Heard The One About The Starlet and The Writer?

Last year, Eva Green won the Rising Star award at the Orange BAFTAs - and this year the ceremonies promise to be even more glamorous. The old joke goes that the starlet was so dumb, she slept with the writer - but the striking film writers in America silenced the Golden Globes, and look set to do the same for the Oscars, which means London may get a world-class awards night. Eyewear, like all UK citizens, has yet to see some of the films nominated (members get sent copies to watch at home in some instances before general release), but can make some predictions - want to bet?

Atonement will likely win Best Film. The Bourne Ultimatum should win Best British Film, though Control may do. The Bourne trilogy was astonishingly good genre work, and has rejuvenated The Bond series in the process, so deserves the kudos. Film Not In The English Language should go to The Lives of Others. Lead Actor will be Daniel Day-Lewis. Lead Actress will be the brilliant Julie Christie, whose work in the superb Canadian film Away From Her was so brave, and moving. Javier Bardem, for the weird killer role, will win the Supporting Actor gong; Cate Blanchett, for the weird musician role, will win for Supporting Actress. Radiohead musician Jonny Greenwood should win for the There Will Be Blood soundtrack. And, this year's Rising Star? No star was more provocative, or instantly noticed, than sensual Tang Wei in Ang Lee's ravishing, deviant thriller, Lust, Caution.

Note: Spotters of contradictions in Eyewear (do I contradict myself? Very well then!) may ask why I can celebrate movie awards, but question the use of them for poetry? The reason is simple: movies were invented, in the early 20th century, as glamorous delivery systems for images that would captivate audiences - their artfulness has emerged in tandem with their never-concealed popular appeal. Film awards are all about sight and sound - seeing the stars step out from behind the big screen. Poetry awards are pale imitations of this phenomenon - for poetry is not a spectacle, nor a spectator sport. There is no need to "see or hear" poets beyond their work, written or spoken. And, film awards are watched by millions, even billions, so the level of scrutiny is high - we know when a gross injustice has been perpetrated. Because so few people know, or care, about the poetry collections competing for prizes each year, there is far less open debate - or transparency - in the process. Finally, I must confess, I have always loved movies, and they delight me, as does pop music, almost equally to poetry.

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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