Anne Stevenson - poet and playwright.

I am very pleased with this photograph of the poet Anne Stevenson I took at the Chester Literature Festival on Monday night.


Anne Stevenson is an endearing person, not at all precious, and I think that she has a mischievous streak. I say this because in the second half of the evening she read out 'the Myth of Medea' (from her last book, STONE MILK) with my friend Alan Wall, and she read lines like 'Scum! What assistance can a nerd like you give me?' with obvious relish. The subtitle of the play is 'An Entertainment' which it certainly is!


Anyway, her poetry entertained me so much (there were serious thoughtful sorts too) that I bought her complete works - an impressively large book (over 400 pages) - and I am going to have a good time dipping into this over the next few months... and years.

On the subject of time, I shall end with the first few lines from her poem 'Jet Lag'

Most of the time my age fits me exactly;
The clock on my wrist keeps time
with the clock inside me;
The seconds pile minutely into days,
Thickening into wrinkles of Sundays and Mondays...