There's quite an industry in self-publishing amongst poets and artists alike these days, and not all of it's shite.

Ian Hamilton-Finlay's Wild Hawthorn Press published many small cards and fold-outs that otherwise would never have seen the light of day and certainly deserved too, and I have a signed copy of an early self-published collection by Ian McMillian, the Bard of Barnsley.

I've self-published some of my concrete poetry, and actually installed (well, placed on a chair) a small folded piece in Tate Liverpool long before Banksy hit upon the idea of adding his own work to galleries guerrilla-style. It lasted about 20 mins before a security guard found it and screwed it up, and was 'enjoyed' by several visitors (it was next to a rather fine Picasso as I remember).

I'm completely in favour of it, however questionable the results. Before Waterstone's became the corporate shifting-house of crap it is now the poetry section carried a fair amount of self-published stuff. I always look out for it when I'm in Manchester as some can be good, and if it's not at least someone's taken the trouble to out their work out and invited critique.

Publish and be damned!