E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

My 6th full poetry collection - and debut British collection (after living here since 2003) - is being launched at the legendary Calder Bookshop, on The Cut, in London, at 7 pm, Tuesday, September 15th (three weeks from today). The publisher is that intrepid small press, now in its tenth year, tall-lighthouse, run by the great Les Robinson . The title is Mainstream Love Hotel . You are very welcome to attend the launch - admission and wine free.

I'll be reading on September 5th as part of the celebrations in London for the publication of the 50th issue of Tears in the Fence , one of the indispensable, and more internationally-aware, little magazines of poetry and criticism from the UK. The latest issue features two poems by me, and poems by, among others: Melanie Challenger, John Kinsella, John Welch, Luke Kennard, Isobel Dixon, Jeremy Reed, John James - so you can see its an inclusive and intriguing spectrum. There are also some good reviews and articles by Jennifer K. Dick, Jeremy Hilton, John Stiles, Frances Spurrier , and Dfiza Benson (to name a few). It's a strong issue, and an impressive line-up of talents. Hats off to the editor, David Caddy , and associate editors, Sarah Hopkins , and Tom Chivers .

Sad news. One of the leading New Zealand poets and writers, Alistair Te Ariki Campbell , has died.

In some quarters, Arctic Monkeys are a sort of second coming of The Beatles , The Kinks , Joy Division and The Smiths combined - an authentically-British, regional, literate, and above all first-class band. Gordon Brown and Simon Armitage (and a handful of models) are among their best-known fans. Andrew Duncan , in his latest book, raises the question, how is that pop lyrics are popular, when poetry, which is often like pop lyrics, isn't? The answer, which he does not offer, might be: music. As poets are tired of hearing themselves say, poems are lyrics with the music in-built - poets are one-man or one-woman bands. Armitage is among those careful to delineate the subtle knife that divides a song by Morrissey or Alex Turner from a poem by Geoffrey Hill or Carol Ann Duffy . Duncan, when trying to ascertain the points of difference between "mainstream" and "avant-garde" poems (his terms), doesn't make enough of the ear/eye distinctions between tr...

Sad news. My friend Dr. Richard Berkowitz , beloved partner of Letty Dahme , has died, yesterday, in America. I met Richard on Hydra, Greece, an island we all loved. He was a witty, compassionate, deeply thoughtful, rational, and fine person. He was the light of Letty's life, and together with her - though he was already well into his 70s - he travelled the world, sailed, and otherwise acted like a person half his age. His dancing at my wedding, back in 2003, was spry and impressive and full of vim. I liked him immensely. I loved him. He'd been a talented doctor before retiring. He retained dignity and concern from that career. In Letty, he found a brilliant and literate interlocutor, and friend, and they sparked off each other, adding years of renewal and love and hope. Letty and Richard inspired all who knew them. They made one know that life and love are far less limited than some might claim. They opened doors to people, made unexpected links, and experienced ...

Sad news, the poet Brian Jones died this summer. Here is his Guardian obituary , published today.

Hammersmith, June The sadness of England. The coming storm. The exodus from Tesco. The death by flu. The disused factory. The walk under the rail bridge. The can of lager in the hand. The silence of certain streets. The man smoking by the nursery. The internet in the video store. The broken espresso machine. The 11.30 Mass. The sunbathers on the Green. The uneven footing. The broken pavement. The methadone clinic. The shelves outside the shop. The closed inquiry. The rain at five to six. The word path. The hot and cold. The end of the class. The poets of promise. The ground floor flat. The geraniums in the box. The sense of an ending. The slow growth for another year. The fear of the impending. The autumn after the summer. The unsigned contract. The request for information. The loss of nerve. The godfather agreement. The leukaemia email. The post on the floor. The revolutions elsewhere. The rubber band left untouched. The locks on the door. The friends over after dinner. The bra being ...