John Stammers: Stolen Love Behaviour

A volume from 2005 which I think I received when I was in the Poetry Book Society. Hadn’t touched it.

Definitely a voice new to me, and largely very successful. The usual few poems that I don’t understand [and about which I, as usual, oscillate between “therefore pretentious bollocks” and “perhaps if I read them again / was cleverer…”].
Last night a friend {note to future self or biographer: Matt} picked it up and asked for an example of a good poem: I showed him La Siesta, a beautiful hymn to the pain and joy of life. Its last lines

It is then I should tell them that the Earth
is an original happiness, an inward impulse,
like an unprecedented temptation,
composed of both ardour and renunciation,
a giving up and a giving in, a slow love-potion

encapsulate much of the whole collection, about rhythm and love, particularly, it seems, illicit love, brief encounters, adultery.

As for form, sometimes he experiments with rhyming couplets, elsewhere with verse deliberately designed to avoid form (lots of enjambment breaking up the lines); these diversifications, as it were, work less well for me than his default light free verse, for example in the central sequence “Closure”, but sudden bursts of prose can be effective, as in the last line of “Nom de Guerre”:

I have lost the ability to imagine winter.

(He often ends poems with such first-person reflections.)

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Dickens: “Dombey and Son”

So long ago now I can’t remember it all, and it took me so long to read. How did they get away with it then? Ah yes – serialisation over months, and that’s how long it took me to read.

Totally immersing, Dickens’ world, Dickens’ London, and believable, although an exaggerated and morally-charged conjuration. The characters are pretty much all cartoon black-and-white goodies or baddies, all except perhaps old man Dombey himself, which I guess is the point, as the drama is his change from baddy to goody. Cleverly Dickens for the most part keeps us out of Dombey’s head, letting events and the results of his arrogant decisions and pompous personality drip drip through, until suddenly, near the end, we are very much moved by the sight of the old man playing with his granddaughter (named after his formerly rejected daughter, whose name I blissfully forget) on the beach. He’s ready, as people on beaches are, for a good death.

Posted in Novel | Tagged | Leave a comment

Nietzsche’s Ecce Homo

[what follows is, even more than usual for this blog, an amateur reaction from dipping ignorant toes into vast oceans]

Visionary, poetic, extreme: Nietzsche and Blake provide book-ends to Romanticism. Both seek to up-end conventional morality, Blake because it represents the interests of power-structures against the powerless, Nietzsche (I think) because it, now become somewhat Blakian, is aesthetically displeasing (see below). Wilde is, as aesthetic Übermensch, Nietzschean; but not at all in his compassion and moral siding with the poor. In ways analogous to those in which we are all now Marxists (supporters of a society which lets the unwashed swarm over Chatsworth), we are now Nietzschean in our rejection of literal religion, but anti-Nietzschean in our at least superficial espousal of Christ’s teaching: only swivel-eyed Randians would deny that it’s a good thing to help the poor, even if they don’t actually do it.

Continue reading

Posted in Philosophy | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

The Poetry of Birds, ed. Simon Armitage and Tim Dee

If you like poetry and birds, this book removes the hendiadys. Two engaging essays by the editors, and a wealth of poems from all sorts of poets on all sorts of birds. The highlight for me was discovering the poetry of John Clare, who both editors agree is The Bird Poet. He gives an uncanny sense of what it must be like to live as that particular bird – he gets under the feathers.

Posted in Nature, Poetry | Leave a comment

“The Human Chain” by Seamus Heaney

This, Heaney’s final collection, shows the poet at his most self-effacing, almost writing himself out of history, restricting his subject matter and themes to the narrowest, becoming a palimpsest for older, greater, thoughts to travel via his poems. Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

“Wagner and Aeschylus: the Ring and the Oresteia” by Michael Ewans

[just the first two chapters: I need to listen to the Ring itself before reading the others]

Chapter 1: Wagner and Aeschylus
This is a general introduction to them both, especially, as the book’s intended audience is more musicological than classical, to Aeschylus; from what I know of this Ewans seems to get it right, being well up on 1982 thinking on tragedy (we are post-Taplin, after all). His account of how Wagner’s thought developed is clear and enlightening, but what I found particularly interesting, especially so soon after reading Jenkins’ Re-thinking History, were Wagner’s thoughts about the relationship between history and myth, for example:

Bare history in itself scarcely offers us, and always incompletely, the material for a judgment of the inmost (as it were, the instinctive) motives of the ceaseless struggles of whole peoples and races; that we must seek in religion and saga… [they] are the fruit-bearing products of the community’s manner of insight into the nature of things and men… The gods and heroes of its religion and saga are the concrete personalities in which the spirit of the community portrays its essence to itself; however sharp the individuality of these personages, their content is of the most universal, all-embracing type… (AE 7.266)

Continue reading

Posted in Biography, History | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

“Re-thinking History” by Keith Jenkins

This is a short book bought on impulse at the wonderful bookshop in Wemyss Bay station, the ferry port for Bute, on the south side of the Clyde estuary down Glasgow.

I think at the time I’d just read Richard Evans’ In Defence of History, which steers a path between Carr’s modernist revisionism (i.e. that history can’t be objective, but is created by inevitably partial historians) and Elton’s certainties (i.e. that historians can communicate truth about the past), and was eager for more “what is history?” stuff. Jenkins, publishing in 1991, is on the face of it very much to one extreme, arguing strongly, in this undergraduates’ guide, that for all sorts of obvious reasons we have to let go of “certaintism”, of claiming for history any definitive truth about the past. “History” is what historians create, using “the past” as source material (we’re well into inverted comma land here). Modernism has shown the impossibility of an unbiased position, or of a single interpretation, so the only route is a post-modern one, rejoicing in the variety of different histories, and suggesting that historians ought to write self-consciously biased accounts, ones which shed light on the historical process itself. A little incestuous, I thought, writing for the academy.. He talks here about Foucault’s phrase “histories of the present” (history whose purpose is – even more than usual – designed to explain the present); which reminded me very much of Virgil’s attempts in the Aeneid to justify Augustus’, and Rome’s, rule.

But Jenkins, as Evans, can’t quite go the whole way: historians, quick to undermine notions of a fixed “past”, can’t, for the reason that it takes them outside the boundaries of their subject, follow this through philosophically to undermine any kind of fixed external world. Jenkins still clings to the absolute truth of historical events, just knocking the idea of absolute interpretation; he doesn’t, as far as I can see, realise that this contrast (event:interpretation) is another of his false pairings, in that to even name or think of an event is, at least, a little, to interpret it also.

Posted in History, Philosophy | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

Poetry Review 104:1 Spring 2014

Highlights:

  • Jan Wagner’s “evensong, lago di como” (translated by Eva Bourke): an excellent Martian-postcard poem:

…the empty car ferry carries a last cargo of light across the water.

  • Review of Philip Gross’ Later, which manages to describe his style in ways I can recognise
  • The first line of Steve Ely’s “Fasayil”: “Yes, I remember Fasayil” – yet nothing more unlike Adlestrop could be imagined
  • Review of Derek Mahon’s The Echo Grove
  • Winners of the 2013 National Poetry Competition: three female poets all writing in unrhymed couplets
  • A selection of poems from the American magazine Poetry, formerly twinned with Poetry Review
Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

“‘My Dear Jim’, a biography of Walter Spradbery”, by John Spradbery

Walter Spradbery, artist and pacifist, founder of the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow, was married to my great aunt Edna’s sister, the opera singer Dorothy Horsey, known musically as Dorothy d’Orsay. They had a house in Buckhurst Hill called the Wilderness, just north of St John’s church and primary school, now (on the instructions of Walter) reverted to forest. Between the wars the Spradberys hosted all sorts of cultural activities – mainly musical; the Wilderness became a well-known venue. Willow Cottage Theatre at Curtis Mill Green (which some years ago I discovered for myself) is a conscious continuation of the Wilderness spirit: now I really have to go there (their programmes are online).

Continue reading

Posted in Biography, History | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Swapping: divan and tribunal

Divan comes from the Persian “devan,” which originally meant “assembly of rulers,” but now means the padded platform upon which the leaders sit.

Tribunal was a raised platform provided for magistrates’ seats, and now refers to the people sitting on it.

Posted in Words | Leave a comment