Christopher Whitby read English at Cambridge and then undertook doctoral postgraduate work at the Shakespeare Institute on the Renaissance luminary John Dee (1527-1608), his thesis being published in 1988 and (to his amazement) reprinted by Routledge Kegan Paul in 2012, 2013 and 2014. The thesis still appears to be downloaded once day on average from the Birmingham University Library etheses website. After some years spent in teaching, he joined the world of commercial advertising and publication and for 25 years owned and managed a graphic design studio.
His poetry has appeared in a variety of internet and printed publications and in 2007 he inaugurated and administered the Open Poetry International Sonnet Competition. This competition, judged by Don Paterson, Susan Bassnett and Jacqueline Osherow, gathered nearly 2000 entries worldwide and the prizewinners hailed from the USA, Australia and the UK. The competition anthology Hand Luggage Only appeared in May 2008. The competition would run again but for lack of funding/underwriting and micro-funding is currently under investigation with a view to running it once more.
His own collection of 'poems with the voice in mind' (including a number of 'dramatic character' sonnets), In Small Measure, was published in May 2011. Both that volume and Hand Luggage Only are available from the usual sources (Amazon, PBS etc) but also – at below RRP for In Small Measure – from the Open Poetry website at www.openpoetry.org.uk .
His sonnet 'Check-up' was a finalist in the 2009 Nemerov Award.
CindersTo tell the truth, I tried quite hard to kick
the other one off, as I bolted free
to save my shame. I made it in the nick
of time, but, oh, my feet were killing me!
Glass slippers...for a ball! Who dreamed up that?
A long walk back as well, always in doubt
I'd beat the sisters home. Yet there I sat,
as if nothing had happened while they'd been out.
And then at last he came. You know the rest.
Except you don't. I have exchanged one cage
for another. Bigger, yes, but now I wage
small wars with courtiers over each request
and bound by protocol against my will,
I weep to find myself in service still.