当我们谈到英国诗人时，可能想到的都是英国主流的经典的那些诗人，比如拉金，休斯，希尼，奥登，或者稍近一代的唐·帕特森，乔治·吉尔泰斯等，我们很少好奇，英国的年轻诗人在写什么。近年企鹅现代诗人出版计划（Penguin Modern Poets）挑选出了一批最能代表当下英语诗歌现状的声音，有年纪稍长但持续创造着新经典的莎朗·奥兹（Sharon Olds），Anne Carson（安·卡森）等，也有许多正在成长的新锐青年诗人。这一批被“企鹅计划”收录的新一代英国诗人包括了Sam Rieve, Warsan Shire, Emily Berry, Sophie Collins, Jack Underwood。
杰克·安德伍德（Jack Undewood) 英国当代诗人以及批评家。1984年出生于英国诺里奇郡，毕业于伦敦大学金匠学院并留校任教，教授当代诗歌与创意写作。他曾是新锐诗歌杂志《停止磨刀》的主编，也是法贝儿（faber&faber）出版社的新诗系列（faber new poets）最早出版的五个诗人之一。著有诗集《开心》，歌剧剧本《委员会》被英国皇家歌剧院排演。最近被收入企鹅当代诗人出版计划（Penguin modern poets)第十期。目前在写一本关于“不确定性”的非虚构集子。杰克获得过伊瑞克·格里格雷青年诗人奖，英国毛姆文学奖。入围过前进诗歌奖、艺术基金会非虚构奖短名单。2016年担任英国国家诗歌奖评委。
I run through the grass-topped lives of my friends:I would like to have his body that is so slenderit looks sponsored by a company from Switzerland,or that guy’s gliding youth, his hopeful wardrobe:I could use a transfusion of shyness to my voice.I know ten people who are blessings: good peoplefor long car journeys, good people for talking toon steps outside before we go in; or that twentiethcentury seriousness that he has: I’d like a sliceof proper prowess. And I try to imagine havingher mind: funny, smart and odd as twentyemperor penguins filing through the doorof a black limousine. But with a predictability that would be cuteness if it weren’t honest first,my thoughts turn to you and what it might belike to be so quietly impressive as a morning, ora factory in the distance; what it might be likenot to have a great clumsy self always knocking,what it might be like to be you, coming homein four hour’s time with no inkling of the waymy insides groan and click like a tired, oldgalleon when you take off your coat like that
We always breakfast with the biographer.On day one I showed him my grapefruit spoon;it has a serrated edge. My father gave hima Mont Blanc fountain pen as a welcome gift,but I think he was more impressed by the spoon.‘It’s almost like a knife!’ he said. The biographeris a coffee nut and I use this fact to bond with him.‘Oh, Robusta,’ I say dramatically when I knowhe’s listening. ‘You inferior bean.’ When we passin the hall I fling my arm back and say things like:‘Am I strung out or what!’ and ‘Time for anothercaffeine fix, methinks!’ I am not allowed coffeebecause of my nerves, but the biographer doesn’tknow this. Sometimes we sit up in bed comparingmoans. Mine are always loudest. The biographer’sare hampered by his boarding-school educationand the British flair for embarrassment. Sometimesthe publishers call. When he gets on the phone,he sweats; afterwards the right side of his face is damp.I like to monitor these subtle changes. Last nightmy father found us touching legs. ‘Go to your room!’he shouted. ‘You shabby daughter.’ ‘You worthlessexcuse for a story,’ the biographer added. They playedcards to settle a debt. That day my mouth felt wetterthan usual. I asked the biographer to check. He usedhis tongue. ‘This may affect the results,’ he said.