Biography

Award-winning writer and photographer Oz Hardwick has been a familiar face on the York arts scene for a few years. A regular participant in Aesthetica and Dreamcatcher events, he has contributed to both publications. In January 2006, he co-founded Speakers’ Corner, an open mic night for spoken word performers held on the second Wednesday of each month upstairs at The Yorkshire Terrier, Stonegate, York. Yet his reputation is much more widespread, with poems published throughout the UK, Europe and the US, including journals as diverse as The Reader, HQ, The Connecticut Review, The Rialto and Presence.

Always happy to read his work to an audience, over recent years, Oz has been performing more widely throughout the north of England and beyond, including Europe and the US. Of his headline slot at Exposure, a week-long series of poetry events at the Edinburgh Fringe, the arts newspaper Three Weeks enthused:

‘This was a Festival experience I wouldn't hesitate in repeating... Oz Hardwick, perhaps the star of the show, ensured his work was very accessible by talking the audience through each poem, helping us to appreciate and understand his motivation and inspiration. His "Book Lover" struck a particular chord with me, while "Night Driving in American Werewolf Country", though it sounds surreal, is something everyone can identify with. Three Weeks rating: 5/5.’

In addition to writing, Oz is also an accomplished photographer. His solo exhibition, Vapour Trails, was highly successful in the summer of 2004, and he continues to be published in magazines, journals books and album covers. He is a major contributor to Ian Abrahams’ Hawkwind: Sonic Assassins (SAF, 2004), reflecting his years as a rock photographer.

Oz’s first poetry collection, The Kind Ghosts (bluechrome, 2004), received uniformly positive reviews: ‘convincingly show(s) that he is, indeed, an artist’ (Bernard M. Jackson); ‘Oz Hardwick is a poet who defies schools and boundaries, and his words soar’ (Dee Rimbaud); ‘I was happy to sing the book’s praises, and I will do so to anyone else who listens’ (Gary Bills). His second collection, Carrying Fire (bluechrome, 2006) was launched in York, Leeds, London and Orta San Giulio, Italy (supported by Arts Council England), and again received excellent reviews: ‘An outstanding and eccentric talent' (New Hope International Review); 'My favourite Living Poet' (The Connecticut Review). With the demise of bluechrome, an anthology, The Lost Songs,' was published by Indigo Dreams in 2010: 'Cleverly structured material that may seem loose and carefree whilst reading but in reality forms strict ... traditional European forms' (Krax). His latest collection, The Illuminated Dreamer (Oversteps Books, 2010) looks set to build on earlier successes: 'This book is proof that Oz Hardwick is a Master Poet' (HQ).

‘The more one reads Hardwick’s poems the more they have to say; like lovers with their arms initially closed across their chests, the nearer one approaches, the more they open up, the warmer the embrace’ (The Black Mountain Review).

Oz's books are available from:
http://www.overstepsbooks.com/cat/the-illuminated-dreamer/

Samples

Throwing Stones (from The Kind Ghosts)

She is here again, ankle deep in bladderwrack
and the gritty tingle of cold shale and regret,
hands and heart full of pebbles, smooth and salt
to the tongue. Between high and low water marks,
this uncertainty is a home of sorts; familiar, at least.

Stone-skim skips years, she is childhood in abstract,
hailing family and lovers, beguiled by the waves.
Ghosts of hands held, arms flung far
to scatter gulls and touch the perfect sun,
flash in the foam at the corner of her blinking eye.

With the rocks she remains, a lighthouse without light or foundation,
without footprints or future, lost in the trip of tides
like that first flung stone, forgotten, sunk
in sand, eroding, becoming bed and beach.



Monochrome (from The Illuminated Dreamer)

I don’t want colour, I want romance in black and white,
lights low, your Clara Bow lips
parting in a smile, in a dangerous kiss – no
dazzling Technicolor extravaganza,
all singing, all dancing. You know how to whistle, don’t you?
That’s enough.

There’s no need to paint the leaves:
gas-lit streets will be our Sherwood Forest,
we’ll do our own stunts, share cigarettes and leave
no clues as we make our getaway in a black sedan,
roads scrolling unconvincingly behind us.

Back down the rainbow, leave the Yellow Brick Road
behind, kick off your ruby slippers and dance
in the Trevi Fountain, Parisian dives, high
above Manhattan – no CGI, just wires
and magic to fly you to the Moon.

My Blue Angel
in shades of silver, soft focused, haloed
with Lillian Gish hair, for you I’ll extinguish
Times Square’s gaudy neon glare,
mute it to monochrome with a rising Gershwin score,
meet you in secret when the last train has left.

I turn my trench coat collar high, gaze
into your Bergman eyes. I don’t want colour,
I want romance in black and white. Here’s looking at you, kid.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.