Poets who don’t win prizes: how can poetry competitions be more kind?

On not winning competitions - and on judging Winchester Poetry Competition and the Kathryn Bevis Prize

I don’t win poetry competitions. Not least, because I don’t enter them. For lots of reasons – I’m too busy; it’s not a priority; my ADHD brain is not willing or able to handle the rules, forms, spreadsheets. And besides – what’s to gain? I already have a brilliant publisher; I already make a decent living from poetry.

Truth is - it hurt too much when I don’t win. I have poured myself onto a page and not been chosen. I picture the moment when my poem hits the “reject” pile. For a few days, I know I'm not a good writer. It’s all sham, and my best work is behind me.

I know logically that all this is nonsense. Not being the one entry chosen out of several thousand does not make me a bad writer. As a competition judge myself – with a major poetry competition approaching - I know that the process is subjective, partial. Bad or mediocre poems do not win big prizes - year after year, the Forward, Costa, Booker, Eliot, Manchester, Gregory Prize have rightly celebrated astonishing poetry. But there would have been other astonishing poems in each competition which were not chosen.

It doesn’t matter though, says my brain - I am who I am and I’m not about to change just because it makes sense. So, I don’t enter. I don’t expose myself to an experience I don’t cope well with.  But it does trouble me that I subject other people to the same experience. And I feel the responsibility keenly – especially in the later stage of competition, when I’m deciding who makes the short list. Especially when the poetry I am rejecting is about deeply personal experiences, or when a single problematic creative decision means that an otherwise outstanding poem is not selected. I want to contact those writers personally, to tell them what I loved about their poems, what they mean to me.

Poetry competitions can be an important source of revenue for festivals and other organisations … they can promote projects, bring important issues to public awareness, engage wider audiences with poetry. They can showcase community, uncover talent, bypass the bias of the publishing industry. They can give much-needed recognition and opportunities to writers at any stage in their career – and they offer readers hundreds of wonderful, quality-assured new poems. They can be exciting, fascinating, even transformative.  No-one is suggesting an end to poetry competitions.

But can they be kinder? At the very least, can they avoid doing harm? I was genuinely shocked when I learnt that several major competitions require the short-listed writers to prepare their acceptance statements before the prize ceremony where they learn who has won – and who has not. To someone like me, it seems almost cruel to ask people to imagine themselves into the position of winner, and to put that experience into words. Of course, most won’t win, and for some, that experience is painful, even crushing.   

What improvements could improve the culture? More prizes, smaller sums? More platforming? Prize anthologies and readings? Individual feedback for entrants? Judge’s reports? More support for the shortlisted entrants who do not win?  Ongoing practical support and networking? Greater inclusivity? I’d love to hear your ideas and examples of how poetry competitions can create and strengthen community.

Here are some of mine. The Winchester Poetry Prize closes on 31st July. I am the judge, and I’ll read all entries. You can enter by post and cheque, so no-one is digitally excluded. A Pay It Forward schemes supports free places for poets on low incomes. If you’re at Winchester Uni, you can enter for free. If you’re longlisted, you’ll be promoted through social media, newsletters and press releases, and invited to read at the event, either in person or by Zoom. You’ll be in the anthology, and you’ll take a copy home for free. And there’s a drinks reception afterwards, so you can meet and chat with all the other poets; I’ll be there, talking to you about your poetry.

And a big, achy source of happiness for me – I’ll be awarding the very first Kathryn Bevis Prize to a poet based in Hampshire, where you’ll not only win a prize, you’ll also be supported through the year to be 'guest poet' at local poetry events throughout the year. It’s a very fitting way to remember a woman who worked so hard for the poetry community, and who was more full of love than almost anyone I know.

Amy Brown of Winchester Poetry Festival says “Writing can be a solitary affair and we want to provide a platform, and place, where poets can grow their talent and be proud of their achievements. We know it takes courage to put your words on a page, and everyone that has the bravery to do that deserves celebrating!” I’d love to hear more examples of poetry competitions who celebrate and support their entrants – even those who don’t win. I might even be tempted to enter them.

Probably not though. It’s easy to assume that winning a major competition, is an automatic guarantee of confidence, validation, success. But it’s not true, in just the same way that having a great publisher doesn’t mean that I don’t sometimes feel like I’m a boring, pointless writer with ugly feet. Prizes are nice, but no-one else can provide us with all the validation we need. And we are our own best protection against feelings of rejection and hurt. Because ultimately, of course, what matters most is our belief in our work.

And, of course, our own feet.