Most people see the figure of the poet as one wafting through the Cambridge cloisters, musing on the beauties or the burden of life, jotting down their thoughts in a mole-skinned notebook as they go. When a musician puts in a virtuoso performance, you immediately think of the hours of practice that has gone into it, yet our view of poets rarely tends to focus on their literary ‘practice’. Just as there is a difference between me singing in the shower and Pavarotti, so there is a chasm between differing qualities of poetry.

There can be no denying Cambridge’s literary pedigree—names such as Marlowe, Milton, Byron and Wordsworth provide an impressive list of alumni. Both the University, and English literature, remain slightly bowed beneath the reputation of many of their shared past greats. Is this university a place able to foster poetic imagination, producing Tennysons and Ted Hughes as it goes? Or are these men of reputation anomalies in the relationship between study and creative success? While it would seem a little unreasonable to expect over-worked undergrads to punch out a modern Paradise Lost or Don Juan between the morning supervision and an evening formal, the creativity of its students is an important factor in any university, especially one so rich in the creative tradition.

What, then, is the University of Cambridge doing to support the would-be and actual poets in its ranks? Due to the collegiate structure of our place of study, it is in fact the individual colleges which undertake much of the burden. Jacob Polley is the Fellow Commoner in Creative Arts at Trinity College, and this appointment has given him “time and space, and this - if you ask most writers - is what most writers feel they don't have.” Trinity seems to be doing its bit, though some might argue that with the college’s wealth comes such responsibility.

A common allegation is that a university education risks placing criticism ahead of creativity, stifling future bards in a paper storm of analysis. This is a false perception according to Leo Mellor, the New Hall DoS: “I think the creative/critical split is a false dichotomy. The pervading mushy consensus that somehow being 'creative' has nothing to do with rigorous thinking, reading other writers and examining why you're doing whatever you're doing is pretty morally bankrupt. This is why 'workshop' poems are, generally, so bloody terrible. I think this links to one of the main things wrong with poetry in Britain today: the profusion of creative writing courses. It is so important that Cambridge doesn't go down this road (and I don't think it ever will).”

Literature must indeed be ‘rigorous’. The names mentioned at the top of the article were, especially the latter trio, well-versed in the literature of their predecessors and contemporaries. Moreover, it is only in self-examination, conducted with an attentive integrity of intent, that poetry can flourish. An education that encourages you to examine other things with such integrity can only be a good one. As Mr. Mellor points out, the University does reward creative writing and he cites “the numerous awards such as the Kinsella/Ryan prize(given by Churchill) and he one at Emma (Brewer Hall). There's also the whole 'original composition' possibility in the Tripos.”

Mr. Mellor was also the holder of the Harper Wood Studentship offered by St. John’s which exists to “encourage a project of creative writing by making it possible for the holder to engage in relevant, project-related travel and study.” This enabled him to investigate Welsh traces in Argentina in a “month of travelling around Argentina, concentrating on the two Welsh areas: firstly Trelew, Dolavon and Gaiman, in the Chubut valley (Dyffryn Camwy in Welsh) - and then off to Cwm Hyfryd (Welsh for beautiful valley) in the Andes.”

While some of Cambridge colleges are active in their support for those writing creatively, as is the English Faculty, they feel no need to integrate the discipline as part of the academic curriculum. The distance and adventure allowed by a travel bursary is perhaps a key factor in allowing budding writers space to distinguish between university demands, and the inclinations of creativity. Great poetry probably won’t be helped by simply a wad of cash or a crude class on writing sonnets. It is as much about who you are as it is about what you know. And after all, Shakespeare, fulcrum of the entire English canon, never went to university.

Catherine Spencer talks visual arts with Bea Priest, student artist in residence at Christ’s