Age before Ink?

Fig 1. Silly boy...

In  the last few issues of The Rialto, there has been a great deal of discussion about poetry written by the young. In this case under 35, well you can imagine my relief being 32 at time of printing. Now I'm 33, with not so long to go before my 36th birthday grabs me by the ankles and pulls me into a pit of decrepitude. According to Nathan Hamilton, lovely man, us 30-35s are still young because our 'frontal cortex' has 'not finished developing.' Therefore, 'good news: at 35, you are still a young poet.' Well that made me feel like cracking open a bottle of cider and hanging out at the shopping precinct in a Nirvana T-Shirt. But then, oh misery, someone wrote a letter saying that 30-35 was 'too old,' apparently many of us have a 'des res, double garage and two children by then.' Well I have twins and I'm fond of where I live so that's more sand grains through the hourglass then. Blimey. Then I read a letter by D.A. Prince, a local poet, a very gifted local poet who I've read and have listened to at various readings, saying the debate is 'irrelevant.' You know I think it's partly Chatterton's fault. There's this obsession with youth and writing, when perhaps there needn't be. I suppose it's all those smouldering portraits of young romantics that support this myth. But if Nathan Hamilton still thinks I'm young, then great. I'm off for a joy ride in my hoody, thanks Nathan, on behalf of many confused early 30 somethings.
                 Perhaps the most positive reason for getting excited about young writers is one of promise. Obviously if someone is a gifted young writer, than surely it means that they can only continue to progress and write wonderfully as they age, (you know, even at 38, 39 for instance*). At worst, I hate it when publishers think they can capitalise on a sexy photo of some young thing. Perhaps this happens a little more in prose? I'd like to think writing is writing and not the X factor. There are many gifted older writers about who are in their 70s, 80s and beyond. Les Murray, Roy Fisher, Ruth Stone, Gerard Benson, Diana Athill and others I could mention. Thomas Chatterton was a silly boy.

(* this is called IRONY.)

Time to Thaw Out

It's been a while since I blogged. There are many reasons for this, such as moving house and getting flu. When I say flu, I mean real flu, the one that pulls out a cricket bat. Knocked me right over and stayed in bed for a week, beginning to see daylight again. Actually the view is fairly snowy here.

So, due to moving have been living in a world of decorating, practical stuff and anaglyptic wallpaper. Now and then have been dipping into the real world of poetry. Went to quite a few events, two of which were in Beeston at the Flying Goose Cafe. Back in November it was Roy Fisher and a couple of weeks ago it was Alexander Hutchinson who entertained us with verse and song. Both events were very memorable and still make me rosy. I also managed to see Alice Oswald in Leicester and she was wonderful, I've been a fan of her work for quite a while so it was a real treat. There is nothing 'superfluous' about her, every word is there because it should be. David Morley at the Nine Arches Shindig in November was great too, as well as Matt Meritt's launch of Hydrodaktulopsychicharmonica which I've just spelt without checking. The sad thing was missing out on Word! a couple of times, due to this moving malarkey, which always gives me a rosy glow.

Not much of a glow in the snow though, twins not mad keen on sub zero temperatures and car refusing to budge at times. 'Look at the robin on the branches' I said to the girls in Beacon Hill and they just looked at me with that 'it's-freezing-let's-go-home-and-have-some-cake' glare which said so much. I love the snow but moving house over the ice has been a challenge I could have lived without. Anyhow, I digress, I'm waiting for the thaw. I'm waiting for my health to be tip-top again and renew some writing life. Next month, next year that is sees the launch of 'Hearing Voices' of which I edited the first issue.