob, who lives in Morcott, said: “I deliberately avoided lockdown as I’d had enough of it.
“When you got up in the morning it was on the radio and television, I wanted a bit of something to take the mind away from it.
“What I will do, I think, is a Covid-19 poem but it will be looking back, as an alternative observation about it.”
During the past few months Rob has also been linking with other poets in the area and further afield via Zoom.
Against All Odds - Poem by Rob Ellks, Stamford Poet Laureate 2020-21 written for the Battle of Britain Commemoration
1940 at times the bleakest of our islands years
Seeing Britain gripped by invasion fears
Our army in France heavily defeated
On Dunkirk beaches sorely depleted
Now facing occupation by a nazi state
Forged from vengeance and supremacist hate
Unleashing a luftwaffe fury in our summer skies
Airfields- radar- factories the stategic prize.
Raid after raid both day and night
Against all odds
1940 at times the bleakest of our islands years
Seeing britain gripped by invasion fears
Our army in france heavily defeated
On dunkirk beaches sorely depleted
Now facing occupation by a nazi state
Forged from vengeance and supremacist hate
Unleashing a luftwaffe fury in our summer skies
Airfields- radar- factories the stategic prize.
Raid after raid both day and night
To cripple the RAF and our ability to fight
Spitfires and hurricanes scrambled to defend
And repel the aggressors that seemed without end.
For three draining months the battle of Britain raged
Seeing fighter squadrons constantly engaged
Fresh faced young pilots who’d barely left school
Determined there would be no invaders rule.
Outnumbered, scrambled several times a day in a dog fight war
Of merciless ferocity never witnessed before
Survival mantras in their heads instilled
Flying too long staright and level sees you killed
Relaxing your vigilance in combat skies
Is the time a fighter pilot dies
But as raids reached towering peaks
Survival expectancy a mere four weeks
September 15th was to be their historic day
German troops massed in France poised for the fray.
1,000 luftwaffe sorties in daylight hours
An onslaught to break our defensive powers
Waaf, plotters, controllers bunkered underground
A stiffling tension barely a sound
Anxiety framed in collective eyes
Awaiting feedback from embattled skies
To assess the engagements every ebb and flow
Locate with precision where squadrons should go,
A desperate day challenging every nerve.
All pilots airborne none in reserve
With dogged resistance repelled the assaults
Ferociously fighting tooth and nail
Invasion plans left in tatters, deemed to be of no avail
The second world war five more years raged on
But for this our freedom was a battle won
Covid means there can be no battle of Britain parade
Or service at Stamford’s memorial wall
But we still remember those who fought in summer skies
Determined our nation would not fall
Taking to the air in squadrons whose names
Now are legend, 605, 3030, 87, 54
So very many more.
We remember
Personnel from 14 nations, some refugees rallied to the cause
544 pilots died, 312 ground crew perished too.
As the battle of Britain ran its course
Including those from womens auxillary force,
A fact that srtikes a particularly poignant note
So many of those that died were still too young to vote.
You shone light on our darkest hours
With respect, with deepest thanks we remember
How against all odds you saw it through
The defenders, the protectors of our freedom
We call the few.o cripple the RAF and our ability to fight
Spitfires and hurricanes scrambled to defend
And repel the aggressors that seemed without end.
For three draining months the battle of Britain raged
Seeing fighter squadrons constantly engaged
Fresh faced young pilots who’d barely left school
Determined there would be no invaders rule.
Outnumbered, scrambled several times a day in a dog fight war
Of merciless ferocity never witnessed before
Survival mantras in their heads instilled
Flying too long staright and level sees you killed
Relaxing your vigilance in combat skies
Is the time a fighter pilot dies
But as raids reached towering peaks
Survival expectancy a mere four weeks
September 15th was to be their historic day
German troops massed in France poised for the fray.
1,000 luftwaffe sorties in daylight hours
An onslaught to break our defensive powers
Waaf, plotters, controllers bunkered underground
A stiffling tension barely a sound
Anxiety framed in collective eyes
Awaiting feedback from embattled skies
To assess the engagements every ebb and flow
Locate with precision where squadrons should go,
A desperate day challenging every nerve.
All pilots airborne none in reserve
With dogged resistance repelled the assaults
Ferociously fighting tooth and nail
Invasion plans left in tatters, deemed to be of no avail
The second world war five more years raged on
But for this our freedom was a battle won
Covid means there can be no battle of Britain parade
Or service at Stamford’s memorial wall
But we still remember those who fought in summer skies
Determined our nation would not fall
Taking to the air in squadrons whose names
Now are legend, 605, 3030, 87, 54
So very many more.
We remember
Personnel from 14 nations, some refugees rallied to the cause
544 pilots died, 312 ground crew perished too.
As the battle of Britain ran its course
Including those from womens auxillary force,
A fact that srtikes a particularly poignant note
So many of those that died were still too young to vote.
You shone light on our darkest hours
With respect, with deepest thanks we remember
How against all odds you saw it through
The defenders, the protectors of our freedom
We call the few.
A Face - Poem by Rob Ellks written for Stamford Holocaust Memorial Service January 2020
A Face, A face so young
Bruised and cut by a kappa’s brutal stick
A Face, a face so young, crudely hacked from hair
Intensifying a pleading help me stare
In bewildered, desperate eyes
Drowning in seas of unanswered whys
Each one a memory
Memories drenching her in anguished pain
Stalking every single waking day
Replaying in her mind, again and again
The swooping jackboots
Splintering every star daubed door
The old, the sick, those unwanted left butchered on the floor
Being crammed as cattle and set for slaughter on that foul and fetid transport train
A new life, a new life in the East the Gestapo said
But brought instead to stand before that vile insidious lie
ARBEIT MACHT FREI
Then made to form those Auschwitz lines
Lines for death and lines for life
A line for Mengele’s exploring knife
Now trapped in a sewer of imposed degradation
Awash with tears of desperation
Tears that she could only wipe on dehumanising death camp stripe
Stripped of status, hope and rights
And now, without an ounce of pity
A kappa stakes a painful claim to that last possession
Her given name 26947
Henceforth her branded anonymity
A girl, a girl still young enough to be a child
Left wondering time after sobbing time
Why her birth was such a crime?
A girl, a girl still young enough to be a child
Not knowing in that so called shower, she will die
And where she stands another broken soul
Will ask that self-same question, why?
I can do nothing about your cruel death
But this much I promise
Whilst ever I draw breath
You will not be a number
Czeslawa Kwoka
I will always use your name
Czeslawa Kwoka
You will not be a number
I will always use your name