Anthony Anaxagorou is a British-born Cypriot poet, fiction writer, essayist, publisher and poetry educator. His poetry and fiction have appeared on BBC Newsnight, BBC Radio 4, ITV, Vice UK, Channel 4 and Sky Arts, and have been published in POETRY, The Poetry Review, Poetry London, Granta, The Rialto, Oxford Poetry, Wildness and The Feminist Review. His second collection After the Formalities published by Penned in the Margins in September 2019 is a Poetry Book Society Recommendation and has been shortlisted for the 2019 T.S Eliot Prize. He was awarded the 2019 H-100 Award for writing and publishing, and the 2015 Groucho Maverick Award for his poetry and fiction. Anthony is artistic director of Out-Spoken, a monthly poetry and music event held at London’s Southbank Centre, and is founder of Out-Spoken Press, an independent publisher of poetry and critical writing that aims to challenge the lack of diversity in British publishing. He has toured extensively throughout Europe and Australia and his work has been studied in universities, schools and colleges across Europe and the USA.

Gregory McCartney: Hi Anthony Thanks for being in the HU. Can you tell us a bit about your background?

Anthony Anaxagoras: I was born in North London to Cypriot parents. I spent the first four years of my life with my grandmother who would home-school me until I was five. My parents couldn’t really afford nursery fees so I spent Monday to Friday with her at her home in Kentish Town. She couldn’t speak English which meant neither could I until I was around six, which made things difficult outside of the home. I attended nursery for a while, but my parents took me out after being told I was struggling to understand what teachers were saying. At secondary school I was mainly in all the bottom sets for the main subjects. For history I was in the middle and sports I was top. I was someone who the school considered an underachiever with possible ADHD (although those ideas were all still fairly new back then). 

GMCC: How did you, for the want of a better expression, get into poetry?

AA: I remember being quite curious early on about the meaning of song lyrics. We weren’t a particularly bookish family, neither of my parents did anything creative, but we always had music playing – either reggae, folk, or Motown. I remember becoming quite preoccupied with Simon & Garfunkel’s opening line to Sound of Silence ‘hello darkness my old friend’, asking my mum what it could mean, who was the darkness and why was it a friend. Then I went through a heavy hip-hop phase from around twelve and started to experiment with lyrics and bits of language.  My mum entered a poem I wrote into the London Mayor’s Respect Slam in 2002, which ended up winning the contest which introduced me to the world of spoken word, slam and performance. 

GMCC: I read that you started in the Slam arena but were uncomfortable with the idea of competition. I’ve always thought that a lot of possibly very talented people are put off by being judged in front of people that have a particular idea of what poetry should be or should be about. Would you say the experience helped you?

AA: I think as an artist you’re always going to be judged in some way, it comes with the territory. You make something, you put it out there and people will respond accordingly. What I found off-putting with slam was how gladiatorial and performative it all was, and how formulaic the poems began to feel. I spent the majority of my teenage and young adult life being made to feel crushingly small. What I found was that Slam or anything predicated on adjudication inadvertently exacerbated many of those insecurities with its approach to valuing work. Winning the approval of six random people was enough to fill me with dread. It was all too precarious and fraught, so after that initial experience I never felt to Slam again and instead wrote poems which I felt could go beyond those limitations. 

GMCC: How do you find the translation from poetry performance to page? Is it something that is easy for you? 

AA: It’s something I often get asked, maybe due to the way I read my poems. I’m not theatre trained, nor do I have any academic qualifications aside from a BA in Commercial Music which has never really been of use. I’ve always just read my poems in a way that feels right. Some poems ask very little of you, they’re quite capable of standing on their own in front of an audience and going off to mingle. Other poems might require you to guide them out slightly which involves animating the reading, or the music of the lines. That’s perfectly fine and I don’t really make hierarchical distinctions between the two approaches. Poems can embody two personalities, one private and one public and reach us in multiple ways we shouldn't limit our thinking to one particular ‘correct’ way. 

GMCC: After the Formalities is your new collection. I wonder how you see it fitting into your body of work? 

AA: It was important that I pushed myself into new places with this book. I think the poems are generally a reflection of my preoccupations, the things I obsess over or am uncertain about. I have a tendency to avoid doing the same thing twice in regards to how I approach a subject, even if I know a certain way works. I find myself losing interest in formulaic approaches and only really come to life if and when I believe I’ve landed on something unclear. Throughout the writing of After the Formalities, which spanned just under 3 years, I felt myself making a significant departure from the ways I wrote or thought about my older poems. The shift was seismic. I was reading voraciously, history books, short stories and many American poets too. The poet Sandeep Palmer recently remarked that it feels like a very American book which I’d never thought about before but makes total sense. Risk was the word I had written on my desk throughout that time, and I think mustering the temerity to pursue some of my earlier ideas resulted in a lot of anxiety around the work, but also a great deal of satisfaction once the poems were eventually realised. 

GMCC: You said you were a bit wary of repeating yourself, so I wonder if you can explain how you avoided writing the same poem again, so to speak?

AA: For me, the most interesting art seems to happen when I land upon something I’ve never seen or thought about before. It sounds pretty obvious but it’s actually a lot harder to achieve than I think most people assume. In this way, much of my process is premised on uncertainty and experiment, and being comfortable in not knowing where the poem will drop me off. I also think reading a lot of more adventurous poets helps encourage me to keep playing around with form, disrupting it, or resisting it in some cases. I’m interested in traditionalism, but admire artists who can break away and write out of convention, who delight in risk taking and who are not entirely attached to the whims or proclivities of a perceived reader. The most common dilemma facing most people in the written arts is the idea of ‘making sense’; when we’re able to rid ourselves of such concerns we can really start to push language and meaning. 

GMCC: Would you say there is more self-analysing than responding to outside stimuli, if that makes sense?

AA: No, not necessarily, it’s a mixture of both. We don't exist in a vacuum, hence why our work is in perpetual dialogue with the outside world. It’s informed by it, tapered by it and challenged by it, but that’s not to suggest we neglect our private worlds. The two work in tandem, and I think a strong poet is able to skew the edges of both. To focus the lens on very complex and tenuous subjects, bringing them close then letting them go again. I like the way a poem can interrupt things in an almost abrupt way, and leave without properly saying goodbye. It’s a master at that kind of interaction. 

GMCC: Though of course the title poem After the Formalities explores racism in relation to his family heritage beginning with their moving to England, casual (On the shelf a gollywog above her family portrait/Poised like a Saint.) endemic (We will never exist in their love songs) and violent (How we’ll make you white). It delves into the origins of the word ‘race’ (coined in 1481 by Jacques de Breze to differentiate species of dogs) and references those ‘icons’ of English nationalism Churchill, Powell and Farage. Was it difficult to write, to place your heritage in the centre of things? 

AA: One thing I was very focused on with the writing of After the Formalities was to try and highlight the absurdity and capriciousness of race as we come to think of it. I enjoy weaving larger historic ideas with the more personal and anecdotal which became the form here and throughout other parts of the book. It wasn't that it was difficult, more exposing, maybe even invasive, in relation to the things my family endured and some of the experiences I underwent as a young adult. Ultimately, poetry for me is dialogical, and I like to think that others will be able to find elements of their experiences in the pieces, or at least project onto them. I also think we’re living in a time of the ‘I’ lyric, where poets are often thought of as the speakers in their work. Certain identities have become heavily politicised, resulting in the vilification and stigmatisation of entire groups. The response to this has been one of self-determination which demands a first hand account. Where past modes such as the dramatic monologue, historical fiction in poetry, satire and persona writing have fallen into abeyance, we’re left with a poetic that is easily self identifiable and like this the poet becomes their subject and their subject is partly inspired by the urgency of their life. 

GMCC: There’s quite a concern with the voice or official narrative of racism in the book, where it originates, the communication of racism, and the violence that is causes and justifies and how this infects the individual, family and society. Are you perhaps in a way inverting the ‘where do you come from? question.

AA: Yes, in a way I am. I grow tired and irritated at the binary ways we try to know each other. Like we’re all made up of three major components are in no way multifaceted and complex. The way we historicise, categorise and profile those who the dominant group might consider foreign is erroneous and linear - nothing is linear, everything is determined by several overlapping events happening simultaneously, yet for comprehension and simplicity's sake we learn to jettison so much. Part of the book’s aim is to blur these narrow lines of thought and conclusion while offering a myriad of probable answers to questions. Being Cypriot, I use the hybridity and fluidity of that particular ethnicity to orbit regions and cultures, raising further questions where answers tend to be presented. 

GMCC: Farage and Co are seen (somehow) to be standing up for the common man and considered to be respectable. How does it feel to be a poet in Brexit-England at this time? 

AA: I don’t like to try and exclusify or romanticise our time and think this is the worst or most dangerous it’s ever been. There are people living in the world’s most troubled and perilous places who will see history as anathema. For people in war zones history can offer context but does little to remedy the blunt facts of their lives - waking up each day with the very real threat of death or persecution. This is what their system of reality is based upon. To say this is the worst it’s ever been, or conversely to say ‘we need to make America great again’ is both unfounded and intellectually disingenuous. It’s all premised on perspective and who the person making these statements happens to be. I do believe in the power of the written verse, it’s ability to grapple with multiple subjects at any given point, to provoke thought, galvanise groups en masse, to offer contemplation and discomfort where needed. Brexit is the great dilemma of our time, there’s no escaping that and it would be remiss for poets not to try and respond to what’s happening in a way only they can, but then again, we are not solutionist, nor can we legislate or set policies, we simply let an idea sail across the water in the hope someone will make something of it. Find value or meaning in this little drum machine we call the poem. 

GMCC: Morality is a big factor in your work. Does this come through unconsciously or is it something you have a tendency to dwell on?

AA: In my younger years I often thought I could speak on behalf of a large groups and maybe even took pleasure in being ‘right’. With age I think you begin to question the subtle narcissism of the sanctimonious, or grow suspicious of those who posture and profess to never doing wrong. Politically I feel more astute and principled than I ever have. I took my politics off social media, a space I found to be counterintuitive and full of unhealthy pantomime. There are great people who have the ability to navigate those spaces and maintain their sanity. I unfortunately, am not one of those. My work at this juncture is concerned with the same issues as before, only now I feel a sense of poetic maturity has set in which will take the work into a different space. I’m conflicted in places, hypocritical in others, I’ve done bad things in my life as I’m sure we all have which I’ve tried to offset with good things. My work is the sum of these experiences, that’s not to try and put a moral focus on it, more to say if a moral message comes out as a result of these poems then they are all the better for it. Personally, I think compassion is far more useful to us as a species than say a prescribed moral system which is utterly flawed and spurious anyway. 

GMCC: Likewise violence. Over here (Northern Ireland) violence and its histories and consequences still infect everything and lurk in the background more than ever. Was it similar for you, impossible to escape the violence of your surroundings? 

AA: Violence manifests in many ways. I was fortunate enough to not grow up in a conflict zone, but the violence I witnessed could be considered domestic, manipulative, commonplace and normalised. The effects of this I feel are different from those you describe in Northern Ireland, but they are effects all the same. The poems I’ve written all toy with the idea of danger, or contain perhaps a more mercurial, sinister element. Looking back at my upbringing, I was never too sure what would happen next. If my dad would be in a good mood or not. If an uncle was having a bad day and consider us disruptive enough to mete out punishment. The adults around me each carried their cross in ways which I guess made sense to them. Rendering them tormented and stoic characters to a child who was curious about the world. At times it felt even the most remote places harboured a kind of threat. The woods or fields, a spare bedroom even, or even being alone became a frightening ordeal. 

GMCC: There’s a dark humour though in your work, I’ve had toothbrushes more complicated than you in Meeting the End of the World as Yourself is a great line and example. Perhaps it’s sometimes hard not to laugh and the world and yourself every now and then?

AA: Well that’s just it. It's idiosyncrasies or those self deprecating thoughts which find us at random hours on a Tuesday that I think makes for interesting poetry. The stuff that’s seemingly unrelated to anything specific but yet still manages to consume so much of us. They disappear as quickly as they arrive, presenting as anxiety, self doubt, depression, despair, or sometimes as a kind of paranoia. I like to think it’s important to play around with how these feelings are entertained, and how absurd and ridiculous they can sound when written down. 

GMCC: You work in the poetry education field. I’m wondering if you see that as a part of the concept of a contemporary poet, that sense of community involvement rather than the more traditional distance between writer and audience. 

AA: My experiences at school have instilled in me a principle which looks to try and ensure no teenager has to go through the same kind of disaffection as I did. This is why I remain invested in the education sector. Plus I enjoy the work, too. Talking about poetry, the world and its variants helps get me out of my head for a few hours which I think benefits the writing on days when I am at my desk writing. Some poets find teaching hard or unenjoyable, but I don’t necessarily think the two are mutually exclusive, and we shouldn't feel bad if we subsidise our art through a different job or practice, be that teaching, gardening, or any other kind of profession. 

GMCC: Do you see this as an integral part of your practice? And do you think that a contemporary poet has a duty beyond the page? 

AA: I don’t necessarily feel anyone has a right to dictate to others how best to live their lives. I feel poetry is something we do, and anyone devoted enough to the craft can take it up and develop their understanding. I don’t feel it’s my place to state what others have a duty to work towards. Personally, I enjoy working with people as much as I enjoy being alone and developing my ideas. Others may prefer something different, either is fine. 

GMCC: You founded and run Out-Spoken, a poetry/music night. Does that have a positive impact on your own work? I’ve found that if I’m concentrating on other people’s writing my own tends to slide a bit.

AA: I run Out-Spoken with an amazing team of people. We’ve grown so close over the years I consider them family. I try to separate my personal writing to the work I do as a curator. Again, I see them as different skills which require different approaches. On days when I write I tend not to respond to emails, or anything related to Out-Spoken. This way I’m able to maintain some sense of control and autonomy and focus completely on the work. Other days I’m restless and feel to read then write. There’s no real method here, I work primarily off impulse. 

GMCC: It’s very popular. I wonder if writers still need a sense of connection that a live audience instead of a bunch of followers on social media?

AA: Depends on the writer, I guess. Some poets have a readership that most likely doesn't need them to be online, in that they are not ‘brands’ or ‘voices’ per se.  Like you say, we need to connect and communicate with our audience if we’re able to identify them, but I don’t think social media is entirely necessary. I have no idea who my readers are. People who I think might like the book have never read it, and those who I think will hate it seem to relish the poems. I also don’t agree with the idea of there being a poet who writes what’s deemed as Modern Poetry. Better to see it as modern poetries which have exclusive readers and overlaps, cross pollinations with other modes and the more traditional reader who knows what they like. Today we can share poems online, they make for great tinder on Twitter, and many journals are finding their online readers are exceeding print subscribers. The poet laureate has never had a Twitter account yet he’s one of the most widely read people in the UK. It really just depends on who publishes your work, and how good they are at talking to your readers on your behalf. 

GMCC: You’ve written The Blink That Killed The Eye, a short story collection. How did you find moving from one discipline to another? Perhaps by their (comparative) briefness it’s easier than moving from poetry to a novel? 

AA: I really enjoyed short fiction. The form feels slightly more relaxed in regards to the intensity of ideas and language you might find in poems, but the brevity means you still need to find a way of navigating the story efficiently, much in the way you would a poem. 

GMCC: I always ask interviewees if they’d recommend anyone that our audience might not be familiar with but should read?

AA: Ah yes, I’ve just finished Kathleen Graber’s The River Twice which I really loved and Kwame Dawes has a new collection out called Nebraska which is a really great read. Other books which have helped my writing are Lisa Olstein Late Empire, Rachael Allen’s Kingdomland and Ada Limon Bright Dead Things. 

GMCC: And finally, the inevitable ‘what’s next’ question. What are your plans?

AA: I’m busy touring After the Formalities at the moment. I’ve written a few new poems which are set to appear in a few magazines over the coming months. Aside from that I’m in no rush. Maybe more poems. Maybe some short stories. Maybe some essays. Or just another cup of tea. 

GMCC: Thanks, Anthony for being in the HU! 

See more of Anthony's work at https://anthonyanaxagorou.com/ 

You can buy After the Formalities at https://anthonyanaxagorou.com/store