My father died last night shortly after seven. There are I know many on
the list
who know his work and who will be saddened by his death.
He didn't suffer. A cold that had gone to his chest on Saturday was a
concern
and he went to hospital. By the end of the day and a range of tests all
seemed well
but he was to stay there for a day or two under observation. After dinner
last night
his heart stopped all of a sudden.
He turned 90 this year. His last book, The Bells of St Babels, Auckland
University Press,
came out earlier this year and won the Montana Prize for Poetry. The
Carcanet edition
will be published this week. He had given quite a few readings this year,
the last being
a week ago in Auckland. Just before that he was in the studio recording a
three hours selection
of his work for the BBC archives. As all this suggests, he surrendered
very little to age
before it ran out of patience with him.
Long live poetry!
Wystan.
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