Programme for 2014

CB1 Poetry continues at The Boathouse but moving to the fourth Thursday of the month, and we have a fantastic programme lined up for 2014:

Thursday 23rd January 2014 -- Emma Danes, Rebecca Watts and Adam Crothers plus open mic floor spots -- The Boathouse, 8.15pm, £5/£4

Thursday 27th February 2014 -- Sarah Howe and Fran Lock plus open mic floor spots -- The Boathouse, 8pm, £5/£4

Thursday 27th March 2014 -- Ann Drysdale and Caroline Gilfillan plus open mic floor spots -- The Boathouse, 8pm, £5/£4

Thursday 24th April 2014 -- Caroline Bird, Julith Jedamus and Tara Bergin plus open mic floor spots -- The Boathouse, 8pm, £5/£4

Thursday 22nd May 2014 -- Emily Berry plus open mic floor spots -- The Boathouse, 8pm, £5/£4

Thursday 23rd January - Emma Danes, Rebecca Watts and Adam Crothers

CB1 Poetry is at The Boathouse again on Thursday 23rd January starting at 8.15pm (we'll be in the main bar area of the pub till about 8.05pm). We have a cracking good reading to start 2014 with Emma Danes, Rebecca Watts and Adam Crothers. These three new, up and coming poets will we are sure more and reward you for turning out on a cold January night. There will be a short open mike as usual.

Emma Danes’ poems have won the Hamish Canham Prize and the Poetry Society Stanza Poetry Competition. She was a Showcase Poet in Magma 56 (2013) and was included in The Best British Poetry 2011 (Salt ed by Roddy Lumsden). Dress of Shadows (Smith/Doorstop) was a winner in the 2012 Poetry Business Book & Pamphlet Competition. She has given readings at the Wordsworth Trust and in Sheffield at the Off the Shelf Festival of Words with Simon Armitage and the other Poetry Business Competition winners. She has worked as a writer, editor and teacher, and currently works freelance in publishing. She lived in London before moving to the Fens ten years ago, where she lives with her family in Ely.

'Each poem reads as a worked, crafted and above all measured unit, conscious of the space it occupies on the blank page and the density of its language, tempting the reader to a focal length far beyond its surface' Simon Armitage

Originally from Suffolk, Rebecca Watts currently lives in Cambridge where she works in a library and as a freelance editor. Her poems have been published in PN Review, The North, Mslexia, The Journal of Modern Wisdom, Cycle Lifestyle.

Adam Crothers was born in Belfast in 1984. He wrote his doctoral dissertation at Girton College on rhyme in contemporary poetry, and now works in St. John’s College library. A winner of the Quiller-Couch and Brewer Hall prizes, his poems and criticism have appeared in The Literateur, The Mays, Oxford Poetry, The Stinging Fly and Wordlegs as well as in PN Review, for which he currently writes a regular feature called Vestiges.

Thursday 23rd January, The Boathouse, Open Mic floor spots, books for sale. Readings 8.15pm. Tickets on the door only, £5/£4.


They see through my boy, land like peculiar
fish on their monitor the soft dark pad
of blood, the fracture’s delicate fin.

Waiting is an ocean at night. I find him
in its depths, as below an x-ray moon:
gutted, truthful, all his bones turned silver.

Emma Danes


Nobody asked or answered questions out there.
Ten miles from the nearest anywhere
the landscape was a disbanded library.

Only the moles remained
strung on a barbed wire fence,
a dozen antiquated books forced open.

It must’ve been the north-east wind
or a bandit crow starved of familiar company
that picked them over so -

not a scrap hanging on
inside the stretched, taupe skins,
their spines disintegrating.

They looked sad.
Read in me, they wanted to declare,
how it all ends.

But the threads which once
had a hold on their soft hearts
dangled, loose and crisp.

And their kin
can’t read anything
but earth.

Rebecca Watts


If I could get these six strings working they still wouldn’t work on you.
I’m entitled to exit at any point and everybody’s glad when I do.

I have never listened to ‘Wild Thing’ and felt sorry for myself.
Thin cuts of wild thing fall off the freezer shelf.

Now we’re going to do a cheer starting way back at the back
of the room and moving to the front in an approximation of Barack

Obama’s attack on all that his great nation holds dear. I hit
the road, Jack. I hit several deer. I listen to the hits. A bit

later I remember to steer. A piece of cake. A pissy piste.
Listen to my scales, Kaki: Louis MacNeice’s little fish,

little fishes, circling the first hurdle, the second rate.
The happy finish: each left fin wings its way to the inevitable right,

the inalienable right bestowed upon those who ask more than once for applause,
entitling everybody to exit through the big black backstage doors.

Adam Crothers (poem first appeared in PN Review)