To honour this month’s love-filled celebrations, we read Pablo Neruda’s yearnful poem Here I Love You at our Tuesday night gathering.

We’re going to run an online Dark Angels course that explores connections between visual and verbal art. It’s a big field, and the connections are many, not least because each individual will make unique connections.

At our gathering this week, we responded to Sarah Howe’s prose poem, [There were barnacles…]. Prose poetry is a genre that mixes up the lyrical and rythmical elements of poetry with the standard elements of prose, such as punctuation and no line breaks.

Last week I had the unusual (for this year) experience of running a Dark Angels course – a live, residential one with real people.

Earlier this year I was looking forward to a new Dark Angels course. The plan was I’d run it with the artist Jenni Wallace and we’d explore the connections between visual and verbal art at a country house in Sussex called Tilton.

Neil Baker kindly asked me to write for the Dark Angels’ blog to introduce my book, to explain why I wrote it and what the process meant to me.

Read this dispatch from the writer Becca Magnus, a great and true friend of Dark Angels, as she brilliantly chronicles the moment.

‘Should have been’ are three words I don’t find myself using very often. Being of an optimistic nature, and someone who aims to see setbacks as opportunities for new ideas, I try not to fall prey to regret.

I see writing as a good antidote to the Coronavirus situation. Here we are, in not such splendid isolation, having to change the way we live.

Front lines are all on our minds right now. I think of poetry as language’s front line, the place where things can at once be at their most considered and their most intense, raw, immediate.

On just about every Dark Angels workshop, we talk about place. As a thing or a notion that writers ought to tap into or evoke.

Paying a visit to Material, an essay by the writer Lucy Corin.