The Cut with George Sandifer-Smith

George Sandifer-Smith’s poetry doesn’t just reflect the world; it actively engages with it, drawing on unexpected angles and overlooked subjects to create a dialogue between writer and reader. Whether exploring the vibrancy of the Welsh poetry scene, reimagining Sega Megadrive games through imagist principles, or capturing moments of global upheaval, his work bridges the personal and the universal.

Rooted in the Welsh Poetry Scene

When Sandifer-Smith first delved into poetry seriously, the modern Welsh poetry scene was his gateway. He cites The Pterodactyl’s Wing, an anthology published by Parthian, as a defining influence on his development. “Not only [did it] alert me to how poetry lives and breathes in the twenty-first century, but also that poetry existed right on my doorstep in the work of Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch, Patrick Jones, and Tôpher Mills,” he explains.

This revelation was transformative, breaking down the misconception that poetry belonged only to distant or inaccessible spaces. “There can be a temptation to see poetry as only belonging to specific areas when you first embark on it as a reader and writer, and it was great to see that the hills still ran with it in places I grew up.” His response was to contribute to that living flow, keeping the tradition alive while evolving it through his own voice and experiences.

Artex

Curling its creamery tails 
in breeze suspended by economic yellow 
light, you are drawing a map 
over its gloss, guzzling down 

those fresh morning sights, after-images 
of dreams authored by thin years.
You can return, squint out the faces 
you recognise, that you second-sculpted 

back then, retrace your steps across lines 
of mouths impossible to draw without 
a specialist. Now, this morning, cold 
in a worn boiler suit, my father’s quick fix 

pulls a crinkly Tesco bag over his brush.
Dips and dapples, following my chipping away 
with the chisel, peeling back the dead skin 
of an old house, treating it to glue and new faces.

Previously published in Nights Travel at the Right Speed (Infinity Books UK)

Imagist Principles Meet Unexpected Subjects

Sandifer-Smith’s approach to writing is informed by the imagist revival, a movement he associates with poets like Matthew M. C. Smith. “I’ve got a lot out of the imagist revival and have applied a lot of that to my own work,” he says, noting its influence on the clarity and specificity of his imagery. But his application of these principles often takes unconventional forms, as seen in his contribution to Hit Points: An Anthology of Video Game Poetry.

This collection features his imagist poems about Sega Megadrive games—a deliberate choice to push poetry into new terrain. “In engaging with subjects like this, as well as my interest in writing through globally traumatic events (like the Covid-19 pandemic), I’d like to challenge poetry to keep moving with the times and shake off its reputation among those who maybe don’t read so much poetry as something inverse.”

Blazing Country

You’d wiped the words off
your hand. Toads croak conspiracy.
Some trees are liars, flesh
disguised as family – green 
clouds fattening to brush rivers
as the vision stretches into the house

a four o’clock or so ago
in blazing country. Tributaries choke
with old desks, dead Augusts.
Gin, toothpaste, the Coalition’s shade
as you cast your first white pebble.
I wake to sing you the leaves.

Finding Comfort in Specificity

Sandifer-Smith’s poetry aims to resonate emotionally, offering readers moments of calm amidst life’s chaos. “I would hope that my poems stay with readers so the next time they are enjoying a quiet moment drinking tea or walking around a museum, a phrase or line occurs to them,” he says. This hope isn’t just about aesthetic enjoyment but also empowerment: “I’d like my readers to read things I’ve written and feel that they could write their world in that way too, and evolve those feelings to find their own voice.”

Surprise and the Mammoth’s Perspective

For Sandifer-Smith, great poetry is about finding fresh angles. He points to Carol Ann Duffy’s poem “Poetry” as a model, specifically its opening lines: “I couldn’t see Guinness / and not envisage a nun.” Surprising imagery like this, he says, should be an ambition in any poem, even if it isn’t always achieved.

His own poem, “Mammoth by Night,” exemplifies this principle. Written during the Covid-19 lockdown and included in his collection Empty Trains, the poem imagines the animatronic woolly mammoth in the National Museum of Wales longing for the return of visitors during the museum’s closure. “When you think ‘Covid poetry,’ you might not then think ‘mammoths,’” Sandifer-Smith notes, but that unexpected perspective allows the poem to explore the pandemic’s loneliness and isolation in an inventive way.

Rather than defaulting to the interior world of lockdown, he used the mammoth as a stand-in for collective yearning—a way of capturing the strange, suspended reality of that time.

The Clocktower

The shining new machines were shut off, 
drawing their roadmaps across the factory.
The square clocktower stopped its observations 
of the growing soaked city of Swansea, 
hands gathering salt. My father spun 

a myth without meaning to – our name 
matched an empire of fried potatoes.
As a child, I had believed that tower would open 
to my cousins, my sister, and I – that we could stride
among the great gears that fed the valleys.

Walkers laid the ghosts to a grinding 
rest. The wind is jazz on the glass of the restaurant; 
now, the bay will hold our family while you await 
the sapphire in my pocket. Home.

A Dialogue with Readers

Although much of Sandifer-Smith’s poetry is drawn from personal experiences, he strives to create a two-way conversation with his audience. “I like to entangle some external voice and enable a two-way conversation with the reader,” he explains. “If one of my poems can help someone feel a little love or anger or calm, they’re doing the right thing.”

This desire for connection extends to the longevity of his work. While he acknowledges that a poet’s voice often shifts with time, his collection Empty Trains already serves as a “little fragment of 2020,” capturing the specific emotions and moments of that year. Some of those poems are now part of an academic study—a recognition of their relevance to understanding that time.

Challenging Expectations, Creating Space

George Sandifer-Smith writes poetry that surprises, connects, and challenges conventions. His work offers readers a new way of seeing, whether by revisiting familiar subjects through an imagist lens or using unexpected symbols, like a woolly mammoth, to reflect global experiences.

Ultimately, his aim is simple yet profound: to make readers feel seen and to encourage them to write their own worlds. In doing so, he keeps poetry alive and evolving, ensuring it remains not just relevant but essential. “If my work can do that too,” he says of the comfort and empowerment he draws from poetry, “I’d be a very happy poet.”

The North

This is where the Berwyn range stellifies.
Steam will fill the air and you
can fax your coffee
pot drawing in.

This is where the Powys Princes held strong.
The console room is a half-mirror,
the monitor your hero
dying over and over.

This is where the Dee is conquered by stonemasons.
Monsters are empty behind the glass
as light swells, bursts in the noise.
Everything is recorded.

This is where your voice can change to match armour
screaming into a white noise fizz,
occupying the shell. You’ll wish
this could be forever.