Ross Sutherland – Pacman of all Trades

First published in Writing Magazine August 2010

Ross Sutherland was born in Wester Hales, Edinburgh in 1979. In 1997 he performed his first live poetry reading, alongside John Cooper Clarke and Martin Newell. In 2000 he launched a poetry club night called ‘Aisle16’ with fellow poet Luke Wright. Aisle16 later became a theatre company in 2005, and their show ‘Poetry Boyband’ won the Time Out Critic’s Choice of the Year. In 2009 he published his debut collection ‘Things To Do Before You Leave Town’, before producing his first solo show, ‘The Three Stigmata of Pacman’ in 2010.

In the build-up to his first solo Edinburgh show ‘The Three Stigmata of Pacman’, Ross Sutherland explains to Lizzy Dening the difficulties and pleasures of professional writing, how to deal with pre-performance nerves, and why he never tells anyone he’s a poet
 

“I’ve just spent all morning writing a poem about the videogame ‘Gauntlet’, for no money – What is it I do for a living?” Ross Sutherland rolls his dark eyes towards the ceiling, laughing with the tongue-in-cheek attitude surely required by anyone who relies on poetry to make their living.

Like many performers Sutherland’s character seems contradictory. But unlike the rock star’s typical manic-versus-melancholic nature, Sutherland is caught between self-conscious artist and sharp-tongued entertainer. He is aware of his dual identities, “I originally became a performer to overcome shyness,” he smiles slowly, swirling the dregs of his black coffee like a fortune-teller. “Instead of being spontanious I could go and sit in my room for three weeks and come up with the perfect reply. Being a poet means people are then forced to sit and listen to that.”

We’ve met in Cambridge’s CB1 café – a favourite haunt for the city’s bohemians and academics alike – and the atmosphere is cosy and humid as the sun begins to set. Sutherland is charmingly dishevelled (something which all reviewers hone in on – as if poets were usually meticulously turned out) in a grey hoody and his trademark low-hanging jeans and red belt. It’s this combination of shabby dressing, dark stubble and curly hair which has led to Luke Wright (co-founder of Sutherland’s ten-year-old poetry collective Aisle16) describing him as a ‘mad professor’.

Sutherland hardly ever reads reviews of his gigs, “Unless my publisher sends them to me – then I know they’re friendly.” Though he admits to being used to the idea of being judged, after years of putting himself in the firing line of live performance; justifying bad reviews with the argument that poetry is such a diverse and subjective experience. The idea that poets are not all cut from the same cloth is something he returns to repeatedly, frustrated that whilst novels are divided into clear genres, poetry styles are mostly clumped together, making it difficult to compare one poet with another.

Apart from negative or narrow-minded reviews, his main anxiety is giving live performances to big crowds. “Being naturally shy, seeming confident and off-the-cuff in front of an audience is something I’ve really had to work on.” Confidence is something Sutherland seems to have learnt to a polished level, as talking to him I am struck by how warm he is – equally willing to tease me with jokey answers as he is to lose himself in a debate about the intricacies of the spoken word. I ask whether he has any tips for masking nerves, “I don’t really like to talk to people before I go on stage, I’m generally too busy running lines. But I do sometimes dance behind the stage – that seems to relieve some pressure.”

Sutherland first began memorizing poetry with his grandmother before he could even write, “We would make up rhymes to help us remember shopping lists.” After his parents moved from Edinburgh to Essex, poetry became a way to stay in touch with his Scottish relatives, and they would send short rhymes back and forth. I ask him to recite the first poem he ever wrote, and he obliges playfully, looking suddenly much younger than his thirty years: “The ghouls are out to lunch/the castle’s beginning to fall down…Crunch.”

This passion for words followed him to university in Norwich, where he began performing annually alongside celebrated punk poet John Cooper Clarke. It was here that he met Luke Wright, formed Aisle16, and slowly they began to build a fan base that would lead them on nationwide tours, with witty laddish shows like ‘Poetry Boyband’.

Currently Sutherland is fresh from a London run of his first solo show, the ‘Three Stigmata of Pacman’, and about to start a month of teaching creative writing classes back in Norwich. I ask him how he is able to make a living from poetry: “I don’t tend to think about my methodology until I’m asked. It’s similar to actually writing a poem, really, where the method is just engrained and unquestioned.” He jiggles his leg against the table, causing our drinks to shake, “I tend not to tell people I’m a poet. It just means half an hour of explaining what a poet does…I wear a lot of different professional hats. I mean, I work as a creative writing tutor, performer, I get commissioned work…” Here he trails off, frowning slightly, as if questioning how he is able to pull it all together.

“A lot of work comes from not just being a poet. Poetry is getting more ambitious in its collaborations with other art forms. In making films to accompany my poems I’m able to demonstrate my broad interests. I suppose that gives me something unique as an artist.” I am already aware of Sutherland’s films from his website. The most recent includes My Shoes are in Love – a surprisingly poignant film about his battered old trainers (which I now note he is wearing for our interview) and their love for one another that he feels excluded from. It is, like much of his work, an idea that manages to be both hilarious, and utterly moving.

If he had to introduce a stranger to his work, he would probably use a ‘list’ poem, possibly the title poem from his collection ‘Things To Do Before You Leave Town’. “No human being can be summed up in one poem, so lists are quite a good introduction to a many-sided personality.” Sutherland clearly spends a lot of time calculating about poetry – what it means to be a writer, where the art form is headed and what can be done to generate new ideas. He encourages new writers to read prolifically: “Writing and performing are no substitute for reading. Plus I think plagiarism is underrated – if you plagiarise enough different writers simultaneously you’ve written something new.” He also believes good writers are those who make an effort to get out and about, “It isn’t a hermit’s career, you need to see people. Join a writing forum like ‘ABC Tales’ where you can comment on other people’s stuff, attend open mike readings or set up a writing group.”

Finally, I ask him what he might have become if the poetry world hadn’t welcomed him
with open arms? He looks out of the window and knocks back the end of his second coffee, before grinning at me, “A loveless steel tycoon. Sorry, you’ll have to settle for a comedy answer.”

Back to journalism