Aaron Kent

A deep maroon cover features a chaotic, abstract line drawing of a face in mustard yellow. The title Collected Világos appears at the top in a serif font of the same mustard color, with the author's name, Aaron Kent, just below it in a lighter, muted tone. The publisher’s name, “Broken Sleep Books,” is centered at the bottom.

I began writing as U. G. Világos in 2015, while in the midst of attending group therapy, juggling two jobs, and yearning to overcome the things that haunted me and led me to the edge. I wanted to write about the traumatic experiences I had whilst in the military, and the terrible things that happened, but didn’t feel comfortable putting my name to them, defining myself as part of it. So, I created a pseudonym, one which did the work of hiding my name from my experiences, and also honoured my grandfather, Jenö Világos, who was my best friend growing up, who introduced me to Laurel and Hardy, and who died in the midst of my writing as Világos, in 2021. His name was Magyar for Eugene, hence U. G. I occasionally took part in online readings for U. G. Világos. I navigated these by: 1. Asking an Italian friend to record himself reading from the book, and playing that over a recording I made on a Super 8 camera. 2. Asking 6 friends with 6 different accents to read a poem each, and then playing that recording and suggesting U. G. sent it. 3. Asking Stuart McPherson to read and to tell people U. G. Világos asked him to do so. The books were all subtitled at 3 year intervals starting from the year of my birth, 1989, and having no actual connection to the year they were written in. 1989-1992: Written on a typewriter in which I didn’t look at the typewriter while typing, and covered anything I was still unable to say, even under a pseudonym, in a string of ‘x’s. When I began typesetting it I made some pieces even more abstract because I still couldn’t hold ownership of some of the experiences. 1993-1996: These poems were written as descriptions of the night terrors I was struggling with in late 2016/early 2017. My wife, Emma, was pregnant with our daughter and I was determined to overcome these nightly hallucinations. I kept a journal of the night terrors as I remembered them, making sure the notes were sparse. I sent an early, typographically weird version of this to a poet…

1997-2000: This larger, immense Világos was written between 2017-2019. I had been collecting brief snippets of conversations, odd lines that had come to me, brief poetic ideas, etc. I then compiled them after 3 years and edited it into a more poetic piece, ensuring to maintain the disparate connections between the work whilst also seeking thematic coherence. Selected Lyric Poetry: I essentially challenged myself to write a large body of poetry between 2020-2021, which was interrupted by a 6 week hospital stay where I wrote a lot of these on my phone. The poem title ‘The Red Child’ also appears in Bobby Parker’s Honey Monster which Bobby hadn’t yet written at this point, and he had no knowledge of U. G. Világos. Just one of those oddities. ‘The Red Child’ was chosen as The Daily Telegraph poem of the week as the date coincided with April Fool’s Day, and Tristram Fane Saunders was in the know about U. G. Világos. I wrote a poem under my own name ‘The Continued Adventures of the Upside-Down Boys’, which was a nod to the Világos poem ‘Adventures of the Upside-Down Boys’. 2001-2004: I’ve always wondered how to write a book in which the book has no actual content. This was the culmination of that idea. The contents pages list poems that don’t exist, and goes on for 14 pages, in sections marked by Roman numerals with no 6th section. There is an extended bibliography of books that don’t exist, quotes about the book written by fake authors of fake books, dedications to people that don’t exist, a series of fake epigraphs by fake people, and an endnotes section that references parts of the book that aren’t actually in the book and uses fake literature to do so. There’s an acknowledgements section that thanks fake journals for publishing the non-existent poems in the book, and a bio with a photo of a man who doesn’t exist, which claims to give U. G. Világos a pseudonym of his own: Discovery Jones. Tristram Fane Saunders, Rupert Loydell, Ian McEwan, and Jon Gabrus are all allu…

from the 60s titled The Lark Sings Wind, this book does not exist, but is referenced in the bibliography as being published by ‘Jenoimissyou Books’. I put that in shortly after my granddad died, I miss him. 2005-2008: I think this is the best thing I’ve ever written. I wrote it between 2021-2022 after being told my grandfather had died. I would leave the house late at night, walk into darkness and write a field recording of my grief. This is my eulogy to my grandfather, but also to U. G. 2009-2012: I wrote this, after not having written as U. G. for 2 years, between 2024-2025. It was an experiment to disintegrate a single poem, poem by poem, until the poem has fallen apart and is stripped back to the very core. This appeared in Snackbox II and claimed to have been printed as a Legitimate Snack, but it never actually was. I found, after 10 years of writing under a pseudonym, that I no longer had the ability to write as U. G., and I think the reasons for this are twofold. First being that my Grandfather had passed away, and when he died, and I wrote the eulogy for him (Collected Experimentalisms 2005-2008), U. G. died with him. The second reason being that I had been in therapy for a couple of years, confronting the things that I had hidden beneath my writing. I had learned to forgive myself. This, I believe, is the hardest and most important part of recovery, the ability to forgive yourself. Once I had done that, once I had reasoned with the version of me that needed to be looked after, I no longer needed to write under a pseudonym and was able to be proud of myself again. I’m grateful to U. G. for providing a space when I thought I didn’t deserve it. I know what’s there now so I don’t need to go back. Thank you, U. G. You know what’s here now. You don’t need to keep coming back to this place. — Bluey, ‘Space’ (Season 3, Episode 8) — Aaron Kent, 2025

PREORDER, @godzillakent.bsky.social:

Aaron Kent’s Collected Világos is a sprawling, genre-resistant archive of poetic experimentation, written under the pseudonym U. G. Világos between 2015 and 2025.

www.brokensleepbooks.com/product-page...

Radio Wales Breakfast - With Dot Davies and Nick Servini - BBC Sounds Everything you need to know as you wake up.

I was on BBC Radio Wales this morning to discuss the impact of PTSD, on behalf of @mindcymru.bsky.social. After bouts of PTSD due to my military service, and then later my stroke, I shared what it feels like, what the signs are, and avenues of support.

I'm on at 42:40: www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/...

Tom Robinson, a Caucasian man in black sweater, looking puzzled. The words below, in yellow, read 'I don't know if you're allowed to do that'

When conservative poetry critics read a poem presented as a sonnet which doesn't strictly adhere to the traditional sonnet form.

Oh, so you like poetry? Name every poem.

'and whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral'
— Walt Whitman

On 16th May, I'll be at The Mental Health & Wellbeing Show in Cardiff sharing my story in support of a campaign between Stroke & @mindcharity.bsky.social to highlight the mental health issues stroke survivors face & the need for better services.

Say hello if you're around!

mhwshow.co.uk/aron-kent/

Hot Glue Who wants to sniff hot glue twelve hours a day? Not me, I can't behave as if it was normal, I can't sit down and switch the telly on, watch a Clint Eastwood spaghetti Western spill beer on the carpet, how can I do any of that sniffing hot glue twelve hours a day? I wake up and the house is full of cold water, the same depth upstairs and down, also on the stairs I'm up to my navel in it. It's odd how the cat breathes underwater, how it behaves as if things were normal, how its purring isn't muffled.  

The late, great Geoff Hattersley.

National Poetry Competition 2024 Your National Poetry Competition entry Dear Aaron Thank you for entering the National Poetry Competition 2024, judged by Romalyn Ante, Stephen Sexton and John McAuliffe. The judges have carefully read all the entries and have now made their decision. We are sorry to say that this year, your entry was not successful.

I am so overwhelmed and delighted to finally be able to reveal that my National Poetry Competition (@poetrysociety.bsky.social) entry was NOT successful!

You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead.

Ah thanks Miles, I appreciate that!

Superhooliganism Architects to swollen Gods, pockmark grade 2 listings and give us thunder to our backs. This is a call for effigies, to reopen old wounds in splendour. When we die, let us do so on the job, bearing the slogans and omens of a spiteful government lucid with lukewarm platitudes. Care not for hawthorn clustered along the coop's shabby banks, nor for the lark singing of crystalline waters doused with dividends. Care not for hymns to a marginal country, nor suicide as hideous allegory. This is an ode to blood drinkers, to a fountain of corpses and horses. Let there be entrails around the throat of the king, peppered with fallen ash.

Here's a poem I had published in Red Poets last year. I think it's one of my favourite titles for a poem.

ON PROSPECTS: "There's a whole generation of kids that feel like they've got no hope and they're fucking lost. The arts is the first place they should turn. You don't need to be academic. You just need to have a bit of something about you, a bit of character. You show me a kid on a council estate without charisma."

ON THE WORKING CLASS: "In the arts, seven per cent of us are working class. Fucking incredible. Because I might be slightly biased, but I think we're the most creative people around. Got a bit of trauma there I mean, gives you a bit of character, doesn't it?"

Two great bits from Danny Dyer here. Both absolute gold.

A framed print with bold, black typography displays a quote from Walt Whitman: "A leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars." The frame is wooden and leans against a textured white wall. Surrounding the print are several copies of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, stacked and arranged. Some books are standing upright, while others are stacked horizontally, including editions with different covers and publishers.

Me: I like all genres of poetry, really.

Also me:

Glad you like it, sums it up pretty well, right?

Who is ‘working class’ and why does it matter in the arts? Prominent figures in the arts say class is a key factor that determines who can make it in the creative industries

Whenever I speak up about being working-class in the arts, or share my experiences, I always get some classplaining back. People who aren't working-class keen to tell me how I should feel or tell me they're middle-class but have 'struggled with money' in the past

www.theguardian.com/culture/2025...

The other half of everything for the songwriters is music. For the poets it's silence, the space, the whiteness. Music for them and silence for us does the work of time. I think our gig is harder. Their enemy reaches out, plays chords, goes hey we could be friends if you play your cards right. Our enemy simply waits, like it knows the arts of war. Songs are strung upon sounds, poems upon silence. Songwriters stir up a living tradition, poets make flowers grow in air. Bob Dylan and John Keats are at different work. It would be nice never to be asked about this again.

'Songwriters stir up a living tradition, poets make flowers grow in air.'
— Glyn Maxwell, 'On Poetry'

Aaron, a caucasian man in a suit and tie, is playing an upright double bass. He is holding the neck of the instrument with his left hand while plucking the strings with his right hand. The man is wearing a dark blue blazer, a gray sweater vest, a white shirt, and a green tie with a patterned lanyard and ID badge around his neck. The background consists of a plain off-white wall with vertical wooden beams.

I've been playing bass for about 20 years, but have never had the opportunity to play double bass, so imagine my delight upon finding one in the music department at work!

You're supposed to be honoured and delighted 'just to be nominated' for awards, but when you're working class you can't afford to be happy missing out on a cash prize. The money means more than the recognition. We can't pay the water bill with recognition.

The desire to write grows with writing.

— Desiderius Erasmus

Opening Line is the culmination of all the work I've done running Broken Sleep Books. This sums up everything I've wanted to achieve, which is to ensure poetry is available and accessible to all, regardless of the barriers that are too often imposed.

www.brokensleepbooks.com/product-page...

Petition to rename swordfish 'tunacorn'

ADVICE TO A YOUNG POET "There is only one way. Go within yourself. Explore what is calling you to write; check whether it is rooted in the deepest part of your heart, admit to yourself whether you would have to die if you were not able to write. This above all: ask yourself in the quietest hour of your night: must I write? Dig deep within yourself for the truth. And if the answer is yes, if you can reply clearly with a simple I must then build your life upon this [...] To feel that one could live without writing is enough of a sign that one should not.' Rilke (Letter to a Young Poet) 'When a great and unique soul speaks the small ones must remain silent' Franz Kappus (Rilke's 'Young Poet') Dear Small Ones, Be careful with Rilke. In the quietest hour of your night, in particular, don't listen to him. And don't join the Austrian army just yet. Try and get back to sleep and don't drink so much black tea tomorrow. When the day finally breaks, listen instead to James Broughton (or was it Ted Shawn or the Grateful Dead - does it really matter?): 'When in doubt, twirl'. Then to Gaston Bachelard: 'What is the source of our first suffering? It lies in the fact that we hesitated to speak... It was born in the moments when we accumulated silent things within us. The brook will nonetheless teach you to speak, in spite of sorrows and memories, it will teach you euphoria through euphuism, energy through the poem. It will repeat incessantly some beautiful, round word which rolls over rocks. 11

Absolutely delighted to return home to post from the brilliant @jeremyover.bsky.social, containing his astounding new book 'Fourth & Walnut'. Jeremy is a wonderful person and poet, and this book, out next month with @carcanet.bsky.social, is Jeremy at his best.

Aaron, stood in a row of blue seats wearing a Chelsea scarf.

Aaron chatting to Wayne Bridge. Wayne wears a black jumper, Aaron a blue Chelsea scarf and green shirt.

I've been a diehard Chelsea fan my entire life, but have never been able to afford to go to Stamford Bridge. Emma got tickets for us to watch Chelsea Vs Wolves today, so here I am decked out with my new Chelsea scarf, and chatting with Wayne Bridge.

Image comparison meme featuring Gordon Ramsay. The left panel shows Ramsay gently consoling a child with the text 'Oh dear, oh dear. Gorgeous.' The right panel shows a frustrated Ramsay yelling with the text 'You f***ing donkey.'

Me editing Me editing
a friend's poem my own poem

Teaches planner showing Day: Thursday, Date: 16/01/2025. The '5' in '2025' is scribbled over a '4'

It's that time of the year again, where I write the previous year and scribble over it, failing to learn my lesson for another good 5 months.

A promotional graphic for the Poetry Wales Award. The background features an orange and pink radial burst pattern. In the center, a black box with white text reads 'POETRY WALES * AWARD,' with a yellow asterisk between 'WALES' and 'AWARD.' Below the box, text states: '17 December 2024 - 17 February 2025 Judged by Jeremy Dixon.' At the bottom, the website address is displayed: www.poetrywales.co.uk/award. Sponsored by Literature Wales, with their logo in the top left corner.

The Poetry Wales award, judged by Jeremy Dixon, closes 17/02/2025 at midnight GMT.

First prize = a course at Tŷ Newydd or a stay at their writing retreat cottage.

Entry: £5/poem or free for magazine subscribers & low-income households.

@poetrywales.bsky.social

www.poetrywales.co.uk/award

Thank you for reading and sharing! It had been on my mind for a while

What big publishers can do for small presses How can major publishers create space for the small presses that keep the literary scene afloat?

Great article by @godzillakent.bsky.social over at The Bookseller.

Small presses are the grassroots. They are the birthplace of great writing and great writers and capture something the big presses will never be able to.

The big presses need to make space.

www.thebookseller.com/comment/what...

I think Tommy T would appreciate it

What big publishers can do for small presses How can major publishers create space for the small presses that keep the literary scene afloat?

I have a piece up for The Bookseller today, in which I consider how major publishers can create space for the small presses that keep the literary scene afloat.

www.thebookseller.com/comment/what...