I knocked on doors, spoke to people about their hopes and concerns, and wrote poetry to share with them. It could and should be an art form for everyone
When I first suggested knocking on strangers’ doors and offering to write a poem for them, for nothing, on any subject of their choosing, the responses weren’t exactly enthusiastic. I’m from Heaton in Newcastle upon Tyne, where the project began. One day, I happened to mention it to a taxi driver as I travelled through Byker, near Newcastle city centre. “It would never work round here,” he said, pointing out of the window.
The building he was pointing to was the Byker Wall, an estate near where I live – I’ll admit it’s not the first place you’d visit on the hunt for a bard. When I told my friends and colleagues that I was planning to try Door-to-Door Poetry here, they all made exactly the same sound – a Marge Simpson-esque expression of unease. I mentioned it to a trainee police officer who lived close to me. “Take some pepper spray and don’t carry any valuables,” she advised soberly. Having grown up on a council estate myself, I wasn’t as apprehensive as I might have been. But warnings like this still did a lot to rattle my nerves.
Rowan McCabe’s book The Door to Door Poet: My Adventures Across England will be published on 18 September
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