The book has had a fall, and now we are sitting in a waiting room, waiting to be seen. This … More
Category: Being a Poet
Leaving the house
We have left the house. At first our walking is clumsy, comical, even. The book is three yards ahead of … More
Lifesaving Poems: Craig Raine’s ‘Heaven on Earth’
Heaven on Earth Now that it is night, you fetch the wash from outer space, from the frozen … More
Why do it?
because of the words and because of the books because of the woman in the anorak at the swimming baths … More
Going for coffee
The book and I are passing each other messages through a third party. Neither of us bothers with the niceties … More
Visiting hours
I am visiting the book. We have already been through a lot together, including the part where I killed it and … More
On writing and illness
Reading Arthur W. Frank’s astonishing At the Will of the Body recently has given me pause to reflect on the relationship … More
Murdering my darling
I have murdered my darling. Like a bird of a certain blue vintage, it is ex, dead, kaput, finished. The … More
Influences: my first reader
My first reader was a man called Fergus. A friend of a flatmate at university, I never got to … More
Cut through
Cut through to what happens when you listen. Cut through to making it happen, listening for it, failing, then doing … More
New Year letter
Dear Ant Looking forward to 2015 it’s tempting to think it will never reach the heights of 2014. Big mistake. Huge. … More
I quit
I am at a thing. A historic thing. (An historic thing? I will never know). Poets are there. Household names. … More
Influences: Peter Bourke
In 1991 we moved to a house in Brixton, south London. Of all our welcomes, that of our neighbour, the … More
Not exactly fearless
Someone who knows me very well knocked me sideways with a comment the other day. Remarking on this blog, … More
The man kept piling things on
I am driving to a thing. Not a famous thing, an out of the way thing. A classroom, perhaps. … More
Thingless
I am not at a thing. The things have dried up (or I have stopped going). I am thingless. I … More
The poem always wins
You think it will be about your childhood. It turns out to be about an onion. Or a night in … More
It has gone
For now, at least, it has gone. The notebooks with promising phrases, the backs of envelopes with doodles: they are … More