Language I have an embarrassing little secret. I was, not as far as I know,a teenage werewolf, but, even worse, a teenage poet. Images of blood, death and unrequited love - none of which I knew the least thing about - spilled from my fountain pen , starkly Gothic in Stephens best purple ink. I'd discovered Philip Larkin, Roger McGough and the Beat Poets, so McGough's Merseyside mixed hideously with Greg Corso's Chicago to produce …showed first 75 words of 569 total…

…showed last 75 words of 569 total…today's kids harbour future Janet Frames and James Baxters among their number, no matter how they mangle their text-messages and static images today. And my big girl - she of the scarlet-embroidered love poems - uses her cellphone too. Communication through language. I don't think it's really going anywhere in a hurry. As long as there's a teenage girl or two in love somewhere there'll be poetry. And good conversation. And high drama. And stuff..