I know that many poets suffer under heavy-handed, status-driven editors. I’m fortunate that my publishers, the likes of Longbarrow and Shearsman, are delicate, nimble visionaries seeking value. (That’s not to say that the heavy-handed publishers always manage to flatten their poets!)

Below, I’ve lifted just a few lines from my Longbarrow blog, which connect here:

I enjoy encouraging others to write poetry, but it is tainted for me; by knowing that should I ever help to get someone to become a poet they will very likely end up entering any of various literati-combat zones where their creative rights are far down the agenda.

It is a shame to say that, as a mentor of poets, it is my responsibility to help the poet shed (or at least knowingly engage with) any delusions inflicted upon them by the various cultural machines that construct and project competing notions of what poetry ‘should’ or ‘should not’ be. (I have no problems with debated notions of ‘could-bes’.)

And of course, status is easier to measure – especially so if you are an academic – defining real value is more difficult. But I’m sure we would all agree that sometimes difficulty denotes virtue. It depends on the particular difficulty and the particular poem, etc. It would be a shame if there were bad feeling in a debate about the various kinds of difficulty.

I enjoy ‘difficult’ poetry but think that a lot of nonsense is talked about some versions of it. Were poetry a science there would perhaps be a bit less of that nonsense being produced from universities, but I’m sure those people have to be seen to be doing something.

Going to the sources, in this case books of poems, I can happily say that I enjoyed reading Keston Sutherland’s The Stats on Infinity nearly as much as Peter Riley’s Excavations. (In being honest about my preferences I’m splitting a hair, they are both things that I will read again in the future with pleasure.) I experienced – and I’m about to give a totally subjective opinion here – my reading of both books in similar ways. (And I don’t live that far from Brighton, I might even have been in that sweaty audience.)

Having said that, I don’t think a high regard for the feelings (and status?) of J. H. Prynne explains the response above. Perhaps I am mistaken, but it does make him seem a bit like a sticking plaster that is there to hide some other wound. Words like proportion and perspective sprang to mind. If I offend a priest should I be lectured about how I have slighted the image of God? I’d think such a priest had status anxieties. “Babylon is burning . . . ” I might remark, quoting a pop song and revealing my age.

I received an Eric Gregory Award in 1997. For a few years this opened doors for me, including one prestigious residency. I can quite honestly say it took me much longer to adjust to the culture this gave me entry into – a culture I was ill equipped to deal with, and eager to exit.

After a brief period of feeling validated – even inflated – doubt and cynicism set in as I witnessed the unattractive aspects of poetry careerism – be they those of the so-called Gregory Trail, or those of poets sheltering comfortably in various validating, but insulated institutions.

I was happy to admit I didn’t have the stomach (or even the talent) for it; but perhaps more to the point, I felt like it was steering my poetry away from values and (modest?) concerns that were real and necessary to me.

Poetry should be tested out there in the world. I share Brian’s concern that many thoughtful, sensitive people are exiting poetry events with a reluctance to return. They are perfectly equipped to think their way into an appreciation of much that is written – but they simply find the career/institutional machinery and surrounding chatter meaningless or alienating.

Real value is hard to talk about without seeming to be contentious. I hesitate before even trying. But one important challenge within our poetry culture has got to be that of discriminating between status and real value. I feel there is much status awarded, but less real value earned or achieved.

I’d eagerly read any review, or participate in any discussion, that sharpened my wits to meet this challenge.