John Dryden's 'MacFlecknoe'

John Dryden (1631-1700)

Dryden’s poetry sits uncomfortably between the ease of the Renaissance and the familiarity of the Romantics. Like Pope he was a superb poet, a master of the heroic couplet, like Pope and Swift a master of the devestating put down, and like Pope brevity was not his strong point.

But here he is laying into Thomas Shadwell, crowning him the King of Dullness. You have to go along for the ride. Some of the names will be unfamilair, some of the references will be lost, but the overall drive of the satire should be obvious adn enjoyable.

It’s a long piece to read. And though I’ve tried to do it justice I’m not sure I have. The best Dryden I’ve heard is in the film ‘England My England’ where whoever plays him does a superb job of reading the poems.

There is also a minor technical problem. All the versions of the Poem I have seen name Dryden’s victim Sh-. I tried reading it like this but it didn’t work so Shadwell is named.

This is taken from ‘Selected Poetry and Prose of John Dryden’ edited by Earl Milner.

Carol Ann Duffy's 'Anne Hathaway'

Carol Ann Duffy (1955- )

Rewriting stories was a popular strategy to challenge an overtly masculine version of history. But few writers did it so well as Duffy in ‘The World’s Wife’, a book of poems where the wives of the famous were allowed to speak.

They are mostly long suffering and unimpressed. There was Mrs. Daedalus watching her husband fall to earth, Mrs. Midas equally disgusted, terrified and saddened by her husband’s new skills, Little Red Riding Hood taking the wolf for all he’d got, Mrs. Faust getting the last laugh on the Devil and so on….

This sonnet is unusual in the collection. Unlike the other wives, Anne Hathaway remmembers her husband with affection. Instead of taking the opportunity for a bit of Bard Bashing over that notorious bequest, Duffy produces a love poem. And unlike some of Will’s sonnets, this one needs no explanations.

This is taken from The World’s Wife, Picador 1999

Robert Graves' 'In Broken Images'

Robert Graves (1895-1985)

I’ve been wondering which of Graves’ vast output I should read after ‘Flying Crooked’ and the problem was solved when this one was requested.

‘In Broken Images’ juxtaposes two ways of thinking and celebrates the value of starting any thought process from a position of honest confusion or ignorance, and working towards a better understanding of the issue without falling into the trap of thinking the process is from doubt to certainity. Rather it’s from honest doubt to informed honest doubt.

There are too many hes and not enough Is in the world at present. And the education system has a tendency to reward the hes.

The Irony of this poem is that Graves went on to become the most didactic of English critics. However, Graves the younger man wrote marvelous books of criticism. He later disowned them. But his essay on what is bad poetry, which begins ‘Poetic Unreason’ , is a mini masterpiece of the art of taking doubt seriously and following it to its logical conclusions. And then, having arrived a conclusion, having to start again.

This is taken from Carcanet’s ‘The complete poems in one volume’ edited by Beryl Graves and Dunstan Ward. There’s a fine shorter selected edited by Michael Longley.

Poetic Unreason is only avilable on the second hand book market.

Rudyard Kipling's 'Gunga Din'.

Rudyard Kipling (I865-1936)

‘You’re a better man than I am Gunga Din’.

I heard this phrase so often when I was growing up, it was years before I found out that it was part of a poem. Even then, the repetition of the phrase obscured the correct pronunciation and I was slow to realise the name was pronounced Deen not Din.

Perhaps like ‘Lead on MacDuff’, or ‘Him who asks no questions isn’t told no lies’ the phrase had come untethered from its context and was being used by people who didn’t know where it came from.

‘Though I’ve belted you and flayed you
By the living God that made you
You’re a better man than I am Gunga Din’

It’s hard to imagine words locked more securely into a poem’s rhythm.

And if you think Kipling’s Tommy is a racist, I think you’re missing the point of the story.

I've been rereading poems that were common knowledge when I was growing up. This is the last of that group.

Alfred Noyes' 'The Highwayman'.

Alfred Noyes (1880-1958)

File under poems that are enjoyable to read aloud?

I wonder how many children have had this poem inflicted on them by English teachers who have used it to teach ‘similes and metaphors’. Now, draw the moon as a ghostly galleon…Now find a simile and draw that..

Stripped down to its narrative bones it has the lack of sentiment of a traditional ballad. The Jealous Lover gets rid of his rival and in so doing causes the death of the woman he desires. Bess kills herself to save the Highwayman, but he dies anyway. Everybody loses. And like the central character in a good ghost story, the Highwayman keeps his promise, even though he’s dead.

It lacks the stripped down austerity of a genuine ballad, and the long vowel sounds ring false. Moon is repeated so often it begins to sound like a herd of cows in a paddock.

It's been set to music many times and if you’ve never heard it sung, Andy Irvine does a good version.

This is taken from ‘Poems and Ballads’ (1927).

Rudyard Kipling's 'A Smuggler's Song'

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

‘Them that ask no questions, isn’t told a lie’.

I associate this poem with the run up to Christmas, because that line was often quoted, or more often misquoted, at me round about this time of year.

Like so much of Kipling’s poetry, it’s a pleasure to read aloud, although it does strange things to my accent.

It originally appeared in ‘Puck of Pook’s Hill’, but this is taken from Rudyard Kipling ‘Complete verse’ Anchor books 1940.

Christopher Logue's 'Caption for a photograph of four organized criminals'

Christopher Logue (1926-2011)

Logue’s reputation rests securely on his version of Homer. ‘War Music’ may be one of the best narrative poems of the twentieth and twenty first centuries.

But his ‘Selected poems’ show he was equally skilled with shorter, non-narrative forms.

The Selected contains two versions of well known poems by Franciose Villon (?1431-?1463). They are very much versions rather than strict translations. The French original for this one goes by different names: Ballade des pendus, Epitaphe Villon or Frères humains. The most arresting images in Logue’s poem are not in the original, nor is the ‘argument’ the poem offers.

If you’re interested in seeing what Logue did with that original, the French text and a literal translation can be found here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballade_des_pendus

This poem is taken from Christopher Logue, Selected Poems Faber 2019.

Philip Larkin's 'Church going'.

Philip Larkin (1922-1985)

There’s not a lot needs saying. He was also born in Coventry, though his upbringing and mine couldn’t be more different and if ‘I remember I remember’ is anything to go by, he didn’t much like the place.

It’s easy to see him as the Eyeore of English poetry, but that would miss both the art and the performance of a character. The Chief Librarian of a Large University Library cannot be serious when he writes ‘books are a load of crap’.

Perhaps his star is currently fading as the personna attracts more attention than the poetry, more time spent on the letters than the poems, but Larkin was never going to be academically viable. You don’t need someone telling you what his poems ‘mean’. His work is both a reaction to ‘Modernism’ and a continuation of a much older tradition and can be enjoyed without commentary.

This is taken from his Collected Poems. (1988)

Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin's 'Swineherd'

Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin (1942- )

The Swineherd? What exactly are his or her ‘special skills’? Why is there a Portguese lay sister in the kitchen, and how does cream crawl to the top of the jug? Where does it get dark early in summer?

All I know is that the first four lines have rattled in my head on so many occasions.

Who ever or wherever the swineherd is, he or she has my sympathy.

(I apologise, but I do not know how to pronounce this writer’s name, and I do not wish to insult her by mangling it.)

This is taken from ‘The Second Voyage’ (Revised ed, 1986)

Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin's 'Swineherd'

Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin (1942- )

The Swineherd? What exactly are his or her ‘special skills’? Why is there a Portguese lay sister in the kitchen, and how does cream crawl to the top of the jug? Where does it get dark early in summer?

All I know is that the first four lines have rattled in my head on so many occasions.

Who ever or wherever the swineherd is, he or she has my sympathy.

(I apologise, but I do not know how to pronounce this writer’s name, and I do not wish to insult her by mangling it.)

This is taken from ‘The Second Voyage’ (Revised ed, 1986)

W.B.Yeats' 'The Wandering of Aengus'

W.B. Yeats (1885-1939)

“The Unavoidable Poet’ again.

This is early Yeats. It's not an infallible test, since he never lost the art of it, but you can often tell by those long vowel sounds that set up the melodic line and make the poem sing itself. It’s not surprising this poem this has been set to music and sung.

Aengus Og, in Irish Mythology, is the god associated with youth. In one version of his story, Aengus is cursed to follow his lover, who is changed from one thing to another. Yeats has taken the story, but this is now as much persistence as it is the impossibility of his love for Maud Gonne.

Anyone who claims Aengus is stalking the girl is not paying close attention to the verbs.

Ivor Gurney's 'First Time In'.

Ivor Gurney (1890-1937)

There’s a fascinating study waiting to be done comparing David Jones with Ivor Gurney.

Like David Jones, Gurney served as a private in the First World War. Like Jones, he has an established reputation in another field of the arts: in Gurney’s case, music. He was a composer of ‘art songs’ and considered, by those who know, to have been a good one.

Like Jones, Gurney was traumatised by his experiences, though in his case he spent from 1922 to his death in institutions.

Like Jones, as a poet, Gurney is perhaps not so well known. Neither of them is easily conscripted into the prevailing, ‘if it’s good it’s anti war’ mentality. His poems, while recording the horrors, also evoke the shared experience and community. Here, in ‘First Time In’, he records a memory of meeting Welsh soldiers, and his delight in their singing.

This poem is taken from ‘Collected Poems of Ivor Gurney’ (p 69). edited by P.J.Kavanagh. There is another, longer version of this poem, or another attempt to describe the same incident, on page 85

Miroslav Holub's 'Napoleon'.

Miroslav Holub (1923-1998)

Holub lived in Prague, and worked as an immunologist. He wrote a paper called ‘The Immunology of Nude Mice’. His obituary appeared in the New York Times.

He also wrote wonderful poems. This one works like a pebble dropped into a still pool. If you let it, both the wit and the critical point will make themselves apparent.

This translation is taken from ‘The Poetry of Survival; Post-War Poets of Central and Eastern Europe’, edited by Daniel Weissbort. (Anvil 1991)

If you think your interest in 20th century poetry is serious, especially if you’re an English speaker, i cannot reccomend this book too highly. It is worth whatever it costs. As an introduction to a wealth of great poets and poems it is priceless.

Chidiok Tichborne's 'My prime of youth is but a frost of cares'

Chidiok Tichborne (1588-86)

This poem is also known as Tychborne/Tichborne’s elergy.

Little is known about the author except that he was executed for plotting to assassinate Queen Elizabeth. And that he wrote this poem in the Tower before his execution.

It probably survives in anthologies for two reasons: Firstly the tag ‘Written with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution’ does grab the attention,, and secondly as an example of Elizabethan poetry written by educated young men. It takes the kind of antithesis and paradox someone like Sydney or Shakespeare could use effectively and runs it into the ground. Compare it with Raleigh’s last poem. ‘What is our life? A play of passion’ and …

On the other hand, before we get too critical, if the poem is genuine the poet was looking forward to being hung, drawn and quartered, so perhaps this elegant metrical balancing act was an effective way of focussing his mind on other things.

Tichborne has a wikipedia page (of course) which contains a contemporary response to this poem.

This version is taken from Seven Centuries of poetry in English, 4th ed. (Ed) John Leonard.

B.H.Fairchild's 'Keats'

B. H. Fairchild (1942-)

I know nothing about B. H. Fairchild except that he’s an American, and I own a copy of his ‘Blue Buick: new and selected poems’.

I admire the man’s art. The poems are deceptively conversational, like this one celebrating Keats as craftsman The poet as maker, working at his art like a man at a lathe, wrapped up in the pleasure of making.

If you’re hurrying, you’ll miss the unobtrusive skill that went into the poem.

This is taken from ‘The Blue Buick’ Norton, 2016