Language

Language I have an embarrassing little secret. I was, not as far as I know,a teenage werewolf, but, even worse, a teenage poet. Images of blood, death and unrequited love - none of which I knew the least thing about - spilled from my fountain pen , starkly Gothic in Stephens best purple ink. I'd discovered Philip Larkin, Roger McGough and the Beat Poets, so McGough's Merseyside mixed hideously with Greg Corso's Chicago to produce …

…today's kids harbour future Janet Frames and James Baxters among their number, no matter how they mangle their text-messages and static images today. And my big girl - she of the scarlet-embroidered love poems - uses her cellphone too. Communication through language. I don't think it's really going anywhere in a hurry. As long as there's a teenage girl or two in love somewhere there'll be poetry. And good conversation. And high drama. And stuff..