I’m three hundred miles away in what was once the Mill Masters house. I’m on the edge of a valley in Heptonstall. Mist obscures the town below and above within clearest sky a crescent moon. . Sylvia Plath’s grave is just beyond the ruins of an old church only ten minutes away. Her shadow stretches over this house and sleeps inside. Read more [...]

There is something of loss in exile and something exiled in loss. Read more [...]

Out of the blue this morning I received a message. It is both an apology and a request I amend or omit a reference to Bloodaxe on my website. Read more [...]

On the first anniversary of his passing away the poem I chose was Adrian Mitchells To Whom it May Concern Read more [...]

Then upon the stage the pianist enters to applause tilts his head gently forward and sits. Sniff. As if gently pushing a rowing boat out upon a lake he begins, his fingers like the feet of a ballet dancer skip across the keys. Achoo! Read more [...]

Here’s the place to say I am doing no poetry readings until October 2010. I’ll be doing lots of other things but no poetry readings. This means turning down thousands and thousands and thousands of pounds worth of work. Is this a good idea or a bad idea? What are the benefits or pitfalls of of the decision? Read more [...]

As I arrived two people were watching: Ian McEwan the husband shoulder to shoulder with Annalena McAfee the wife and both in total concentration upon my film . It would be rude to disturb them wouldn’t it? I decided to wait. While waiting it dawned What if they hate it and then turn around and I’m stood here. Read more [...]

In the middle of the talk I found my emotions caught me and my voice wobbled – this happens occasionally. Professionalism and emotion do not have to be opposites. Read more [...]