Unusually, there was a review of a collection of poetry in my local
paper, 'The Leicester Mercury', on Monday. The Mercury isn't unkind to
local poets: although they've long abandoned the practice of
publishing the odd poem that some regional papers still maintain, they
regularly print notices of events I send them for the Leicester Poetry
Society, every so often they'll do a wee feature on a local poet (the
sweet Alice Beer, who's 94 and still writes +and+ goes on Peace
Rallys, was in on last week) they are not in the habit of reviewing
the books the tribe produces.
So it was a pleasant surprise to find 'Troy Town' by Matt Merrill,
published by Arrowhead Press (I've heard of them somewhere) being
reviewed. It could be because the writer's a former Mercury
journalist (you could be right there, Holmes, said Watson) but it's a
friendly favourable review.
What struck me as an apt illustration though of where poetry is, in
society, was the opening:
"If you're asking me, and I'd understand entirely if you preferred not
to, poetry is a bit like a lemon meringue - I'm aware of it, I know my
missus likes it, but, given the choice, I'm always happy to give it a
miss.
My life is largely untroubled by poetry."
He goes on to praise the book well but I'm struck by the equation of
poetry with a rather sticky sweet the missus like. With non-essential
shopping. An extra, for those who like that sort of thing.
--
David Bircumshaw
Website and A Chide's Alphabet http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/
The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html
Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk
|