So here’s what’s happening…


We have had to find a new venue for the bookshop. The main reason we thought we could open the shop on a comparatively small budget was that the rent on the space we originally had in I’klectik Art-lab was very low. The rent on any new site will be far higher; this being the case, we’re going to have to do a lot of saving. We will be looking at the possibility of getting loans or grants towards these costs, but the chances are we will not be able to open a permanent shop this year.

What we will be doing, though, is setting up shop temporarily in various sites over the year; there will be more news on this as we agree details with hosts. Although this is disappointing, what it does mean is that when we do eventually get a permanent site, we will be able to do exactly what we like with it, and not have to worry about our events clashing with those held by other businesses located on the same site. The goal is to have a permanent, visible home for poetry in London, and this is not something we could have done at I’klectik.

To those of you who contributed to our Indiegogo campaign, thank you for your patience and support, and hang in there – this will happen, and it will be worth the wait.


Lunar Poetry will return in March, and will once more run on a monthly schedule. Again, thanks for bearing with us.


Lunar Poetry Podcasts is a continuing series and past and new episodes can be found on LPP’s YouTube page.


We have plans for a number of other print and audio publications over the year. The first of these will be the short-run pamphlet, Thirteen Lunar Poems, which will be going out to Indiegogo contributors who signed up for the pamphlet perk. More details on this and further publications will appear throughout the year.


As of March, all Lunar publications will be available in .ePub and .mobi formats to download to eReaders. We will also be offering an eBook conversion service to poetry publishers. More details will be up on the main site in due course.


Speaking of which, we are in the process of fully revamping the main site; in the mean time information will be going up on this blog site, as well as Twitter and Facebook. This means that the usual email address is currently down: if you need to get in touch with me, you can at

Other Stuff

There will be other stuff – we’ll let you know as and when.

Thanks for your continued support. If I’m honest, 2015 was a bit of a shitter for me; 2016 is looking like it might be pretty good.




Bookshop update

Things always take longer than you think they will – I have found that is a pretty good rule for life, and it applies to the opening of bookshops as well. We initially intended to open on Sunday, 9th August. However, while it would be possible to do so, it would not be possible to do so with everything the way I want it. I think opening a dedicated poetry bookshop in London is an important thing to do, so I want to get it right. If I do not, it may be some time before anyone else decides to attempt something similar.

Once everything is ready, I will announce a new launch date in plenty of time for those who want to attend. In the meantime, the special edition pamphlets and postcards will be in the post later this month, along with the other perks promised to those who donated to the crowdfunding campaign.

Finally, since the launch is not going ahead this Sunday, the launch of Lunar Poetry 8/9 will also be postponed. As not many of this issue’s poets were available to read, this is not a big problem. Those who were planning to read can send me their address and I will post their copy to them. If you have made travel arrangements from outside of London, please write to me and I will reimburse your travel costs.

Addendum to Open Letter, The Money Bit

There have been a few questions about the options for paying publishers outlined in the Open Letter, especially the third one, so I am going to give an example.

Also, for those of you who currently sell books through Central Books or another distributor, we are, of course, happy to go through them.

The figures in the example are, as the dodgy payday loan ads say, for illustration purposes only. The margins in mainstream bookselling vary greatly, but the average, as I understand it, is around 40% (i.e. the bookseller makes 40% profit, before paying tax, rent, wages, etc., on each copy sold; the other 60% of the cover price goes to the publisher). However, I know, because of poetry’s unique reliance on very small presses, that this sort of margin will not always be possible, and I am willing to negotiate with publishers individually.

That said, here is an example of how the three options would work in principle:

Say that you want to supply, and we want to stock, ten copies of a specific book, the cover price of which is £10.

Option 1:

We could arrange to buy these outright, at a comparatively low price, on the understanding that they might not sell and we may end up having to offer them at a discount. So we might offer to buy them at 40% of the cover price, knowing that there is the possibility of us still having them taking up space in a year or more’s time, and having to sell them at a discount. If we end up having to sell them at half their cover price or less, once our costs are paid, we would almost certainly be making a loss on them.

Advantages for you: you would, in this case, get £40 up front, and not have to worry about having to promote and sell those copies yourself, either in the first place, or at the end of a sale-or-return period; depending on how much it costs you to print and post your publications in the first place, this may be an acceptable margin.

Disadvantages for you: obviously, the margin for you might be very low, or even result in a net loss.

Why might you choose this option: This option would probably work best with older stock which you feel is no longer likely to sell through your own website, etc. Alternatively, if you have a relatively low profit threshold and you don’t want the hassle of sale or return.

Option 2:

Straightforward sale or return. You post us the books with no up-front payment from us, we agree to stock them for, let’s say, three months, but agree to pay 65% of the cover price on any copies sold. So potentially you would receive £65 for your ten books, if we sold out, but you would not receive that money until the three months are over. On the other hand, if we can’t sell the books, you get them back at the end of three months, with nothing to show for the time when they were out of general circulation. With this model, because the profit margins would be extremely low for us, it would be difficult for us to offer discounts on the books.

Advantages for you: A high profit margin.

Disadvantages for you: Potentially nothing to show for having stock out of general circulation for a set period of time.

Why you might choose this option: If you are confident that your books will sell quickly, and are not concerned with being paid immediately, then obviously this would work out well for you.

Option 3:

So this is the confusing one, but I think it is potentially the best option for both parties. We agree to, if you like, “rent” your books for a set period of time, on a sale or return basis, like Option 2, but this time we pay part of the costs up front. So, we might pay 30% of the cover price up front, to stock your books for three months, on the proviso that we pay 60% on all copies sold. So, in the example above we would initially pay you £30 for your ten books. If they sold out, we would pay an extra £30 at the end of the three months, meaning you make 60% of the cover price in total. However, if we only sell 7 of the books, at the end of the three months, you would get the three unsold copies back, plus an extra £12 (7 copies, at £6 profit to you per copy = £42). If we only sold five, you would get the other five back and no extra payment (five books at £6 profit for you a copy = the initial £30 we paid out). If we sold fewer than half the ten books, you would have to return some of our initial outlay of £3 per book – e.g. if we only sold three of the ten copies, at £6 a copy profit for you, this = £18, so you would have to return £12 to us when we sent the remaining seven copies back.

Advantages for you: you get some money up front; you get a healthy profit margin if the books sell. There is less initial risk to either the publisher or the bookseller than there is in the other options.

Disadvantages for you: you won’t get the full profit until the end of the sale or return period; you have to make sure you can return our initial payment if the books don’t sell.

Why you might choose this option: If you are reasonably confident that the majority of the copies you send us will sell, and need some cash up-front to pay for print/postage costs in return for having them out of general circulation for a period.


All of these options are open to negotiation. The figures quoted are not set in stone – the margins and the sale or return period are both hypothetical. There will also be room to negotiate extensions to sale or return periods, ordering extra copies, and things like offering to buy outright some copies of publications initially ordered on sale or return, at the end of the SoR period.

We want to be as flexible as we can be, since there is no point in opening this shop if it is not going to be as representative of modern UK poetry as possible. That said, the shop will cost money to run, and is going to be run as a business – rent must be paid; staff will be paid – so if you are currently running your press as something which makes a loss or barely breaks even, you will have to weigh up whether the extra copies you are likely to sell through the shop, and the extra promotion which we will give your work, are worth the drop in profit per copy sold. I would say that they are, as schemes like this increase the profile – and therefore saleability – of poetry as a whole, and are going to be good for your press in the long term. Selling poetry should not have to be a hobby, a scrabble, a second, third or fourth job. Treating the selling of poetry as seriously as we treat its writing and printing is the most effective way I can think of to change this.

An Open Letter to Poetry Publishers and Magazines

Hello, my name is Paul McMenemy, I edit a magazine called Lunar Poetry, and I want to open a dedicated poetry bookshop in London. We are currently running a crowdfunding campaign at, which runs till Friday, 5th June. Please do spread the word, and contribute if you can, but the point of this letter is more to persuade you to let us stock your publications, than to give us your money (although, by all means, do both if you like). To this end, I am going to address three questions: what exactly we want to do, how we are going to do it, and why it is worth doing.

Naively, perhaps, I think that the “why” ought to be fairly obvious to people involved in the promotion of poetry, so I will start with the “what” and the “how”. Those of you who are not yet convinced that a poetry bookshop is a necessary thing can skip down a few paragraphs to where I explain that point, if you wish, and rejoin the rest of us here later.


I’klectik Artlab in Waterloo, London have agreed to let us have part of their gallery/café/performance venue at a low rent to use as a permanent physical poetry bookshop. Staff will be paid the London living wage. Lunar Poetry Podcast Editor, poet, and actual real-life carpenter, David Turner, has agreed to knock us up some shelves. We aim to fill these with the largest selection of poetry we can, focussing on, but not limited to, contemporary UK poetry – this stock is our main initial outlay, and the reason for the crowdfunding appeal.

We intend to use this physical space not just to sell print poetry, but to act as a centre for poetry in as many forms as possible, holding readings, performances, book launches, workshops, book clubs, reading groups, writing groups, collaborative projects, exhibitions and anything else we can think of. In addition to this physical space we intend to have a web analogue of the bookshop through which poetry can be ordered and explored with greater convenience than is currently the case. Finally, we are going to use the bookshop as a base from which to launch poetry bookselling into the wider world, bringing poetry for sale to markets, book fairs, readings, spoken word nights, etc.

How (The Money Bit – if you’re not a publisher, you probably want to skip this)

The best way for us to buy your stock will differ from publisher to publisher, but there are three main options.

  1. We buy stock from you up front at a trade discount and resell it at the cover price (or at any discounted price we choose). This involves the highest risk for us – as we may end up with stock which won’t sell – and may not be the best thing for you, as you may end up selling out of copies of an item while there is still demand for it, knowing copies are lying unsold in our shop. As such, this is the option which would offer the lowest profit margin for you.
  1. The simplest form of sale or return: giving us the stock for a limited period of time at no cost, at the end of which we pay you an agreed percentage of the profits of any copies sold, and return the unsold copies. While this is obviously good for the bookshop, in that we have no initial outlay, it is not necessarily so good for you. As such, this option would be the one which offers the highest profit margin for you.
  1. The preferred option for us – and the most mutually beneficial – is a median arrangement between the first two options, wherein we pay a certain percentage of the cover price up front, in order to stock an item for a certain period of time, on the agreement that we pay a higher percentage per copy sold at the end of the period, and that the initial fee per unsold copy would be returnable to us in exchange for those unsold copies. This means that you get something up front, and a higher margin per copy sold, and if we are unable to sell some of the copies, those copies would be returnable to you, in return for the initial fee per unsold copy.

I hope these options are clear; if not they will become clearer once we start negotiating figures. [Edit: for some examples with hypothetical figures, click here.] I want to be as open about this process as possible, but there is no point in setting hard and fast numbers here when the circumstances of individual publishers differ greatly. I realise that most poetry publishers work on very small margins (those that actually make a profit at all) and as such am willing to do my best to accommodate this. I’m not expecting to become a poetry millionaire out of this, but I do need to eat, pay rent, pay wages, and continue to stock the shop – if I can do that, I will be happy.

This brings us back to the “why”. Even those of you who fully approve of the notion of a poetry bookshop in principle may be wondering why you should cut your already slim to non-existent margins in order to subsidise my selfish desire not to get a proper job.


There are two reasons, one which I am not embarrassed to call moral, and the other practical. One leads on from the other.

Pragmatism first. To put it bluntly: whilst you may make more money per copy sold without a middle-man, no one is going to buy your books if they’ve never heard of them. According to the website of the Saison Poetry Library, which provides the most up-to-date listings I know of, there are currently well over one hundred poetry presses and magazines active in the UK. Of these, 1% or so actually get their stuff into mainstream bookshops with any regularity; of the rest, far fewer than half sell their publications through Amazon, either for ethical reasons or because it is simply too much faff. Some use Inpress, but, again, it is a pretty small percentage, which means that it is unlikely to be the first place someone would look for a specific poetry book (and the fact that Inpress covers small presses in general, rather than just poetry, means that they are not specifically associated with poetry in most readers’ minds). As for the rest – probably closer to three quarters than half – their publications are only available through their own websites and at readings.

As a poetry reader, I ain’t got time for that shit.

As a publisher, neither do you. Even supposing someone does find their way to your website – what are they going to buy? The exact item they were looking for, and most likely nothing else. Even if you have cover art and sample poems for each one of the publications on your site (and very many publishers’ websites don’t: often the best the reader can get is a couple of determinedly uninformative puff-quotes), it is unlikely that the reader who has come specifically to buy one thing only is going to have the time and inclination (even if they do have the spare cash at that exact moment – which is not guaranteed) to click on every one of your other books and decide that any of these is worth chancing a tenner on, sight unseen.

Those of you who attended last year’s Free Verse Poetry Book Fair, or any similar event, know the advantages of having physical copies of your books, in a physical room, with physical punters, and a whole load of other books, pamphlets and magazines by other publishers. I volunteered at the last Free Verse – hundreds of people attended, and I’m pretty sure most of them spent more money than they intended. You are far more likely to buy something that you have never heard of – or even something you have – if you can actually pick up a copy and have a look at it – and having someone who knows what they’re talking about to discuss it with doesn’t hurt either.

Like most of the other people there, I spent more than I meant to at Free Verse. But that didn’t amount to any great figure, because it was a bit too far to my next payday to do so. Like, I suspect, most people, I don’t have a poetry ISA accumulating somewhere to be splashed at an annual book fair, or on a trip to Hay. I do, though, occasionally have a spare ten or twenty quid to spend on a couple of pamphlets or magazines, but then I have the whole palaver of trying to find whatever the most recent thing I happen to recall thinking I might want to buy was online, and then looking at the tiny jpeg cover, the two puff-quotes, and, if I’m lucky, the sample poem on the publisher’s website and working out whether I really do want to spend four meals’/three pints’/a packet and a half of fags’ worth of my limited funds on this product about which the publisher hasn’t really bothered to give me any useful information.

To be clear, I am definitely one of the – let’s be optimistic here – five to ten thousand people in the country who keep the UK poetry industry (if we can call it that) going. Not by editing and publishing a magazine, or by writing the stuff, but by actually buying and reading it. I care about poetry; I want to read as much of it as I can; I spend a probably unhealthy amount of time trying to find and find out about it. I’m not an expert – who can be in this disparate and discretely scattered a milieu? – but I am more than averagely knowledgeable and interested. The point is, if I find it a discouraging chore to try to buy poetry, then how is someone who is trying to jump into poetry from a standing start likely to feel?

And this is what I have called the moral argument. Those of us who care about poetry and its continuation as an artform – and by definition I am assuming that includes all of you, publishers, since you certainly aren’t in it for the money – need to do far more to try and reintroduce it into the mainstream of everyday life. Printing the stuff isn’t enough: we need to get people to read it. And that starts with making them aware that it even exists. If you asked your average English-speaking adult to name ten living poets, 99.9% of them would not be able to. If you asked them when they last read or heard something by a living poet, they’d probably go blank for five minutes before mumbling something about Poetry on the Underground, or asking if Ted Hughes was still alive, or saying “I think there was something on Radio 4 the other day, I forget the chap’s name, I wasn’t really paying attention…”. And I don’t just mean whatever amorphous blob comes into your mind when you think of “your average English-speaking adult” – I mean intelligent, well-read people who could, unprompted, give you 1,000 words on what they think about Amélie Nothomb or Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o – English graduates, English professors, even – if we’re honest – not a few poets.

Like most poetry people, I was briefly enraged by Jeremy Paxman’s comments last year about poets only speaking to other poets. I read it as a variation on Adrian Mitchell’s old quip about most poetry ignoring most people, and I read more than one article by a disgruntled publisher in the aftermath saying, “well, if Paxman had read what I publish, he wouldn’t think that” – the implication being that Paxo ought to bloody well educate himself.

What on earth for? I don’t suppose Paxman has ever heard of your imprint – and why should he have? He seems like a pretty intelligent, widely read and well-informed guy: if 90% of modern poetry hasn’t entered his purview, whose fault is that? I was at a poetry discussion in the British Library the other day, and one of the panellists – a well-known journalist – considered herself pretty well-up on Spoken Word because she had heard of Kate Tempest and had once seen Linton Kwesi Johnson. The thing is, by most standards, she is – certainly she is as well-informed about Spoken Word as the vast majority of people who publish poetry; so why should we expect Paxman or anyone else to be any better informed about modern poetry when most of it has a fraction of the public profile of Tempest or LKJ?

We need to push poetry – in the current political fug we can’t expect arts bodies or educators to do it for us. Here is an interesting article by Ian McLachlan about what happened when he tried to sell his poetry to actual real-life poetry-dodging punters. It can be done – and it starts by acknowledging that poetry is no more necessary to life than the plesiosaur; that while we would feel that something irreplaceable had been lost if poetry disappeared from the world, an overwhelming majority of people wouldn’t feel a thing. Poetry needs to be treated not as something unique, fragile, special, eternal and ethereal, but as something which exists in the real world of internet porn, intestinal discomfort and Iain Duncan Smith. Poets already know this – hence the outcry over Paxman’s comments – but do publishers?

The point of this bookshop is to help begin the reintroduction of poetry into the public consciousness. Arts initiatives whose goals are engagement and education are good, but if we can do something that exists outside of the academy and the subsidised arts centre then we really ought to, because that is not where the people are. I want poetry to engage and educate people simply by existing in their world: by telling people “I have something you ought to want, something that is worth your time, attention and, yes, money”. I want to sell the shit out of poetry.

Finally, if you are wondering, this initiative is not undertaken entirely without self-interest on my part: I am a poet; I do not want to write for other poets, baffled family-members, and an ever-ageing, ever-dwindling, ever more middle class rump of habitual poetry readers. I want to write for everyone. They can choose to ignore my writing if they wish, but I’d like to give them the option.