Skip to main content

Obituaries: Fritz On Poole and Rety

Phil Poole and John Rety
by Leah Fritz

Phil Poole and John Rety, both people of significance to contemporary poetry, died within days of each other - on the 1st and 3rd of February, respectively.

John Rety was a founder of the Torriano Meeting House and managed the events there with his partner, Susan Johns, for 23 years. He and Susan also ran Hearing Eye press which published pamphlets and books by both well-known and ought-to-be-well-known poets. John was particularly proud of the anthologies, In the Company of Poets and Well Versed, which he edited, but he took great pride in all the publications of Hearing Eye, whether or not they sold. Among Hearing Eye's publications are pamphlets of John's own work in both poetry and prose, sadly unheralded as the original and substantial works they are.

Politically John was an anarcho-pacifist. His daughter, the artist Emily Johns, following in his footsteps, is co-editor of Peace News. His political beliefs were his own, though. By definition, a true anarchist makes up his or her own mind about everything. An atheist, John abided religiously by his own strong sense of right and wrong.

Born in 1930 in Hungary, John's childhood and adolescence were dominated by the murderous antisemitism of the Nazi holocaust. Separated from his Jewish parents at an early age, he learned to survive by his wits. Although he sometimes took issue with the government's policies, John passionately loved the United Kingdom, in which he found freedom, his adored small family, friendship and the world of poetry.

He also became a grandmaster in chess!

Last year, Phil Poole edited Torriano Nights, a festschrift for John Rety, which was published by Acumen and Phil's own Woodpecker Press. In it I wrote, 'John Rety and I have a lot in common: We both have roots in Eastern Europe, we are about the same age and we spent the sixties and seventies of the (sigh!) last century opposing the Vietnam War, albeit in different countries. So it's no wonder that I sometimes feel we are related by blood, and who knows - perhaps we are.' That's how close I have felt to him and Susan and Emily during the almost two decades I've known them.

Phil Poole and I, on the other hand, were on the periphery of each other's lives until recently.
Born in Birmingham in 1944, Phil moved to London in the 1960s and married Urja Burkhardt, a German artist, in 1988. They maintained residences in both Munich and London. A master woodcarver, Phil restored the woodwork surrounding the clocks designed by Pugin in the Houses of Parliament. He also produced some delightful, often amusing, sculptures, parts of which moved in surprising ways. One of these sculptures is on permanent display at the Torriano Meeting House, where Phil, as a poet, was an habituée. There he often read works-in-progress and occasionally performed as the invited poet.

Gradually Phil became more closely tied to the Torriano Meeting House. When Camden Council discontinued its grant in 2005, he wrote a spirited defence for the Camden New Journal. In his quiet, unassuming way, Phil organised a committee to save the Meeting House despite the council's intransigence, and the poets who frequented it came through in many ways to raise the rent money demanded.

A few months ago, Phil performed at the Meeting House and read some new poems inspired by the tests and treatments anent the cancer he had been diagnosed with. As one who had also gone through some of those the rites, I was especially intrigued by his humorous take on the awful processes.

The content of those poems caught my attention, but his skill as a poet held me. I sent him an e-mail to tell him how fine I thought his work was, and he promptly began e-mailing me more and more poems on various subjects: love, travel, history, politics and, of course, woodworking. I became convinced that a book should come out of this and suggested that he or Urja contact John Rety about publishing one through Hearing Eye. Phil was perhaps too self-effacing about them to do so, and Urja said she didn't know John very well - so I got in touch with him, and he and Susan agreed immediately. By that time we knew that Phil didn't have long to live, and so the race was on to get one out as quickly as possible.

Phil died the day after the decision was made, but Urja at least had time to tell him about it. I sent Susan the poems I had collected and she began editing the book. She and John asked me to write an introduction. John, Susan and I discussed my draft on the phone, and talked about how to organise the text of the book.

The next day John Rety died suddenly of a heart attack.

Emily Johns came to London to take her mother back with her to Hastings where she could mourn and convalesce from the terrible shock. Susan and John had been together constantly for most of their adult lives.

The typescript of Phil's poems had already been given to Martin Parker to print, and Susan asked me to put them in some sort of order. Somewhere within her Susan found the courage to go on with this project. She approved of everything before it went to press.

The book, Phil Poole's Poetry: A Collection, will be presented at his funeral on Friday, the 19th of February, at 3.30 pm, at Golder's Green Crematorium. From 5pm there will be a reception and poetry event at the Torriano Meeting House, 99 Torriano Avenue, Kentish Town.

Comments

Poetry Pleases! said…
Dear Leah

To be totally honest, I had never heard of either of them. Now I know more it seems that not only has the poetry community lost two fine poets but you personally have lost two friends. You have my profound sympathy.

Best wishes from Simon
leah fritz said…
Dear Simon,
Are you a poet? If so, do let me know where I can find your work, and/or any events you will be participating in around London. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and would like to know more about you.
With all good wishes,
Leah Fritz
Poetry Pleases! said…
Dear Leah

Many thanks for your interest! You can find most of my poetry on Franglo.com Literary section. I live near Swansea and rarely visit London.

Best wishes from Simon
Poetry Pleases! said…
Dear Leah

On second thoughts, I should have given you my full name which is Simon R. Gladdish.
leah fritz said…
It's good to meet you. I'll look up your website. You live in the heart of poetry country then, don't you? An old friend is Prof. Glyn Pursglove. I used to write now and then for the Swansea Review. Two other dear friends were Aeronwy Thomas and John Ackerman, now sadly gone. There will be a memorial for Aeronwy in Richmond, London, on 29 April. Perhaps you'll come to London for that?
All best,
Leah

Popular posts from this blog

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