Adam Lowe is an award-winning writer, journalist, producer and publisher from Leeds, although he now lives in Manchester. He has been selected as one of ten ‘next generation’ poets to be mentored in Spread the Word’s The Complete Works II. His mentor will be Patience Agbabi. He runs the writer development group Young Enigma, in association with Commonword.
He was 2013 LGBT History Month Poet Laureate. He was 2012 Olympic poet for Yorkshire. His 2012 pamphlet, Precocious (Dog Horn Publishing, 2012), was a reader nomination for the Guardian First Book Award.
In 2012, he was producer and writer for To Market, To Market, working with executive producers Dorothea Smartt and Steve Dearden and writers from Young Inscribe. He is also lead artist and co-producer of the Grammar School at Leeds’ award-nominated Speak Up creative writing festival. He was 2011 Writer in Residence at Zion Arts Centre, for which his writing troupe were awarded a Community History Award. He was one of the 2010 young writers in residence at the I Love West Leeds Arts Festival.
He has worked with Channel 4, The National Lottery, West Yorkshire Playhouse, BBC Writersroom, Contact Theatre, Theatre-in-the-Mill, Stage @ Leeds, Arts @ Trinity and the Royal Exchange Theatre.
Adam is a graduate of Street Voices 2 (2010), where he worked with the Bush Theatre’s Josie Rourke and Madani Younis. In 2009 his debut novella, Troglodyte Rose, was also released in limited edition hardback by Cadaverine Publications, and was a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award.
THE MARRIAGE VOW
In the shade we fold into the dark bows of limbs,
our shadows pool among roots. Succumbing, you pull
from the low-slung branch plump bulbs of light.
Your knife orbits the golden fruit, disrobes
its pithy sunlight. You give it to me:
a half-moon, a swell bowl of jewels,
a fistful of princely favour. This dowry made
in bright strands of citrus fibre.
Illuminated, the canopy of the blossoming tree
becomes sanctuary no more, exposes dark ridges
of flesh, wet, scattered with seeds, anointed
with juice that beads and runs where it will.
I am hungry. You feed me discus after discus,
mandarin quavers. There is no time to discuss
the flavour. Just fill the hollow at my collarbone,
a liquid necklace; make me your shining queen.
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