Karl Knights
LightNews LightNews
banner
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Karl Knights
@inadarkwood.bsky.social
720 followers 140 following 210 posts
Queer autistic writer with cerebral palsy. @inadarkwood from Twitter. My debut pamphlet, Kin (2022) is out now. Mostly screaming about the pandemic. He/him
Posts Replies Media Videos
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Flabbergasted and pleasantly surprised to say the Poetry Foundation has chosen my essay as one of two nominees for the Best of the Net. My essay about a rarely recorded queer Suffolk being seen in this big a way is really touching. What a distance my Blythburgh doorstep has travelled!
The Poetry Foundation's nominees for the Best of the Net. On a red background is Mia You's essay, 'Poets on Translation: The Alter(native) Speaker' and Karl Knights' essay, 'This Be the Place: My Actual Huh'
October 17, 2025 at 6:07 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
And to think, there was a lot of griping when Daniel Radcliffe was cast as Ginsberg in Kill Your Darlings just over a decade ago, as he was too 'pretty.'

This pic of Ginsberg with a cat is a favourite, also! It's from a brief period where the beard was full, but short.
Allen Ginsberg in 1960 or so. Ginsberg is a fellow with glasses, short black hair and a shortish beard. He's holding a cat. The cat and Ginsberg stare at each other.
October 3, 2025 at 7:33 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Genuinely gutted to read that Brian Patten has died at 79. I adored his work, and his reading at Aldeburgh is still the best reading I've seen. He emailed me shortly afterwards, to wish me luck with my writing. Here's a favourite Patten poem, from Armada, without question his best collection.
Stepfather I cannot pick him out the air, he is not there, nor out the soil, the worm was not his style. I cannot pick him out the fire, there's not a cinder's worth left. So why do I still feel bereft when no love was lost? Perhaps for what might have been had he not been. In the coffin he seems a replica, a terrible dummy, still wreaking havoc, still beating up the living.
September 30, 2025 at 3:04 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Sorry to hear that Tony Harrison has died. In a conversation with Simon Armitage, filmed by the BBC, Harrison spoke about how he regretted that he couldn't write anything his parents might've enjoyed until after they died. Here's one of the poems in memory of his dad, among his best work for me:
Long Distance II Though my mother was already two years dead Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas, put hot water bottles her side of the bed and still went to renew her transport pass. You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone. He'd put you off an hour to give him time to clear away her things and look alone as though his still raw love were such a crime. He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief though sure that very soon he'd hear her key scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief. He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea. I believe life ends with death, and that is all. You haven't both gone shopping; just the same, in my new black leather phone book there's your name and the disconnected number I still call.
September 27, 2025 at 1:38 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Difficult to express how much I despise seeing this note on AI use underneath a BBC News article, and not for the first time.
Text on a white background which reads, 'BBC News used AI to help write the summary at the top of this article. It was edited by BBC journalists. Find out more'
August 14, 2025 at 6:14 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Two poems from Anna Świrszczyńska (known to American readers as Anna Swir) from her astonishing book, Building the Barricade, an account of the Warsaw Uprising. The poems, translated here by Piotr Florczyk, speak so painfully to the genocide and forced starvation happening right now in Gaza.
Lives One More Hour The child is two months old. The doctor says: without milk, the child will die. Mother wanders all day through basements to the other side of town. In Czerniakow a baker has a cow. Mother crawls on her stomach among rubble, mud, corpses. She brings back three spoons of milk. The child lives one more hour. Two Potatoes I carried two potatoes a woman came up to me. She wants to buy two potatoes she had children. I didn't give her two potatoes I hid two potatoes. I had a mother.
August 3, 2025 at 9:34 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Farewell to Allan Ahlberg, at age 87. Here's a favourite poem, from 1983's Please Mrs Butler. The illustration is by Fritz Wegner. Ahlberg poems are often funny, but underpinning every word and line break is a very deep sympathy for the pains of childhood that never wavers, as in this poem.
Slow Reader I - am - in - the - slow read-ers -group - my -broth - er - is - in - the -foot ball - team - my - sis -ter is - a - ser - ver - my lit - tle- brother - er - was a - wise - man - in - the in - fants - christ - mas - play I - am - in - the - slow read - ers - group - that is all - I - am - in - I hate - it. A picture below the poem shows a show hunched over a book. Between two clocks, the words 'I am in the slow readers' floats above his head.
July 31, 2025 at 8:53 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Me holding my poem:
A screenshot from Spongebob. A green fish looks aghast at their hand, their mouth open as if in shock. They're holding what used to be their drink cup, burnt to a crisp. The straw is pristine.
July 10, 2025 at 7:11 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Farewell, Fanny Howe. Here's the poem of hers I see most often on socials, 25 years after publication. Go read the poems, and have a go at writing your own list of things you love
I Won't Be Able to Write from the Grave By Fanny Howe I won't be able to write from the grave so let me tell you what I love: oil, vinegar, salt, lettuce, brown bread, butter, cheese andn wine, a windy day, a fireplace, the children nearby, poems and songs, a friend sleeping in my bed - and the short northern nights.
July 9, 2025 at 4:34 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Haven't remembered to share archival queer Suffolk stories for pride until this very moment. Here's one of my fav recent finds, an article from BBC Suffolk, 2005. It's by Kirsty, and the article is called 'A Suffolk T Girl'. Happy pride, Kirsty. 🏳️‍🌈

www.bbc.co.uk/suffolk/cont...
Alongside the article, a pictures shows Kirsty, a white woman with shoulder length blonde hair, leaning on a bar top. She's wearing a red, summery shirt and bleached jeans. The article reads, For those of you however who may be feeling fearful, lonely, or looking for help and advice or even friendship, then this page may provide some assistance. Hopefully, this will put you in touch with those who care and understand. I know; I was once a closet ‘tranny’ myself, scared of being discovered and with no-one to turn to. Thankfully, things have moved on a long way since then. I have, like so many, discovered my true identity and now live life to the full, enjoying the company of other like minded friends. There are many on-line moderated groups where you will find help, can share your experiences, learn from others or even buy all your girlie needs if you haven’t yet plucked up the courage to hit the high street. If like me, you are into meeting others and making some great friends, there are a number of pubs and clubs which provide regular and safe, discreet facilities. Most will either provide TG only nights or maybe shared with the Gay & Lesbian community. In both cases and as far as East Anglia goes unfortunately, Suffolk is not yet well serviced so currently, you may need to look slightly further afield. Whilst Suffolk is proud to say it is one of the safest counties in the country, we would like to hear of any instances of abuse, verbal or otherwise. Any form of discrimination is unacceptable and the TG community has as much right to live in peace and safety as any other.
June 30, 2025 at 12:54 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Wonderfully strange and heartening to see my essay in the Poetry Foundation's newsletter that's just gone out, landing in inboxes all over the globe. What a distance for a Blythburgh doorstep to travel! I'm grateful that a little seen side of Suffolk can go galavanting around, finding readers. 🙏
A snippet from the Poetry Foundation's newsletter. Under the headline, 'Essay' is Karl's work, 'This Be the Place: My Actual Huh'. The preview text reads, 'A tractor has as much right to be in a queer poem as a Fire Island reverie.'
June 11, 2025 at 3:37 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Thanks for all the love on the This Be the Place essay, folks. It's on the front page of the Poetry Foundation right now, and you can read it here. The messages people have written so far mean more to me than I can say.

www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/169...
A screenshot of the Poetry Foundation's post of Karl's article, 'This Be the Place: My Actual Huh'. The extract reads, 'The garden path was the first whisper of gay I heard in Suffolk. The stones seemed to say that a queer life could exist here, between the apple tree and the washing line. These paving stones, this handful of decorative pebbles, was the first smidge of a rainbow in my life, a touch of pride.' The post ends with, 'Karl Knights on discovering queer rural life.'
June 11, 2025 at 1:10 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
New poem alert! I'm in @eff-able.bsky.social, thanks to George and JP for inviting me along. Here are the first two lines of a double sonnet, a very Suffolk take on hookups (after all, what's hotter than a three hour bus ride to cover a spitting distance?) Grateful to be part of this urgent project
A white hand holding a book in front of a bookshelf. The book is Eff-able: a spicy anthology of queer crip poetry. The cover shows someone bearing their neck, holding their head high, in infra red light. A snippet of a poem by Karl Knights, called 'What Gay Porn Doesn't Show.' The first two lines read, The ultimate tease, the three-hour bus trip give or take thirty minutes, to his front door.
June 7, 2025 at 2:16 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Representing 🙏
May 14, 2025 at 1:20 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Happy birthday, Seamus Heaney. I don't know if he's my favourite poet, but he's the poet I quote the most, the poet that lives rent free in my head most days. Here's a late, post Human Chain poem.
"In a field" by Seamus Heaney And there I was in the middle of a field, The furrows once called "scores' still with their gloss, The tractor with its hoisted plough just gone Snarling at an unexpected speed Out on the road. Last of the jobs, The windings had been ploughed, furrows turned Three ply or four round each of the four sides Of the breathing land, to mark it off And out. Within that boundary now Step the fleshy earth and follow The long healed footprints of one who arrived From nowhere, unfamiliar and de-mobbed, In buttoned khaki and buffed army boots, Bruising the turned-up acres of our back field To stumble from the windings' magic ring And take me by a hand to lead me back Through the same old gate into the yard Where everyone has suddenly appeared, All standing waiting.
April 13, 2025 at 11:36 AM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Would like to say again that I had no involvement in these rag pieces whatsoever, and they were published (with five year old pre-pandemic photos and quotes culled from my socials) with zero consent and no warning. As well as being inaccurate, the Daily Mail piece includes doxxing info. I am livid.
Three headlines. Stoke on Trent Live writes, 'Petrified Karl has been living in Covid isolation for FIVE years' The Daily Mail writes, 'Man comes out of Covid self isolation after FIVE years: immuno-suprressed writer' The Mirror writes, 'Man recalls 'scary' moment as he emerges from Covid self isolation after FIVE years'
March 26, 2025 at 10:25 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
What stage of capitalism is it when you go to find one of your poems for a reading and find a flat out wrong AI summary of yourself instead?
An AI overview of Karl which reads The phrase "the difference between a dog and a biscuit tin" is a reference to a poem by Karl Knights, where he explores the portrayal of autistic people in media, specifically focusing on the film "The Difference Between a Dog and a Biscuit Tin". Here's a breakdown: "The Difference Between a Dog and a Biscuit Tin": This is the title of a poem by Karl Knights, a poet and fellow of Zoeglossia, a writing fellowship for disabled writers. Autism and Media Portrayal: The poem, and Knights' work in general, delves into how autistic people are depicted in media, raising questions about representation and understanding. Karl Knights: He is the author of the poem and a writer who explores themes of autism and disability in his work.
March 23, 2025 at 10:45 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
I'm always harping on these days about the importance of masked artists being seen, so I'll put my money where my mouth is. Here's me. I'm one of the Bound Unbound residency poets, working on poems this week with the great folk at Suffolk Libraries. If you're protecting yourself still, I see you.
Karl's face slightly out of focus. He's wearing a white KN95 and has glasses over the face. Beside Karl's face is a backdrop of a window view. A church spire looks like it's next to Karl's head. The sky is a clear blue.
March 19, 2025 at 8:42 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Here's another top answer
A reddit comment from Til Death 1775 which reads, 'We learned nothing. Sick people still at work: coughing and sneezing in public without regard. I heard so many people saying the govt was doing this to make us compliant however everything has gone back to the way it was before but worse.'
February 1, 2025 at 6:21 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Get yourself a publisher who will celebrate your award win with three exclamation marks
A screenshot from the Graywolf Press website. Above the Graywolf logo (three coloured arrows), there is a large blue banner which reads,'Taiwan Travelogue by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ, translated by Lin King has won the 2024 National Book Award for Translated Literature!!! Buy now'
January 28, 2025 at 1:22 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that Michael Longley has died, aged 85. I've used this line of Longley's for years, 'If I knew where poems came from, I'd go there.'

A marvelous poet who never gave up on beauty, even in the worst of circumstances. Farewell, dear poet.
Angel Hill Someone must be looking after the headstones. It might be you with your easel and brushes And your big sheets and charcoal for drawing Snowdrop cumulus and lichen lettering. Someone must be looking after the railings And closing the rusty gate behind her. Place-Names I shall have lost my way At last somewhere between Traleckachoolia And Carrignarooteen.
January 23, 2025 at 5:50 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Been thinking of this poem by the late Geoff Hattersley lately. It's from On the Buses with Dostoyevsky, his 1998 collection.
Politics It's like watching a film of your own funeral. You're shouting I'M ALIVE but no one can hear you. Across a room, two men assess each other's silence. They yawn and cough, cross and uncross thin legs. It takes years. Ice forms on the cameras that bring us news. And then the men nod, and then they rise. One claps, then holds up a hoop the other leaps through. They both shout BOOM!
January 22, 2025 at 9:16 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
This Maurice Sendak quote comes to mind, too. 'He saw it, he loved it, he ate it' has lived rent free in my head for years.
TERRY GROSS: Can you just share with us some of the favorite comments from readers that you’ve gotten over the years? MAURICE SENDAK: Oh, there’s so many. Can I give you just one that I really like? It was from a boy—a little boy. And he wrote me a charming little card with a little drawing. I loved it. And I answer all my children’s letters, but sometimes very hastily. But this one I lingered over, and I sent him a postcard. I did a picture of a Wild Thing on the postcard and I said, “Dear Jim, I loved your card”—something to that affect. Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one pf the highest compliments I've ever received. He didn’t care it was an original drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.'
January 22, 2025 at 8:49 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Here's a poem by the late Geoff Hattersley that's been on my mind lately, but especially today. It's from On the Buses with Dostoyevsky (1998)
Politics It's like watching a film of your own funeral. You're shouting I'M ALIVE but no one can hear you. Across a room, two men assess each other's silence. They yawn and cough, cross and uncross thin legs. It takes years. Ice forms on the cameras that bring us news. And then the men nod, and then they rise. One claps, one holds up a hoop the other leaps through, They both shout BOOM!
January 20, 2025 at 7:01 PM
inadarkwood.bsky.social
Ever wondered what Wislawa Szymborska's manuscripts looked like? Well you're in luck, I picked up a Polish book that features a few facsimiles of her drafts. It's heartening to see that, like the rest of us, Szymborska struck out a great many lines. Keep going, poets
A manuscript page. A bulk of the page's ink penned lines are crossed out. At several points, notes are made vertically alongside the scribbled out lines.
January 9, 2025 at 8:01 PM