The race has heated up - for the position of Oxford Professor of Poetry. Geoffrey Hill, England's greatest living lyric poet, seemed a shoe-in, facing pint-sized opposition, until, the contest was revitalised and refreshed by the news that another poetic elder statesman, Michael Horovitz, had entered. Horovitz has several times read for my Oxfam series. I think he is a brilliant man - a superb poet-of-the-people - who has done more for the Beat strain of poetry in the UK than any other single human being (I mean, as opposed to organisations or groups). He loves to encourage others. He has a big warm heart. And he knows his poetry. He's right to challenge the other lesser figures running, and right, to, like Clegg, give the leading horse a run for the money. This isn't, now, a race I'd want to call. Hill is the master elitist of English letters, and Horovitz the ultimate English maverick, the advocate of almost everything Hill is against. As a fusion poet, I'd want the best of both poets - but of course, in the real world, often, he who stands in the middle of the road gets hit by two-way traffic.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
Comments
When is Lord Motion going to toss his trilby into the ring? I've greatly missed having him in the public eye. Carol Ann Duffy is almost invisible by comparison.
Best wishes from Simon