It’s more than 5 years since I last raised this question with this post -
Most people ignore most poetry
Because
Most poetry ignores most people
Adrian Mitchell (1932-2008)
I have decided views about writing genres – with a rather strong preference for essays (and short stories). I sometimes wonder whether my lack of interest in fiction betrays an element of autism – although in 2010 I did an interesting list of the novels which had appealed to me in the previous decade. But some years ago I went so far as to suggest that the flood of books had reached such a point that we needed to consider rationing at least non-fiction books
Given the popularity of Twitter and the fear that our attention span is declining, one might have imagined that poetry might appeal to the younger generation. But I don’t sense any sign of this…The Music of Time – poetry in the 20th Century is a book written by the Scottish poet John Burnside in 2020 which contains marvellous and convincing essays (in many cases translated)
In The Music of Time: Poetry in the Twentieth Century, Burnside moves through his personal life and those of writers responding to war, political turmoil and environmental damage. This is a book where Burnside shows us how to read, how to live a life formed by reading, how poetry knits its way into our minds. It is also a curiously uplifting, rousing book. “Hope”, he writes, “is of the essence for all poets. We might even say that to make a poem at all is an act of hope.”
Why do so few poets appeal to us? I have a few favourites - Bertolt Brecht, Norman MacCaig, TS Eliot, WS Graham, Charles Bukowski, Marin Sorescu and Adrian Mitchell. What is it about such poets which allows them to “reach parts other cannot reach”?
In Bukowski’s case the answer is obvious – he wrote about low-class life in a bawdy way and made not the slightest concession to the poetic structure. It seemed like a flow of semi-consciousness….Norman MacCaig and Marin Sorescu – from opposite ends of Europe – shared a wry, humanist approach to nature and events. See MacCaig’s “Smuggler” and Sorescu’s “Asking too Much?” - the latter about a man commuting between Heaven and Hell and unable to choose between a book, a bottle of wine and a woman
Bert Brecht and Adrian Mitchell – on the other hand - were both highly political
My favourite poem is probably Brecht’s “In Praise of Doubt” which you can find in this collected edition of Brecht’s poetry.
WS Graham and TS Eliot were pretty apolitical but I have always been fond of TS Eliot’s Four Quartets not only for its Zen like sense of time and the puniness of our efforts but for its references to the fragile nature of words – thus, in “Burnt Norton”
Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
decay with imprecision, will not stay in place
You can
read the entire poem here
and
later (in East
Coker)
a section I use a lot–
So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years
Trying to learn to use words, and every attempt
Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
Little wonder, therefore, that Eliot was a great admirer of a little-known poet from my home town (Greenock) in the 1940s, WS Graham, who also wrote a lot about words eg
Speaking is difficult and one tries
To be exact, and yet not to
Exact the prime intention to death.
On the other hand, the appearance of things
Must not be made to mean another
thing. It is a kind of triumph
To see them and to put them down
As what they are. The inadequacy
Of the living, animal language drives
Us all to metaphor and an attempt
To organise the spaces we think
We have made occur between the words.
Update; when the post first appeared, I quite unforgivably omitted Tom Leonard from the list. He died, sadly, in February 2019, but his website richness is still available and the letters in particular give a true sense of Glaswegian literary life. His most famous poems were in contemporary street Scots – my favourite being “The Six o’clock News” which you will find my scrolling down this excellent extended tribute
I'm not versed in it, and have not spent many moments-onnet. There is no rhyme nor reason I supprose!
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