Gregory Woods Poet Professor of Gay and Lesbian LGBT Studies Gay Queer Literature Culture


Gregory Woods - author ­Welcome to my website.

I use it to post information about my poetry and literary criticism, and also about my career as an academic and teacher. (I recently retired as Professor of Gay and Lesbian Studies at Nottingham Trent University.)

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"The poet with the sharpest technique for social verse in Britain today. He lets off fireworks through the official groves of English literature"--Peter Porter

"The poems of Gregory Woods have never failed to impress me ... For a start there are few poets around who can rival him technically"--Matt Simpson

"When I think of the dross that is regularly published, noticed, praised, rewarded, and then consider that for the most part Woods goes without recognition, I'm not so much aghast as enraged at the (still largely London) cabal that decides poetic worth in England"--John Lucas

"I'm not sure I had ever written a fan letter before to a poet I had not met, but that's what I did when I read two poems by Gregory Woods ... I admired them especially for their technical virtuosity, in that it was technique completely used, never for the sake of cleverness but as a component of feeling ... What an enviable talent Gregory Woods has"--Thom Gunn

"I have read Gregory Woods' poems with real excitement"--Sir Stephen Spender

"Probably, the finest gay poet in the United Kingdom ... a poet of considerable technical ability and intellectual depth"--Sinead Morrissey

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If you want to buy any of my books, please go to the LINKS page to see how to contact my publishers. For information on some recordings of me reading my poems, go to the NEWS page.­­­

"It is always a question whether there is any sense in taking notice of a poet's fine feelings. The poet himself has misgivings about them. Yet a man ought to feel something, at night under such a moon." - D.H. Lawrence, Kangaroo (1923)


His exile lasted days--
the years could not engage him.
Nostalgia kept him young:
the orchard where his dog
chased rats, the cleft between
the rocks where boys undressed
to bathe, his mother's smile,
first kiss, first car, first rifle.

So no one recognised
on his return the boy
who looked like someone they
once knew: the velvet cheeks,
the cobalt eyes. Yet he'd
be an old man by now.

From Gregory Woods, Very Soon I Shall Know (Nottingham: Shoestring, 2012)

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