Scenes From a Disreputable Childhood Part 1

by Adam Horovitz on November 12, 2017

So I’m about four, and we’re trawling through London, my parents and I, through a part I do not know, full of tall, intimidating buildings that do not conform to the scenery I am used to, out in the valleys of Gloucestershire.

My parents are excited, chattering to each other. They are ignoring me much more than I am used to or, indeed, willing to allow. I tug and wail. Hunch obstreperously. Demand things I probably know I’ll never get today. It is no use. They pull me good-humouredly into an hotel. All I see is red leather seats, which look comfortable and easy to play on.  [click to continue…]


A Gap in the Hedge

by Adam Horovitz on April 25, 2017

Social media can be the death of concentration. It can inveigle its way into the lower reaches of one’s subconscious and subliminally demand more and more attention throughout the day, especially if one is feeling down, emotionally fragile or politically fraught. It can hedge you in.

You know how it goes if you aren’t careful: “Here comes Twitter, swinging its way through any sensible discourse like a wrecking ball dressed in Tarzan’s loincloth, yodelling away until all in its path is drowned out. Watch out! Facebook’s here too, meowing cutely and slashing the day to ribbons with a lion’s claws. Instagram-bam! No Pinterest for the wicked! Take a Tumblr for the team!”

Sometimes, however, you’ll find something out there that silences all those capricious little horn-headed algorithms, something that stops the noise entirely and makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. You know, the sort of thing that one can get from books, read on a comfy sofa in the still quiet of the afternoon, or from devoted listening to one album over and over. The sort of epiphany that long walks, or sex, or food eaten with a ritualist’s rigour, can supply. The sort of epiphany that sets off avalanches which reveal other glories long hidden beneath the now-moving stones. [click to continue…]


The Slow, Sure Death of Local Journalism

by Adam Horovitz on November 29, 2016

Exhibition at Stroud MuseumFifteen years ago, pretty much to the day, I started work as the arts editor of the Stroud News and Journal, having spent the previous few months turning up on the doorstep and pestering the then editor, Skip Walker, for work.

The arts were booming in the town at the time – SVA was really hitting its stride, Damien Hirst’s studio had arrived in the area, and there was much to be excited about at the grassroots.

I spent six years building up the arts pages in the paper, intertwining grassroots and commercial arts in a weekly forum, and doing my best to keep it alive in the face of the growing demands of advertising space and the utter disinterest of the sub-editors in Newport (who once cut a review I wrote of a play by two women into nonsensical shreds and then had the nerve to top it with the headline ‘Women Have Fun’ – you can imagine the stick I got in the pub for that…). And then I quit, for pastures slightly better-paid.

Matty Airey took over the role a while later, and has for the last eight years done a sterling job of maintaining the delicate balance between the demands of high art and entertainment, both of which play a major part in Stroud’s life.  [click to continue…]

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Blake’s Birthday, Slovakia and more

by Adam Horovitz on November 29, 2016

Sifting through Blake’s poems on the net this evening, in celebration of his 259th birthday (I was looking on the net because I was unable to find a book of his poems, as most of my poetry books are currently barricaded behind boxes in the small bedroom), I stumbled across his poem The Garden of Love.

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not writ over the door;
So I turn’d to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires. [click to continue…]


Love in a Celebrity Climate pre-order

by Adam Horovitz on November 12, 2016


There’s a 20% discount on pre-orders of my forthcoming book of satires, rants and performance poems, Love in a Celebrity Climate, available until this Monday, November 14th, available here. As of Monday, the book will go back up to the cover price of £6.50.

Love in a Celebrity Climate is a furious little book of satirical, political and performance poetry that digs under the skin of celebrities, politicians and other scoundrels, published by Little Metropolis.

It examines, excoriates and laughs at the hollow myths and fantasies that have been helping the ‘live the dream’ generation swallow anything and everything that’s been thrown at them for the last decade or two and is laid out in three sections: Celebrity Climate, an Advertisement Break, and News.

The poems take a swipe at all-comers, be they David Hasselhof, terrorists of any stripe, celebrity cannibals, the England football squad, the Royal Family, Brexit, ATOS, UKIP or the advertising industry or the recent American election.

A number of the poems were written during my time as the Borkowski poet in residence – I wrote around 150 topical poems during that time, but have filleted out the best ones, the ones that have managed to stay news.