Edmund
you should have read that already: I expect such commitment to poetry from
anyone who would talk to me as a practioner. I might, in e-mail land, act
the part of a fool, but that's a defence mechanism, although I am far well
read than many I am always conscious of the tones of social inferiority,
it's a maelstrom of feeling, I always recall that when I first went on
poetry lists I had this naive idea that I was entering open fora about the
art I love, it's not so, as we all really know (that rhymes, note it: I must
be a poet)
At the age of fifty-one I suspect I have just grown up ( a couple of years
ago Ms Croggalogs said something accusatory to me b-c on the lines of when
will you grow up - she was quite right then, fair cop Al)
My friendship with my ultimate human disaster area Victoria has made me
acknowledge my own humanity, Vicky in turn is getting interested in poetry,
it's also reminded me of my roots.
Which is where I belong, always. One of the many little mental tussles is
with my local poet, Mr WS, I'm from Warwickshire too, I love his writing at
its best, I also hate the fucker because he is the type of the West Midlands
businessman who ran our lives in childhood.
Pradoxes, paradoxes.
Best
Dave
----- Original Message -----
From: "Edmund Hardy" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Wednesday, March 29, 2006 2:00 AM
Subject: Re: Help! The grass is singing
> it was only a "we" for fun on happy poets -
>
> i like what you say about eliot's weirdness & your description makes
Sweeney
> A sound very appealing - I'll go & read it soonest
>
> Edmund
>
> Do 'we' think of Eliot as 'not happy' and Williams as being so? This
> particular part of 'we' doesn't look at things in that way at all.
Williams
> certainly can seem fluffy compared to the cold weird and brilliant Eliot.
> The best Eliot poems, such as (of course) The Waste Land, Mr Appolinax
> (which is a gem that is inimatable, in that one Eliot conforms to his own
> stricture on Shakespeare as not bequeathing a tradition) Prufock a bit
(it's
> readable and has great lines, but also sounds like Philip Larkin on speed)
> and too the real problem: Sweeney Agonistes, which is probably the most
> original poem of twentieth century English literature but also a headache:
> it seems to combine American vernacular with the musical hall and British
> oddities about domestic sex-murders and Greek tragedy, there was, and is
> still not, anything like that, it's a misogynist masterpiece, in tatters,
> it's an embarrassment, and it's brilliant.
>
>
> Best
>
> Dave
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