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Wayne Holloway-Smith is one of London’s most exciting young poets. He has been nominated for awards. His poems have been anthologised and appeared in a wide range of literary journals and magazines. In 2010 he was the face of a photography exhibition of the next generation of Britain’s poets. His first book was published last year. Glass met him at his home in North London.
Holloway-Smith is perched on the edge of his turquoise vintage Chesterfield sofa, in a manner that could only be described as skittish. His budgie, Max Wall (named after the music hall comedian), chirps incessantly in the background. Sitting there, Holloway-Smith could easily be mistaken for a character from a Tim Burton film. Having read his work, one wonders if this is simply a clever construct, akin to the use of masks in his book. Which came first, the Dandyism or the poetry? Either way he is an intriguing prospect for an interview.
Is dress sense an integral part of being a poet?
Ha. It’s an interesting point. I don’t know. I once told an audience the reason I started writing poetry was because I wanted to dress in a more interesting fashion, but wasn’t an artist or a musician so needed some way to qualify it. I frequently tell lies.
Is there any truth to that statement though?
Probably. I guess the first time I thought about poetry was when I was about eight, and watched Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds. One of them – I think it was Aramis – was a poet! He sauntered around with a feather in his hat, wrote exceptionally bad verses, and read them, softly, to pretty dogs. Wait – it’s just occurred to me that I have completely modeled my life on a cartoon canine representation of an already fictional character.
Is it possible to have a career as a poet?
When I first started writing, I didn’t really know that poets still existed. Poetry can seem like quite an archaic thing. I guess back in the day poets were the rockstars. Like Byron – he had women sending clippings of their pubic hair to him. I doubt that the lead singer of Muse enjoys much of that sort of fan mail.
I wouldn’t say poetry’s my career, more of a lifestyle. A lot of my friends are poets, it’s what I read and after you’ve been reading and writing it for a while, poetry tends to shape the way you look at the world. Then all you can really do is write more.
Is it true that you were mentored by Lucien Freud’s daughter, Annie? Can you talk about that experience?
Yes, that’s true. Firstly, we should clarify that Annie Freud is the daughter of Lucien Freud, but she’s an artist in her own right. She is one of the best poets, in my opinion, in this country. She is also up there with the most interesting people I’ve ever met. There’s something different about her in comparison to the everyday person you’d meet on the street. She seems more alive somehow and more colourful. To be in touch with someone like that is pretty amazing and to have her take an interest in me is amazing too.
Your book seems to have a lot to do with character masks, different voices and the construction of identity?
One of the most interesting things to me is how people construct and reconstruct their identity or identities. You see books, don’t you, called Find Your Inner Self, or whatever. But, I think a person houses lots of different selves. It is something that I like to explore. I’m certainly different when I read live to when I am with my best friend, or my mum.
Some of your poems contain a figure called Coco Lachaille. Who is she?
Coco Lachaille started as one poem about a burlesque dancer, but she quickly became more important, kind of a metaphor for, perhaps, my own imagination. She’s often an erotic figure, and the voice in many of my poems feels the need to compete with her. A lot of the time it seems to be a battle for control. A representation of the war with my own mind, which, I can tell you, is a failing, fickle and untrustworthy beast. Sorry, that’s really boring, isn’t it?
Was she ever based on a real person?
A muse.
is the muse a real object for you?
Again, it’s more a question of imagination projected onto unreal objects. Object is a funny word, in this context though, isn’t it? Probably not a helpful one.
Does the inspiration for your work come from your own life?
To a certain extent. I don’t necessarily think that any reader should be interested in my life, though. Everyone’s been in love, been dumped, lost someone, etc. I like to re-think those things. To attempt to re-advertise them.
In a recent review of your book, you were compared to Oscar Wilde. Would you consider your work to have similar aesthetic qualities. What does that encompass?
I was really pleased about that. You’re referring to Martyn Crucefix, who said my work was ludic and suggests that experience is a palimpsest of sketches with nothing beyond them; I’m obsessed with surface. But not only surface.
What is the next step for you?
I’m thinking of perhaps getting a haircut or some ice cream. After that, I want to publish more. I have three or four poems about to come out in different magazines and I’m working towards a first full-length collection with Donut Press, which will hopefully come out in the next year or two. Beyond those things, I don’t know.
I believe you are doing a reading at Keats’s House in Hampstead?
It’s part of a larger reading series, hosted by the poet in residence there, John Hegley. I’ve never been there so I think it might be quite a cool venue to read at. I’m not even sure of the capacity, it might be quite intimate. Also, Tim Wells, Liane Strauss and Mr Hegley himself are reading, and they’re all brilliant.
I hear that you intend to start a literary salon in your living room? What prompted this decision?
Poetry can feel like a small world and I’m just looking for a way to rupture new passages in and out of that scene. It’s not strictly a poetry reading, there is going to be an art installation, a ten-minute faux-lecture. There’ll be some poets, sure, but also a banjo player.
It’s in my living room, and it’ll be free entry, so I’m going to select most of the people I want to come. But there will be 15 or 20 places open to the general public. The exact date is a secret. I will only tell people once I know who I’m inviting, but it will be some time in mid to late October.
by Sarah Tweed
To gain entrance to Wayne Holloway-Smith’s first literary salon, send an email with your name and why you want to attend to sarah@theglassmagazine.com.
Beloved, in case you’ve been wondering, is available from donutpress.co.uk, Amazon, and Waterstones