Biography

Stuart A. Paterson was born in 1966 & brought up in Ayrshire. He received an Eric Gregory Award from the Society of Authors in 1992 and a Scottish Arts Council Writer’s Bursary in 1993. He founded and edited the international poetry & prose review Spectrum, from 1989 to 1996. Stuart’s first collection, Saving Graces, was published by Diehard (Poetry Scotland) in 1997 & nominated for a Saltire Society ‘First Book’ award. His work has appeared in many publications, including Dream State: The New Scottish Poets (Polygon), The Poets’ Book of Days (Random House), Scottish Literature in the Twentieth Century (Scottish Cultural Press) and The Forward Book of Poetry (Sinclair-Stevenson), as well as in many newspapers & magazines. He was Dumfries & Galloway Writer-in-Residence 1996-98, and won the Poetry & Small Presses Federation Poetry Slam in Birmingham in 1997. Stuart has lived in Manchester since 1998 where he has been involved in running writers’ groups in the mental health sector & in schools.

He likes writing about himself in the third person when not digesting free verse & going to Oban.

Reviews

“McGough by way of Morgan.”
Alan Bold, The Sunday Times

“A vinegary fantasy of Scotland.”
Robyn Marsack, Scotland on Sunday

“Of the youngest poets, Paterson seems the most promising....he has brio and a sense of form.”
Peter Forbes, The Observer

“Stravaigs with the wide eye of a Burns or a Whitman.”
Donny O’Rourke, introduction to Dream State: The New Scottish Poets

Saving Graces

“An excellent book of short poems which is a pleasure to be read aloud as poetry should be read.”
Tony Charles, New Hope International

“A fine first collection.”
Tessa Ransford, The Scotsman

“A book worth waiting for.”
Robin Bell, Books in Scotland

“Beguiling in detail and cadence.”
Stewart Conn, The Poet’s Voice (Austria)

“Chunky poetic language, wondrously borne out.”
J.D.U. Geldenhuys, Carapace (South Africa)

“Paterson’s characterisations of wildlife are splendid, as good as MacCaig at his best.”
Ian Nimmo White, Fife Lines

Samples

Lost (for Cheryl)

It's like a treasure hunt gone wrong

before we even close

the front door finally, and go.

You've lost your keys, or rather,

put them somewhere altogether

obviously there, beside the bread bin,

on the table, in your pocket.



When we're outside by the car

you say you don't know where

they are and we begin again by

looking for your house keys to get in

to find the car keys which you left

beside your house keys when you put

your glasses down beside the bag

you thought you put your car keys in.



It's not that things are lost it's that

they're somewhere you are not;

beneath a pile of bills and letters,

behind life's unimportant must-dos

that you'll put aside till 'later',

in the same place as the keys, the ring,

the make-up bag, the glasses,

almost everything, and you.

............................................



Making Up



What have I done to deserve you?



Well, 150 miles south in a taxi

At 12 on a Friday night

Quoting Burns relentlessly under

Dreary Mancunian lamplight

Bringing no clean underwear

On a six or seven day stay

Lying in your bed hungover till you ring

From your work at midday

Getting stoned & eating all the Belgian

Chocolates while you were sleeping

Trawling your ouzo & brandy & all

The other good booze you were keeping

Pestering your nice pals with roared

Opinions of shites & bastards

Turning up two hours late for your

Dinner parties, plastered

Trying to tidy your place & breaking

Expensive foreign ornaments

Forgetting you're a veggie &

Continually talking mince

Borrowing twenty quid at the bus stop

Just before I've went

Forgetting, next time I visit, the other

Fifty quid you lent

Preferring the Scotland-Latvia game

To a quiet few hours with you

Smoking all your baccy, & feigning sleep

When you really wanted to



What have you done to deserve me?



Remembering those dragon pendants in

A Dumfries curiosities shop

Watching you open the box two days later

& seeing your lip drop

Reach over before you get to the handle

& raise your car door lock

Helping your back arch frantically

Hours after the music's stopped

'Phoning you drunk at all hours then

Forgetting what you've said

'Phoning you from the phone that doesnt work

Beside my bed



What have I done to deserve you?

...........................................................



Surface



By Rydal Lake we're watching

acrobatic ducks pose dives

for perfect tens.

Cacophanies in cars

chunder wildly near to where we are,

impatient children dashing

mindlessly. Above, no gulls

threaten theft, no ferries sidle

up & nuzzle harbour-side,

but there's a feel of Scottish

west coast madness lurking

just beneath the picture perfect

skin of greens, blues and browns.

Perhaps it isn't where we are

but where we were in certain

conversations while enormous

unseen clocks stopped their roatation

for a moment only, whirring

in my ears like grinding turbines

on a ferry slowly going

ever out of sight, and west.

(Lake District/06)

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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