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[ID] => 20960
[post_author] => 6
[post_date] => 2020-07-07 14:00:33
[post_date_gmt] => 2020-07-07 14:00:33
[post_content] => All I think about is love and money, marrying for money and falling in love
on the side. Staying in love with my old loves, meeting them in oyster bars,
never forgetting anything, never making any money. I think about Jean Rhys
in Paris, waiting for Harrison Ford to wire her some money, she was perpetually
short on love and money. Did I say Harrison Ford? I meant Ford Madox Ford,
he had so much money. When I watched Parade’s End I thought I could be
the little suffragette who loved him, as if I could stand a passionless existence
shut away in a girls’ school, earning my little money. He never tells her how he is feeling.
I don’t want that kind of love or money. I want to be stinking drunk in a restaurant
eating bread from a basket, thinking of vintage Prada and snow. I’ll take the love or the money.
[post_title] => Paris
[post_excerpt] =>
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[comment_status] => closed
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[post_name] => paris
[to_ping] =>
[pinged] =>
[post_modified] => 2020-07-07 14:00:53
[post_modified_gmt] => 2020-07-07 14:00:53
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[post_parent] => 0
[guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=20960
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[post_type] => poems
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(
[wpcf-published-in] => The Poetry Review
[wpcf-date-published] => The Poetry Review, summer issue, 2020.
[wpcf-summary-description] => This poem was published in The Poetry Review, Summer issue, 2020.
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[wpcf-poem-award] =>
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)
[poet_data] => stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 444
[forename] =>
[surname] =>
[title] => Phoebe Stuckes
[slug] => phoebe-stuckes
[content] => Phoebe Stuckes is a writer from West Somerset, now living in London. A four-time winner of the Foyle Young Poet of The Year Award (in 2010, 2011, 2012 and 2013) and a Barbican Young Poet, she has performed at London's Southbank Centre and Waterstones Trafalgar Square, and at Wenlock Poetry Festival. She was the Ledbury Festival young poet in residence in 2015. She has also appeared on The Verb on BBC Radio 3. Her writing has appeared in The Poetry Review, The Rialto, The North, Ash, Ambit and elsewhere. Her debut pamphlet, Gin & Tonic, was shortlisted for The Michael Marks Award 2017. In 2019 she was the recipient of an Eric Gregory Award for her first full-length collection, Platinum Blonde, published by Bloodaxe in 2020.
Phoebe was awarded the Geoffrey Dearmer Prize 2019 for her poem, 'Thus I became a heart-eater', which appeared in The Poetry Review, Vol 110, No. 2, Winter 2019. The prize was judged by Fiona Benson.
)
)
stdClass Object
(
[ID] => 444
[forename] =>
[surname] =>
[title] => Phoebe Stuckes
[slug] => phoebe-stuckes
[content] => Phoebe Stuckes is a writer from West Somerset, now living in London. A four-time winner of the Foyle Young Poet of The Year Award (in 2010, 2011, 2012 and 2013) and a Barbican Young Poet, she has performed at London's Southbank Centre and Waterstones Trafalgar Square, and at Wenlock Poetry Festival. She was the Ledbury Festival young poet in residence in 2015. She has also appeared on The Verb on BBC Radio 3. Her writing has appeared in The Poetry Review, The Rialto, The North, Ash, Ambit and elsewhere. Her debut pamphlet, Gin & Tonic, was shortlisted for The Michael Marks Award 2017. In 2019 she was the recipient of an Eric Gregory Award for her first full-length collection, Platinum Blonde, published by Bloodaxe in 2020.
Phoebe was awarded the Geoffrey Dearmer Prize 2019 for her poem, 'Thus I became a heart-eater', which appeared in The Poetry Review, Vol 110, No. 2, Winter 2019. The prize was judged by Fiona Benson.
)
All I think about is love and money, marrying for money and falling in love
on the side. Staying in love with my old loves, meeting them in oyster bars,
never forgetting anything, never making any money. I think about Jean Rhys
in Paris, waiting for Harrison Ford to wire her some money, she was perpetually
short on love and money. Did I say Harrison Ford? I meant Ford Madox Ford,
he had so much money. When I watched Parade’s End I thought I could be
the little suffragette who loved him, as if I could stand a passionless existence
shut away in a girls’ school, earning my little money. He never tells her how he is feeling.
I don’t want that kind of love or money. I want to be stinking drunk in a restaurant
eating bread from a basket, thinking of vintage Prada and snow. I’ll take the love or the money.