A fourth apparent example of poetry plagiarism has emerged as the row over Christian Ward, the poet who has said sorry for an act of plagiarism that won him a prize, continues to shock and bemuse the poetry world. The latest example, which emerged on Facebook, concerns a poem, Damselflies, by Andrew Forster,  from a published collection, and another titled The Behavioural Patterns of Damselflies, by Ward. 

Earlier this week, after the Guardian reported on the story, a long comment that appeared to come from Ward followed, accusing other poets of acting like a lynch mob, and suggesting that famous poets such as TS Eliot did the same kind of thing at times. At the same time a leading figure in the poetry world pointed out that a third case of plagiarism involving Ward had been uncovered, in addition to the two he had owned up to - and the latest victim, Paisley Rekdal, said she was "upset, and angered, and embarrassed". Then, in a further twist, and almost inevitably, serious doubt was cast on a number of published poems said to have been "translated" by Ward, before the latest apparent example of bare-faced plagiarism was revealed.  

The row initially broke when Ward's prizewinning poem for the Exmoor Society, The Deer at Exmoor, was found to be remarkably similar to Helen Mort's poem, The Deer, written when she was poet-in-residence at Wordsworth's Dove Cottage in 2010. The Western Morning News reported that it had received a statement from Ward which says: “I was working on a poem about my childhood experiences in Exmoor and was careless. I used Helen Mort’s poem as a model for my own but rushed and ended up submitting a draft that wasn’t entirely my own work.

“I had no intention of deliberately plagiarising her work. That is the truth. I am sorry this has happened and am making amends. This incident is all my fault and I fully accept the consequences of my actions. I apologise to the Exmoor Society, Helen Mort, the poetry community and to the readers of the WMN.

“Furthermore, I have begun to examine my published poems to make sure there are no similar mistakes. I want to be as honest as I can with the poetry community and I know it will take some time to regain their trust. Already I have discovered a 2009 poem called The Neighbour is very similar to Tim Dooley’s After Neruda and admit that a mistake has been made. I am still digging and want a fresh start.”

The WMN said Mort had described her feelings online, saying: "I'm just bemused and angry. I'd be really interested to talk to whoever is responsible for the plagiarism, Christian Ward or otherwise, and find out what on earth the motivation was.”

As the Guardian reported, Ward has had a poet’s profile on Write Out Loud. It was still there a few days ago when the row broke - and Write Out Loud asked him to comment - but has now been removed from the site. He did not respond to our request for a comment. Write Out Loud regular Freda Davis raised the issue in a discussion thread. 

An online blog describes Ward as a “31-year-old London-based poet” who “graduated from Roehampton University with a degree in English literature and creative writing and has an MA in creative writing from Royal Holloway, University of London.  His poetry has appeared in Poetry Wales, The Warwick Review, Iota and is forthcoming in Poetry Review. He has won, been shortlisted and commended in a number of competitions, including a 2009 Eric Gregory award, 2012 Jane Martin poetry prize and the 2010 East Riding open poetry competition.”

In a long comment on the Guardian website that appears to have genuinely come from Ward, he said: "The recent Hope Bourne debacle has been one of the most uncomfortable and distressing experiences of my life. I have made several stupid mistakes during my time as a poet and there is simply no excuse for plagiarism. This behaviour is unacceptable and I shouldn't have let questionable morals and a lack of conscience govern the way I acted during this incidents. I'm sorry.”

"Now, I would also like to bring up how I was treated in this affair. I have been bullied, victimised and abused by a number of ‘poets’ who thought it was necessary to act like a lynch mob. One ‘poet’ wrote "Head ---------> Pike" in a Facebook comment about me. Another ‘poet’ suggested I be put in the stocks and alluded I should be put to death. Such behaviour really isn't on. I have become extremely depressed by their actions and don't deserve it. There is no excuse.

"I personally feel that I've been singled out for this kind of treatment because I'm not a well-known poet. If a major poet, perhaps one who had won literary prizes and brought out several collections, had done something similar, would he/she be treated this way? I doubt it. Remember that TS Eliot borrowed extensively when writing The Waste Land. If Eliot had written it today, would he have been accused of plagiarism? Again, I doubt it. It is far easier to pick on a relative nobody than a 'name'.

"I have written somewhere between 5 - 600 poems over the last eight/nine years. I intend to write more. I do not believe I should have to throw away several years worth of work over isolated incidents which I deeply regret. I am not, for the record, a compulsive plagiarist who gets a rush from doing it. I'm not that person. Please believe me.

"And before anyone asks, I deleted my Write Out Loud profile because it contained personal information. And yes, I have written letters of apology to the Exmoor Society and enclosed one to pass on to Helen Mort. I am not the complete monster that a lot of people think I am. I am a human being and deserve better.”

Neil Astley of Bloodaxe commented on the Guardian thread: “I see from Christian Ward's comment that he now volunteers that he also plagiarised a poem by Tim Dooley as well as the one by Helen Mort. But aren't there more? ANON 6 has just had to take down another poem of his which is almost word-for-word the same as a poem called Bats by the American poet Paisley Rekdal. She also has been incensed by this and the magazine has issued an apology to her. Her poem can be read online here: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19501 His near-copy can now only be found in the print edition of ANON 6.”

Soon after Astley's comments came one from Rekdal herself. She said, addressing Ward: “I don't think you are a monster. I don't wish any harm to you. I do hope that you will get over this scandal that you yourself created. But I am also one of the poets that you plagiarized. Your poem "The Bats" that you published in Anon entirely plagiarized my poem "Bats", a poem that I assume you found on poets.org, a website run by the Academy of American Poets which first posted my poem in 2007 and is published in my collection The Invention of the Kaleidoscope.

"I understand your embarrassment and distress must be great indeed right now, and while I am sympathetic to this, I am also upset and angered and embarrassed. I would greatly appreciate an apology, as I know the other plagiarized poets would appreciate one and have, to some extent, received one. As I said, I don't wish you personally or your 'true' work (whatever that is now) harm. I only wish that you had felt the same about me and my work.”

 

Compare and contrast ...

THE DEER AT EXMOOR

by Christian Ward

The deer my father swears to God we never saw,
the ones who stepped between the trees
on pound-coin coloured hooves,
I brought them up each teatime in the holidays

and they were brighter every time I did;
more supple than the otters we waited for
at the River Exe, more graceful than the peregrine
falcon landing at Bossington Beach.

Then five years on, in the same house, I rose
for water in the middle of the night and watched
my father at the window, looking out
to where the forest lapped the garden's edge.

From where he stood, I saw them stealing
through the trees, and they must have been closer
than before, because I have no memory
of those fish-bone ribs, that ragged fur

their eyes, like his, that flickered back
towards whatever followed them.

Exmoor Review, 2013, issue 54, winner of the Hope Bourne poetry prize

 

THE DEER

by Helen Mort

The deer my mother swears to God we never saw,
the ones who stepped between the trees
on pound-coin coloured hooves,
I brought them up each teatime in the holidays

and they were brighter every time I did;
more supple than the otters that we waited for
at Ullapool, more graceful than the kingfisher
that darned the river south of Rannoch Moor.

Then five years on, in the same house, I rose
for water in the middle of the night and watched
my mother at the window, looking out
to where the forest lapped the garden's edge.

From where she stood, I saw them stealing
through the pines, and they must have been closer
than before, because I have no memory
of those fish-bone ribs, that ragged fur

their eyes, like hers, that flickered back
towards whatever followed them.

Winner of the Cafe Writers Open Poetry Competition 2009, Norwich