Robert Nye died last week. He was a poet.
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This week I flew away to visit my mother and sister in Midhurst. I did take some poetry submissions with me but I didn't read them. Instead, I read through one of the anthologies I loved and grew up with, which sits in my mother's bookcase: John Smith's My Kind of Verse. Fascinating when you go back to these things to see where you first saw unexpected people: two of Paul Dehn's poems, for example, are in that lovely anthology. So that's where I knew them from!
