The original Peterborough Poets community was really centred around the poetry section in Arthur, the Trent University paper. That was where I first met a number of poetic characters. One of those was Colin MacAdam.
Colin sent in lovely poems and we often invited him to perform with us in one of our madhouse readings — which he did sometimes and declined other times (if memory serves me). I assure you — participating in one of the original P’bo Poets readings was an invitation to a chaotic circus that sometimes worked — other times, not so much. But there was always energy, and even more importantly, convictions — and Colin brought both in buckets. Plus, a truly great laugh.
Colin is a lot like Richard Harrison in that he is a truly decent human being with little or no anger, nor arrogance, nor immense egotism to set off his finer characteristics — unlike the rest of us — or maybe I should just speak for myself. His poems reflect that direct humour and simplicity of his that somehow manages to transcend most of the other more complex idiosyncrasies that others might affect. Not naming names, no one I know — just saying.
Most importantly, Colin is another witness to a time when a whole bunch of non-like minded folks gathered around the idea of poetry — and made a tribe. It was a great time and Colin was part of the party.
Colin asked me to note these poems were written between 1977-79; they’re historic.
Ward Maxwell

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