Have mis-remembered a Roy Fisher poem about & for Michael Hamburger as
referring to his "many Englishes" (see correct text below), & can relate
somewhat to Doug's experience in exile. I believe I have many Englishes
inside me - born & raised in the Midlands, lived just north of London &
in South Devon before emigrating to British Columbia. I would guess
Coventry is the heart of it all because so many & such formative years
were spent there: now that's rather tough on the vowels but, God bless
'em, they survive. In addition to exposure to many accents & local
dictions (I ran down back entry's & alleys depending which part of
Coventry I was in, my friend Sam from Liverpool ran down the jiggers
after scrumping the apple trees etc), if we were lucky there were some
fine originators of language in the family somewhere. We started to
twig to our mam when my sister's schoolfriend was baffled by a perfectly
ordinary message on the kitchen counter one day: "nanabangs are on the
table, wacker's in the fridge." The one who loves language, its
effects, sounds, back-alleys etc (who may also have a passionate
interest in the diversities of people - true for mother anyway) will
always make something new & derive serious fun from it. The scholars
will provide the scholarship, which, of course, can also be fun etc.
For those who've not come across it, Roy Fisher's:
Style
for Michael Hamburger
Style? I couldn't begin.
That marriage (like a supple glove
that won't suffer me to breathe)
to the language of one's time
and class. The languages
of my times and classes.
Those intricacies
of self and sign. The power to mimic
and be myself. I couldn't.
I'd rather reach the air
as a version by my friend Michael.
He knows good Englishes.
And he knows the language
language gets my poems out of.
Hasta la...
Pete
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