Ellie Jenkins on ‘Scallops Don’t Abandon their Shells’

Ellie Jenkins is a poet from Bristol whose poetry straddles both page and stage. She is a UniSlam finalist, has been highly commended by Verve Poetry Press and is soon to appear in Anthropocene.

Tell us about your introduction to poetry.

I’d say I was officially introduced to poetry when I was fifteen and studying an anthology at school. Back then, I felt poetry didn’t belong to me. It belonged to a different class; a different way of life unlike my own. It wasn’t until I found more accessible, contemporary poets and spoken word that I really began to feel its pull. Then I went back to the classics.

Writing was a whole other ball game. I have a distinct memory from when I was really young, maybe seven or eight, of sitting in front of the computer and writing extra pages after I’d finished the book ‘Ursula Bear’ by Sheila Lavelle. I made my Mum read it and thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. I wish I could find those lost archives, they’d definitely provide a laugh now. Poetry came a lot later when I had too many emotions and no way to express them. And so, here we are!

What is a core theme of ‘Scallops Don’t Abandon their Shells’, and what called you to write about it?

Grief is a major theme in this poem, as it is in many of the poems I write. I lost my mother as a young teen, in part due to medical negligence. There were injustices that I couldn’t stop thinking about and had to get down, and thus ‘Scallops...’ was born. I wanted to channel that grief somewhere and explore healthcare systems alongside something natural, like the splitting of a scallop shell.

Tell us about the experience of writing this poem.

It was that weird limbo that happens in the days that follow Christmas when you just want to crawl out of your own body. I was about to turn twenty one, so I took myself to an AirBnB in Torquay, a seaside town down south. It was a kind of desire to convalesce by the coast like a woman in the early 1900s. I thought the ocean would quell some of those more intense uproot-your-life feelings, but the beach is different in the winter.

Christmas, New Year and birthdays are particularly intense times if you’ve experienced a bereavement, so one morning I woke up early and walked down to Meadfoot Beach in the pouring rain. There were a lot of scallop shells amongst the shingle, halves that had been split from the whole. Somewhere, there was a scallop without any protection from the sea at all. I resonated with that.

I workshopped the poem many times with other writers. I was playing with language and form, with emotions and reality, and continued to play until ‘Scallops...’ found its footing. It’s different and perhaps slightly farfetched to draw comparisons between scallops and personal grief, but it was experimental.

Where do you find inspiration?

I like to keep myself open to all sorts of inspiration. Everyday life provides so much content for poems in the emotional and political sense. One week it could be something in the news, the next it could be a piece of fruit. Almost like a camera lens zooming in and out of focus. Music, too. Musicians like The Cranberries, Stevie Nicks, Cass Elliot, Alanis Morrisette, Mitski, Fiona Apple... and so on. Strong, female voices that have important things to stay. You’ll always find me playing something in the background whilst I write.

I also love reading essays and theories by dramatists. I think there’s a lot we, as writers, can glean from other art perspectives to enhance our craft. Take Peter Brook’s ‘The Empty Space’ for example, a written account of eight lectures on types of theatre. His critical analysis of the role of the audience and the need for constant rejuvenation of craft is universally applicable.

You have an idea for a poem. What happens next?

I’m often out gallivanting when I have an idea, so it goes straight into the notes app on my phone. It’s a process of free writing until I get into the groove from there, which is often a mix of writing the same stanza over again, writing on a page turned upside down or reading my work aloud until the words feel familiar. Writing, for me, is like throwing clay: language is easier to work with when it’s at room temperature.

My process is based on playfulness and deeply inspired by the theories of Jacques Lecoq. His book, ‘The Moving Body’, is a great food-for-thought read focusing on nurturing creativity through play, togetherness and openness. In that sense, my writing methods come from an amalgamation of different art forms.

Where do you find community in poetry?

I’m from Bristol, UK, where the poetry scene is quite big with a mix of both page and stage poets. Poetry is an art form that brings people together, be it at an open mic or at an event. I’ve found a great community of poets through opportunities such as UniSlam and Red Sky Sessions, and through a Creative Writing degree at Bath Spa University. I owe a lot of my sense of belonging to the slam team I was on at university. Before that, I didn’t really know where to begin with myself. A poet and dear friend of mine, Kathryn O’Driscoll (UK Slam Champion 2021, @kathrynodriscoll), plays a big part in my sense of community, too. She has made me feel like I belong exactly where I am, and we workshop poems and perform alongside one another often. So I owe a lot to Kate. She is a real diamond in the poetry scene!

Is there a poem you read over and over again?

So many it’s hard to choose. Anything from Lover’s Gift and Crossing by Rabindranath Tagore. Nosedive by Buddy Wakefield uses whitespace beautifully and takes my breath away every time. And, of course, Grief is a Thing with Feathers by Max Porter. Whenever I need to feel understood, that is where I go.

Do you have a favourite poet?

In short, the answer is no. I have poets whose events I will always go to (Kathryn O’Driscoll, Carrie Etter, Vanessa Kisuule, Hollie McNish) and poets I will buy every book from, but no single poet comes to mind as a favourite. Poetry is transformative, and thus I am always trying to absorb as much of it as I can. My bookshelves are bursting, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

What advice would you give to someone new to poetry?

Write what is most authentic. Write about the things that set your belly on fire and make you feel so intensely your eyes begin to water. Relish in your creative process and take your time, there is no rush. Read as much poetry as you can, old and new, poetry you love and poetry you hate. Send work to your poet friends and to your non-poet friends. Do not jump the gun. Listen to your favourite songs ten times over. Be a yes-man to opportunity. Most importantly, be playful in your practice.

Why do you think poetry is important?

Poetry turns experiences and emotions from abstract to concrete and allows us to attach meaning and document those experiences. It’s a way to start revolutions, to connect with one another and to wake dormant perspectives. It validates, self-soothes, discusses, explores, plays and gives voice to both the reader and the writer. Poets create intense observations in few words, that’s why it’s such a special form of writing.

Where can people find you and your work?

You can find me on Twitter and Instagram @thepoetryhag. I also have a link tree where you can access some more of my work.

You can read Ellie’s poem here.