Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

‘Are you being served? can only evoke the eponymous department store sit-corn modelled, so the story goes, on Simpsons of Piccadilly. But how the old place has changed following its makeover as Waterstones’ flagship and venue, on National Poetry Day’s eve, of this year’s Forward Prize awards. Here, at last, is a temple befitting such a ritual: a million books in silent order religiously tended by some three hundred, count ‘em, high priests and acolytes. The ceremony took place in the ingeniously named Simpson room facilitated by a phalanx of black clad ushers and minders. In such company even Simon Armitage, chairman of this year’s judging panel, struggled to retain his satanic aura.

It is an odd fact that, whilst the current British poetry community is, by and large, characterised by a certain mutual supportiveness sometimes bordering on the downright chummy, another key feature is, wait for it, prizes. These are civil war battles where poet is pitted against poet, editor against editor, and sister against brother. Nor are the awards mere gongs to be picked up for one swank round then stuck away forever; at £5000 a shot, these are commendations devoutly to be wished. It remained, therefore, to be seen how this years crop of damned Yankees would fare against a gritty bunch of die-hard Johnny Rebs.

The first of the three prizes on offer was that for the best individual poem of the year. Publishers submit these themselves. Sadly none of Magma’s nominations made the shortlist. The winner was Robert Minhinnick for Twenty-Five Laments for Iraq (PN Review). Unfortunately the winning poem, unlike a sample from the other winners, was not read by the poet as he was unable to attend.

The bookies’ favourite for the best collection prize was Paul Muldoon for Hay (Faber): that the much belaurelled Muldoon is the outstanding poet of his generation - which includes Jo Shapcott and Carol Ann Duffy who was also shortlisted for The World’s Wife (Picador) - is widely acknowledged. Once again, however, the judges confounded the form book, the prize going to Shapcott (a shriek from the back!) for My Life Asleep (OUP). Shapcott’s poetry is accomplished and crafted. Her reworking of Rilke’s Rose poems, for example, has provoked much discussion of the nature of translation and ‘version’. One vibe round about, though, was that OUP’s disgraceful decision to close its poetry list, of which Shapcott was a victim, could have influenced the panel’s decision. This suggestion is, however, firmly denied by sources close to the judges. Happily, no thanks to OUP, the fallout may have worked in Shapcott’s favour, as she is now with Faber with a ‘Selected’ forthcoming from them.

What is however, in some senses, the most important prize is that for best first collection. The winning of this prize has, in recent years, been a key step up from ‘new voice’ to established star, as evidenced by the likes of Don Paterson, Paul Farley and Kate Clanchy (herself shortlisted in the best collection section this year for Samarkand (Picador) reviewed in Magma 15). The unexpected winner, though - the people’s favourite being Amanda Dalton’s How to Disappear (Bloodaxe) - was Nick Drake for The Man In the White Suit (Bloodaxe). Drake’s collection is a fine piece of work, well judged and, in places, genuinely moving.

By definition, however, there must also be losers. It is here that the awarding of prizes for artistic work becomes an issue, especially when, as stated, these can have a significant effect on a writer’s career. In this case, one loser that stood out was Matthew Caley’s Thirst (Slow Dancer), reviewed in Magma 15. Whatever its shortcomings, it is a challenging work of robust artistic intent. Drake himself, for example, had the grace and generosity to say that he expected Caley to win. On the principle, therefore, that the aftermath of every civil war battle should have its Gettysburg address, the question must arise as to whether prizes such as these add to the life of poetry or are divisive; whether it is poetry or Mammon, perhaps, that is being served.