Live 8, Poetry and Enthusiasm

The Live 8 concert in Hyde Park was audible from my flat, but I watched it on TV. I'm not a big concert goer (though a music fan) and so was surprised by how inspiring it was. Many informed critics of the event (such as George Monbiot) had suggested it was frivolous, futile or worse, but it seemed an impressive consciousness-raising effort with very few harmful side-effects.

There's a natural mistrust of millionaire rock star celebrities in the media and in the outlying plains where the rest of us feed, but one thing was striking - as band after band, singer after after act, got up, did their one or two or three songs, and got off (like WWI fighters going over the top) - these people earn their keep. The professionalism of the entertainers was marvelous to behold.

There's a reason why U2, (Sir) Paul McCartney, Madonna, Sting, Robbie Williams and co. are loved by hundreds of millions: they make us feel good, if only briefly, with not much else than the sound of their voices, and the sway of their bodies. In this sense, the ten-hour concert (reputed to be the biggest global event in human history, which seems to leave out The Flood and the fall of Rome) was Dionysian pleasure at its best - a civic, even quasi-political event, yes, but saturated with the wilder enjoyments that only a form of poesis can offer. For our age, these stars are our poets.

Now, that may be sad for a number of reasons - not least of which is the fact that better poetry is written and published by those who are not rock acts - and there is also the argument that there are pleasures only acquired in silent contemplation, or small gatherings (such as I facilitate via Oxfam's readings) - but as it stands, the performers we have in our world, at this time, are of a golden age, and future generations will marvel that one stage held McCartney to Madonna.

For me, the highlights were often unexpected, even at times comic. Having Bill Gates intro Dido was one of the most absurd anti-climaxes in history: why not have the world's richest man intro the world's best band, U2, for instance, instead of a mediocre talent?

Michael Stipe of REM was the best frontman of the night, regardless of his church fete make-up, other than The Killer's Brandon Flowers, whose clean-cut All-American charisma, height and youth reminded me of a young Orson Welles. Forgive me for this, but Keane are a good band, and their lead singer sure can belt it out. It was also moving to see Pink Floyd reunited. And Madonna is a kind of FemmElvis of our age - she is the consummate performer.

What is it about the British media, however? The running commentary from a host of comedians and comperes was sarcastic, trivializing, and at times actually insulting - what's wrong with a little enthusiastic appreciation of a good time for a change?

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart? A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional. Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were. For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ? Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets. But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ? How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular. John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se. What do I mean by smart?

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..."

In terms of great films about, and of, love, we have Vertigo, In The Mood for Love , and Casablanca , Doctor Zhivago , An Officer and a Gentleman , at the apex; as well as odder, more troubling versions, such as Sophie's Choice and Silence of the Lambs . I think my favourite remains Bram Stoker's Dracula , with the great immortal line "I have crossed oceans of time to find you...".

THE SWIFT REPORT 2023

I am writing this post without much enthusiasm, but with a sense of duty. This blog will be 20 years old soon, and though I rarely post here anymore, I owe it some attention. Of course in 2023, "Swift" now means one thing only, Taylor Swift, the billionaire musician. Gone are the days when I was asked if I was related to Jonathan Swift. The pre-eminent cultural Swift is now alive and TIME PERSON OF THE YEAR. There is no point in belabouring the obvious with delay: 2023 was a low-point in the low annals of human history - war, invasion, murder, in too many nations. Hate, division, the collapse of what truth is, exacerbated by advances in AI that may or may not prove apocalyptic, while global warming still seems to threaten the near-future safety of humanity. It's been deeply depressing. The world lost some wonderful poets, actors, musicians, and writers this year, as it often does. Two people I knew and admired greatly, Ian Ferrier and Kevin Higgins, poets and organise

E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

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