David Green

David Green (Books) is the imprint under which I published booklets of my own poems. The original allocation of ISBN numbers is used up now, though. The 'Collected Poems' are now available as a pdf. The website is now what it has become, often more about music than books and not so often about poems. It will be about whatever suggests itself.

Thursday, 24 September 2009

Poets in their Other Jobs


Obviously poetry is a very easy thing to do but not all poets are good enough at it to make a living at it so they have to have another job as well.


Here is a picture of me doing my other job. I'm a spy. Those people in the background think my name is Oleg Kalashnikov and they don't suspect a thing.


If anybody has pictures of poets doing their other jobs, do send them in. Or poets wearing hats. Marianne Moore, Ezra Pound, John Betjeman, Tennyson et al, they used to like wearing hats. I've got a new hat, too, you see.

Sunday, 20 September 2009

Poet's Birthday Cakes - David Green


To begin a new feature on the website, here is a picture of the birthday cake made by my sister and delivered today.
So, if anybody has pictures of birthday cakes made for T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, Stevie Smith or any other poet, please e-mail them in. I expect there'll be hundreds posted here soon.
On my 40th birthday cake, or it might have been my 30th, there was a footballer nominally in Fulham kit so I'm thrilled by the thoughtfulness involved here that shows I have progressed to the immortal bard.
Obviously I can't eat any of it for a few weeks yet and unfortunately my next door neighbour, whose wife sometimes gives me home made apple pies, saw it being smuggled in, so I might have to share it when the time comes.

Sunday, 13 September 2009

The Movement Reconsidered


ed. Zachary Leader, The Movement Reconsidered (Oxford University Press)

The Movement was the movement that never was. The anonymous, generic label was first applied to some emerging poets of the 1950’s in a review in The Spectator in October 1954 and although subsequently used to describe a characteristic type of poetry that was being written at the time, most of the principal names that were supposed to be a part of it made it clear that they didn’t consider themselves to be a part of any such thing.
What it represented concerned much more of what these poets didn’t do in common than what they did, being a reaction against Eliot’s elitist intellectualism, the ‘poetry of statement’ of the Auden group and the apocalyptic wordiness of some 1940’s poets. But as is pointed out, those 40’s poets have so disappeared from view now that it is less easy to see what particular excess was being thus corrected. But it was a plain style that tried to avoid undesirable habits rather than having a unifying agenda or manifesto and, as such, served as something like a cleansing process, based on common sense in a quite unfrightening way.
Larkin’s reputation hasn’t needed such a tag to bring attention to his poetry and Thom Gunn and Donald Davie quickly moved into new methods that made it clear they had more idiosyncrasies than likeness with the perceived hegemony. So, the publicity afforded by such a critical categorisation has benefitted the long term renown of lesser lights, keeping their names in view when they might have disappeared further from notice. Kingsley Amis, once the putative leader of the group, isn’t otherwise remembered primarily as a poet and John Wain’s legacy isn’t primarily based on his poems either.
This collection of essays by some of the most respected authorities on the subject is a wide-ranging and very welcome assessment of how it all looks now, almost as definitive as one would want it to be, and likely to be the last word required on the subject for some time, largely written by sympathizers, admirers and those who were there at the time, which doesn’t include the poets, most of who have died in recent years. And that in itself is a reminder of how rapidly such things pass into literary history. It is possible to believe that there was actually a ‘movement’ going on when reading about Amis and Wain in the 50’s but in terms of Gunn and any longer perspective, one can’t help but think it was any more than a minor footnote and a mention that briefly became a publicity gimmick.
Blake Morrison updates his book on the subject from the 80’s, showing how Larkin and Amis were more open to suggestion from America than they were prepared to admit. There was never much doubt that Larkin’s little Englandism was a pose because his reading of French poetry was referenced in some of his poems but Morrison points out that Robert Frost’s poem Directive has the ‘strikingly similar’ phrase ‘a house in earnest’ to Larkin’s Church Going visit to ‘a serious house on serious earth’. It’s always interesting to know but ever disappointing to find that a favourite poem might not have been quite as original as one thought. Morrison compares the social and political situation in Britain to the early C21st but not convincingly enough to make me believe it or to think that 1950’s poets are due to rush back into vogue.
Craig Raine’s brilliant reading of Dublinesque and his doubts cast in the direction of the technical excellence of the iconic An Arundel Tomb make an excellent conference piece. He is still appreciative of Larkin’s particular talent and if his exegesis of these and other poems doesn’t heighten one’s admiration for them any further, one does admire the clarity with which he understands the ways they work.
Nicholas Jenkins draws together the theme of skies in Auden and Larkin, a place from which danger emerged in the war, with great insight. Partly dependent on some Freudian psychology that looks a bit dubious to me, it is still an enlightening essay contrasting how skies in Larkin can reflect both mundane moods and another, more transcendent thing.
Three essays combine to put the Movement into contemporary perspective with Colin McGinn outlining the move in Philosophy towards ‘ordinary language’ and away from specialist phraseology in G.E. Moore, the later Wittgenstein and A. J. Ayer; Deborah Cameron’s socio-linguistic study refers us to Orwell’s dictum of good prose being like a pane of glass and Deborah Bowman examines the influence of Empson’s style. Along with James Fenton on Kingsley Amis: Against Fakery and a few parallels with the anti-phoney theme of Salinger’s 1951 classic The Catcher in the Rye, these illustrate a prevailing zeitgeisty attitude of downbeat, sceptical, post-war ordinariness.
Alan Jenkins demonstrates how Gunn’s Postures for Combat developed until, removing the first person and returning to Hardy, he could write the late masterpiece The Gas Poker.
William H. Pritchard surveys Donald Davie’s career as a critic, his ambivalent attitudes to both Movement and Modernism, but mainly his allegiance to Pound and antipathy to William Carlos Williams, his admiration for Gunn and ‘over valuation’ of Basil Bunting. Davie, at once austerely demanding but often generous, was the most illuminating commentator of his generation although always 'his own man'.
Rachel Buxton provides useful work on Elizabeth Jennings, another who didn’t see herself as part of the Movement but who we should be reminded of more often. The fact that she was the only woman and the only Catholic of the poets under consideration somehow has to be mentioned but it’s difficult to see how either factor made her any less a part of the group than she was already.
With other reportage from the time about the New Lines anthologies and Anthony Thwaite’s personal memoir, the only piece we don’t really need is on Larkin’s early, juvenile interest in lesbianism which on occasions seems to be given unwarranted attention however fascinating some seem to find it.
Fifty years and more after the fact, this illusory movement might look a bit pale and flat now that all kinds of post-modern playfulness and wonderment are upon us but some very major talents emerged in the 50’s- still highly worthy of our attentions- it’s just that they emerged at the same time individually and not as a group. Their efforts at a plainer style, ironies, less deceived knowingness and common language have been widely taken up by the mainstream poets who have made their reputations since, like Simon Armitage, Carol Ann Duffy, Andrew Motion and Glyn Maxwell.
This essential book is all that most students or readers interested in the period will need and it should send its readers back to whichever poems referred to in it grab the most of their attention.

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

CCADS - The History Boys

CCADS, The History Boys, Portsmouth New Theatre Royal, September 9th

Of Alan Bennett's long and impressive list of plays, I'd guess that The History Boys has been the most successful. Its long London stage run, then film and radio productions was added to by Portsmouth's consistently fine amateur company, Corpus Christi Amateur Dramatic Society.
While on the one hand it is an essay on the value of a traditional liberal arts education in the face of recent results-based approaches to proving education's worth, it also continues an established Bennett thread through such works as Me ! I'm Afraid of Virginia Woolf and The Laying on of Hands that use the theme of somewhat inappropriate homoerotic relationships between older men and younger boys.
There is much more to it than that, though, as Bennett incorporates any number of literary, historical and linguistic ideas into the classroom and poetry anoraks can tick off the references to major C20th English poets through Hardy, Housman, Owen, Eliot, Auden, Stevie Smith and Larkin. So it is a ready made compendium of curricular standards that would suffice for a highly respectable General Studies course on its own.
Portsmouth's finest character actor, Tony Dart, finds another well-befitting role in Hector, the maverick literature teacher, while John Paul McCrohon is as better than ever as Irwin, the supply teacher. Tony Doye and Sue McCrohon are excellent, too, but somehow they found eight talented teenage boys to fill the boys' roles thoroughly impressively, singing, playing the piano and acting their moody, truculent teenage socks off.
For me, to be painfully critical, the play took a long time to end and ten minutes could have been removed from it to greater effect but that is Bennett's fault, perhaps wringing more pathos and emotion out of the ending than is really needed but the production is a major triumph, possibly the best out of many years of CCADS performances. Not only due to the fact that it is one of Alan Bennett's most complete plays but the all-round relish and panache of this re-making of it.

Ends Saturday. Get there if you can.

http://ccads.musicdramastage.com/

Saturday, 5 September 2009

Don Paterson - Rain



Don Paterson, Rain (Faber)

It doesn't seem like six years since Landing Light, Don Paterson's last book. Having thought his earlier books quite stylish and successful, I bought that expecting it to be the maturer, finished poet and a major book of poems. But whether it was my fault or that of the poems, I didn't find it so. Accomplished, sophisticated and all those things perhaps but not a book I returned to or thought about afterwards. So, in anticipation of the new book, I had another look and it still didn't do much for me.
The new book features a tribute in serveral parts to Michael Donaghy, to whose eminent position as critic's favourite Paterson might be regarded as a natural inheritor. It's allusive, personal, deep and meaningful but probably not worthy of its challeging remit. Some of the rhymed poems about his young sons are effective without being groundbreaking while other rhyming poems don't seem to suit him very well. It was beginning to look as if Paterson simply wasn't for me. Until I read the poem called The Day and then read it again to make sure. It is strange to find among a collection of poems that you don't particularly like one of the best new poems you've read for quite some time.
It 'plays with' the ideas of intimacy and the infinite, the one within the other, separateness within a relationship,
even in our own small galaxy
there is another town whose today-light
won't reach a night of ours till Kirriemuir
is nothing but a vein of hematite

is a beautiful and compact lesson in quantum physics. But then even though,

They talk...and decide
to set apart one minute of the day
to dream across the parsecs, the abyss,
a kind of cosmic solidarity.

it is still possible to feel that,
'You're saying that because
the bed's a light-year wide, or might as well be,
I'm even lonelier than I thought I was?'

And so the somewhat tragic miracle of love and finding each other, which might be a bit of a 'commonplace' but the poem's even self aware enough to know that, is profoundly expressed. In fact, for me, it makes the book worth buying on its own.
Once encouraged to take a more generous view of the poet, you notice that the title poem is a fine thing, too, and Why Do You Stay Up So Late? starts to look like a better poem.
However, there is a series of 35 renku, more gnomic utterances in faux-Japanese style that ideally would be forbidden in English poetry and a rather unhilarious blank page of transcendental zen poetry called Unfold i.m. Akira Yoshizawa. However apt a tribute it is to Yoshizawa, it is hardly a new idea. Len Shackleton, the 'clown prince' of football had a chapter in his biography entitled (something like) What the Average Chairman Knows About Football and I reckon that was four decades ago. The joke hasn't got any funnier since then.
So, with so much of this book so far short of the high standard required to be so, I can't see Paterson as the natural heir to Donaghy. It would be a better book if half of it had been left out but it provides a handful of perfectly fine poems and one that, for me, is exemplary.

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

Odyssey

I don't expect many readers that find themselves here to agree with this modest proposal. But don't you sometimes suddenly realize that this, that or the other was immensely better than they were ever credited with. Quite possibly, 80's disco music is as unfashionable now as the poetry of the 1950's, but even though I bought a few records by Odyssey, I'm not sure I realized what a great oeuvre they eventually put together.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wtZEzWnsqA4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fameubts7I&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9M6gXIqlfI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AygsotQ8-so
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j1zZm-UO2RI

5 records to offer up against the best.

Stop pretending.

Signed Poetry Books - James Fenton


James Fenton was all the rage in the 1980's. All the rage. War poet, hugely respected. He and Craig Raine, differently big noises. How different it looks now. I don't even know if a new book by Fenton is even eagerly awaited but it would be of interest if it appeared.
But it's always a shame, vis a vis Simon Armitage's story about finding a signed copy of his own book, for 10p in a box outside a second hand bookshop. Fenton made this book out to Jaquie but Jaquie didn't treasure it enough and I got it off e-Bay for very little. The title poem of this volume is a simple but sublime thing. I wouldn't say there should be more of such poems, only that when poems such as this are attempted that they should be as good. There is no need for any more poems at all, only that the ones that there are should be better.