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Marcus Rashford mural, Ian McMillan, gender split in publishing

The Marcus Rashford mural in its community; Poet Ian McMillan responds to the Euro 2020 final; 75% of fiction titles published were written by women - what's behind the statistic?

The mural of footballer Marcus Rashford which was defaced with racist graffiti after England lost the Euro 2020 final last night was part of Withington Walls, a community street art project in the suburbs of southern Manchester. Its head, Ed Wellard, discusses the art work, the British-based Vietnamese street artist Akse who created it, and the role art can play in the community.

Late last week Front Row asked Ian McMillan, poet in residence at Barnsley FC, to write a poem in response to the European Cup Final. He talks to John Wilson about his approach to this tricky commission this evening, and reads his poem, 'This Sporting Life'.

We start a new series today exploring current debates within book publishing, beginning with a look at the gender split in current literary tastes. Is it harder for young male writers to get published, win prizes and make a splash now? And if so, after millennia of male dominance, does it matter? John talks to Nesrine Malik who is judging the Women’s Prize for Fiction this year, and novelist and publisher Luke Brown.

Presenter: John Wilson
Producer: Jerome Weatherald

Available now

28 minutes

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Marcus Rashford mural

Marcus Rashford mural
Main image: the defaced mural of footballer Marcus Rashford in Withington, Greater Manchester.Ìý
Image credit: Â鶹ԼÅÄImage to the left: Street artist looks up at his mural of Marcus Rashford, commissioned by the Withington Walls art project.ÌýÌýImage credit: Ed Wellard/

Ian McMillan

Ian McMillan
Front Row commissioned Ian McMillan to write a poem about the Euros 2021 final.Ìý The image to the left is his first draft of the poem, This Sporting Life.Ìý Image credit:Ìý.


This Sporting Life by Ian McMillan

I’m a white-haired old gentleman glued to the settee;

Last time we won a trophy I was ten years old

And my mam celebrated with a cup of milky tea,

But now the handle’s broken and the liquid’s cold.


I measure out my sporting life in nights like these

Watching through my fingers like I used to do

When the werewolf’s cry was carried on the midnight breeze

And the Daleks took a free kick that flummoxed Dr Who.


Time shrinks now to a moment just hanging in the air

A boy steps up to place our nervous hearts down on the spot

And we all hold our breath in this bright dream that we all share

That somehow this might not be The Land That Time Forgot.


A whistle breaks the air up; the endless run up starts

And ends with a fine save that will go down as a miss;

But let’s remember we are greater than the sum of all our parts

We are human, we are fragile, and let’s all think of this:


That those who carry dreams for us should be carried high

Through the cheering streets ‘cos they remind us we can be

Just as brave as Icarus when he flapped his wings to fly

And when we fall we catch each other long before we hit the sea.

Credit: © Ian McMillanÌý Ìý





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  • Mon 12 Jul 2021 19:15

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