I am currently writing a few memoir pieces, set in late-1970s London, during the period of my life when I was involved with performance art. The artist was sculptor Paul Wright, who was also part of the design team for the Pink Floyd stage shows, and a QC, who was the ‘art object’, taken all over London in various disguises. The event was photographed and then recorded on a Rank Xerox colour copier, a new process at the time. I was the helper, sometimes writer of set pieces, and occasional performer. The QC, a good friend, is now dead, and the full story, which will reveal his identity, can be told for the first time. There will be a London exhibition of the work in September 2016.
Jeremy has written poetry for many years. Although not all are available to read online, here’s a complete list of his publications:
One poem in London Rivers, a Paekakariki Press anthology (2011).
One poem in a Cinnamon Press anthology, The Ground Beneath Her Feet (September 2008), p. 45.
1 poem in Manifold, 48 (December 2004), p. 16.
1 poem in Manifold, 47 (July 2004), p. 6.
1 poem in Poetic Hours, 22 (June 2004), p. 11.
1 poem in The Coffee House, 9 (July 2003), p. 1.
1 poem in Current Accounts, 16 (Spring / Summer 2003), p. 36.
1 poem in Poetry Nottingham International, vol. 56, no. 3 (Autumn 2002), p. 50.
2 poems in Breathe, 14 (September 2002), pp. 17-18.
1 poem in The London Magazine, [New Series] (June/July 2002), p. 23.
1 poem in Links, New Series, no 1 (Spring 2002), p. 8.
1 poem in Exile, vol. 13, no 2 (Winter 2001), p. 8.
1 poem in Purple Patch, 101 (December 2001), p. 1.
1 poem in Iota, 55 (August 2001), p. 37.
1 poem in Rising, 22 (April 2001), p. 18.
5 poems in Understanding, 8 (November 2000), pp. 118-122.
2 poems in Sheffield Thursday, 8 (Spring 1999), p. 91.
1 poem in Rising, 14 (August 1998), p. 12.
(Published in The London Magazine, June 2003)
Last Christmas I was told of your despair
And I saw in a dream you falling down
A dark valley bottom, but high above
On hills there were lanterns waiting for your
Return, keeping faith. A few months later
I read of your death from a heart attack.
But now, far clearer, I see you in a
Bright fishing smack coming into an island
In Greece, in the bluest sea at sunset
Steering with pride. The deck is full of live
And shining silver fish. You anchor, drink
Cold white wine and salute the harbour.
All along the hot, stony road from the sea
There are lanterns on the squat houses,
Each illuminates a cover
Of all The London Magazine you made.
Every lantern honours you.