Poet Laureate?

[EMDEE]

The first official poem of the new Poet Laureate:

Politics by Carol Ann Duffy

How it makes of your face a stone

that aches to weep, of your heart a fist,

clenched or thumping, sweating blood, of your tongue

an iron latch with no door. How it makes of your right hand

a gauntlet, a glove-puppet of the left, of your laugh

a dry leaf blowing in the wind, of your desert island discs

hiss hiss hiss, makes of the words on your lips dice

that can throw no six. How it takes the breath

away, the piss, makes of your kiss a dropped pound coin,

makes of your promises latin, gibberish, feedback, static,

of your hair a wig, of your gait a plankwalk. How it says this –

politics – to your education education education; shouts this –

Politics! – to your health and wealth; how it roars, to your

conscience moral compass truth, POLITICS POLITICS POLITICS.



I wonder if Tennyson is turning in his grave!

[hugh]

I like it. Very brave of her too, I'd say. The first poet laureate ever to actually say anything critical about the politics of their day, and to say it well. I think that's to be applauded.

If she'd wanted to emulate Tennyson she could have glorified the disastrous decision to invade Iraq.

[EMDEE]

I'm afraid that style does not appeal to me, irrespective of content.

[tootsy]

looks to me as though the new poet laureate went to the same poetry classes as ionnsaigh. i sincerely hope we are not paying good money for that tripe

[Govangirl]

Brilliant, I love it and I'm totally with Hugh here. I'm sorry you don't like it EMDEE but please give her more time. I welcomed her because she is a representative poet and much more accessible, I feel, than Motion. What a clever choice to start with too - she's obviously, like the whole nation, very angry with the whole debacle and the poem reeks of passion and power. Personally, I love the anger, the disgust, the effect of politics on idealism. This poem is bigger than just her first offering: it's a statement that she won't be writing about Royal events and anniversaries but about the big things that really affect our nation.
What was it about the style you didn't like EMDEE? Is it because of the lack of structure? This is what excites me about it - her rage is just falling out of her in a huge outburst and there is no structure in that kind of rage. It was exactly what I felt about the whole expenses affair!
Yes Hugh, I agree: very, very brave. More!!!!!

And likening her to Ionns? Whit?

[EMDEE]

What was it about the style you didn't like EMDEE

This is prose masquerading as poetry. That's what i don't like about it. I have no idea where this style originated, but it is used by a lot of modern "poets" and it is a complete turn-off for me.

I feel that these people have adopted this "style" because it is easy to write, you can just string your thoughts together and write them down as you please, and to Hell with punctuation, verse, rhyme, structure, in fact everything that used to be essential to poetry.

There you are now!

[hugh]

You want structure and verse? It's already there. Four verses, each starting with the word "how". The rhyming's there too; starts with the word "fist" and weaves its way all through the poem, culminating in the climactic "politics, politics, politics".
Works quite well with the structure and the theme too, I reckon. Takes the politicians' trademark threefold sloganising and throws it straight back at them with that sinister, sibilant sound indelibly stamped on it..."hiss, piss...politics".

And there is some brilliant imagery in there, but imagery can be subjective so I'll hold back on my thoughts on that for now.
As for punctuation, I don't see the problem there at all?

Just different ways of looking at things Emdee. Not all creative, imaginative use of language has to go dum-di-dum, di-dum-di-dum to qualify as poetry.

[Govangirl]

Duffy read out the following poignant poem today on Radio 4, a tribute to Henry Allingham:

LAST POST

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin
that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud…
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home-
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
not entering the story now
to die and die and die.
Dulce- No- Decorum- No- Pro patria mori.
You walk away.

You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)
like all your mates do too-
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert-
and light a cigarette.
There’s coffee in the square,
warm French bread
and all those thousands dead
are shaking dried mud from their hair
and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,
a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released
from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.

You lean against a wall,
your several million lives still possible
and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
If poetry could truly tell it backwards,
then it would.

Referring to Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est, I think it is an ingenious and beautiful piece of work. Although like Owen, it captures the horror of trench warfare, it also cleverly goes back in time with one of the young British soldiers. I love the line 'Dulce - No - Decorum - No - Pro patria mori' because like Owen, Duffy denies that a death on the battlefield is 'sweet and proper' - what a fitting tribute to Allingham and his comrades!

I love it. Please say you do too EMDEE.

[ionnsaigh]

Slaughter brutal savage this war of point the then is what.

[hugh]

.hgiasnnoI, eno taht dekiL

[ionnsaigh]

Hguoht ti ta gnikool fo yaw citeop -elpmis taht erew ti ylno fi kcolc eht kcab gninrut fo emeht eht yojne I timda ot evah I.

[hugh]

Bet it took you gnikcef ages to write that out.

Oh, aye the poem. I liked that as well.

[ionnsaigh]

. Noitcere na dah tsuj ev'I esaelp em esucxe. Neves ytnewt fo ege gnuoy epir eht hcaer ot sraey ytrihT ekat lliw ti, seunitnoc siht fi - yadretsey saw I naht regnuoy yad a m'I . sdrawkcab gniog neeb sah gnihtyreve meop eht daer I ecnis revE. reven ti taht , si gniht gninethgirf yllaer eht lleW

[ionnsaigh]

The poem is undoubtedly English - with it's English beer, and mates Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward and Bert. English beer and good food, a vast number of Scots, Irish, Welsh, had neither. Through in Tipperary, Britain, and some French bread - yet it remains an English poem - written by a Scot - does she live ? in England, by any chance. Please don't misunderstand or underestimate - my grief for all those young men who made the ultimate sacrifice. It appears overwhelmingly English.

[Govangirl]

Oh for crying out loud Ionns, sometimes I think you are backwards! She is writing about the young Allingham and Patch and so has used their names and the names of their friends. She's also used Owen's name too as the young poet. It is after all a tribute to those men and their situation so she could hardly have then in the middle of George's Square eating warm haggis pie from Gregg's. Get a grip. Surely the theme is universal? It refers to the sacrifice of all young soldiers and it is petty to go for jingoistic point scoring. And even if it WAS 'overwhelmingly English' so what?