Michael Symmons Roberts
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With Linlithgow Book Festival over for another year, my thoughts are turning to the next reading. I’m delighted and honoured to be reading at St Mungo’s Mirrorball on Thursday 21 November alongside the wonderful Michael Symmons Roberts, whose Drysalter deservedly won the Forward prize this year, and Alexandra Oliver. Readers of this blog will probably
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This week, I’m busy preparing for a poetry retreat I’m leading at Nether Springs, the mother house of the Northumbria Community, this weekend coming (12 to 14 April). I’m excited about this because it’s the first extended opportunity I’ve had to put together poetry and spirituality. My previous visits to Nether Springs — always as
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Blackwell’s on Thursday was a good night. A really varied bunch of perfomers — poetry, fiction, non-fiction and folk music — in a great venue, despite the traffic noise. It was a good audience, too. Heartening to see a mix of kent faces and new. Good on the bookshop for putting on such a good
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Family circumstances mean I’m almost absent from Edinburgh this festival season, but I’ll be reading at Blackwell’s Writers at the Fringe on Thurs 20th. Rob A Mackenzie is reading there tomorrow night. There are, of course, numerous literary events going on in Edinburgh this month. I hope that I might manage to hear one of
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It’s a good season for poetry on Radio 3. The Essay last week was deeply under the influence: five contemporary poets each on a poet who influenced them. I’d recommend in particular Michael Symmons Roberts on David Jones; WN Herbert on Edwin Morgan (don’t ask me what the picture of Eilean Donan castle is about!);
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I love the work of Michael Symmons Roberts. He’s one of the finest writers in Britain at the moment and quite possibly the best religious poet we have. This year, he has published two books: his second novel, Breath, and his fifth collection of poems, The Half-Healed. Both fine books, of which I intend to
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Interesting short post about Christianity and poetry on Todd Swift’s blog Eyewear. Swift says: Christian poetry, in Britain, has become nearly as invisible as God – partially due, no doubt, to the fear on the part of would-be practitioners of such verse, that such discourse would lead away from the irony, or ambiguity, expected (or
Amy Jo Philip 