Skip to main content

THE TS ELIOT PRIZE: NO CITIZEN OF THE WORLD

First off, one of the best poetry books published in Great Britain in 2015 has, thankfully, just won a major poetry prize - Sarah Howe's brilliant Loop of Jade.

The problem with the TS Eliot Awards is that they seek to be seen as the canonical, major UK poetry award of the year - and the way they are held over two days, with major readings before a gala announcement 24 hours later - is all part of the ceremonial pomp. Of course, they have serious competition from The Forward and Costa prizes.

Two problems arose this year, which have rendered the Eliot awards too transparently flawed.

Firstly, several of the best poetry books of the year (even as recognised by other prizes) were not even on the shortlist and hence not in contention: Small Hands by Mona Arshi, and Physical, by Andrew McMillan. I could list other excellent books missing, but each judging panel is likely to have some eccentricities within reason; more glaringly, it was another year without any genuinely small or indie press books selected.

Secondly, and more seriously, last night's judgement seemed skewed to a limting British perspective.  The final commendation discussed how the winning book was a new way in British poetry (which begs the question, more new than Underwood, or Riviere, not even listed?) - while obviously avoiding the elephant in the room, which is that some of the major poetry books up for consideration were by Australian, Jamaican, and American poets whose work is not really about new ways in British poetry at all, nor is that the basis of the prize.

If the Eliot awards are to be global, in terms of English language, within the terms and limits they set out (published in the UK), then the judging needs to set aside national and parochial critical needs.

Howe's book was probably the second best book on the list, and she makes a most deserving winner. Eyewear BLOG, for instance, selected Loop of Jade as a book of the year 2015 in our summing up.

However, Citizen, by Claudia Rankine, is a genuine masterpiece of American Literature, a monumental and genre-shifting achievement of considerable genius - and it is surely intellectually absurd to set that aside to instead grant the prize to a debut collection, however extraordinary.

The TS Eliot judges last night seem to have erred on the side of national enthusiasms, and wishful thinking, and overlooked their larger role.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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.
Post a Comment
Read more

Poetry vs. Literature

Poetry is, of course, a part of literature. But, increasingly, over the 20th century, it has become marginalised - and, famously, has less of an audience than "before". I think that, when one considers the sort of criticism levelled against Seamus Heaney and "mainstream poetry", by poet-critics like Jeffrey Side , one ought to see the wider context for poetry in the "Anglo-Saxon" world. This phrase was used by one of the UK's leading literary cultural figures, in a private conversation recently, when they spoke eloquently about the supremacy of "Anglo-Saxon novels" and their impressive command of narrative. My heart sank as I listened, for what became clear to me, in a flash, is that nothing has changed since Victorian England (for some in the literary establishment). Britain (now allied to America) and the English language with its marvellous fiction machine, still rule the waves. I personally find this an uncomfortable position - but when ...
15 comments
Read more

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....
3 comments
Read more