It being a poetry event, the appeal to switch off mobile phones before the show was done in rhyme. But halfway through a poem by Wole Soyinka, a ringtone could be clearly heard throughout the auditorium. Soyinka stoically finished the poem before adding, 'I apologize for that', took out a mobile phone and switched it off. He had another one in his other pocket and so switched that off as well. Unfortunately, the performers had not been in attendance to hear the request.
This was the big event of Simon Armitage's 'Poetry Parnassus', a brave attempt to bring a poet from every competing Olympic country to London for a very international festival. Nobel prize winners, Pulitzers and laureates from seven countries were brought together. Armitage himself was a Master of Ceremonies allowed a couple of poems but it was Jo Shapcott who represented Britain with some bee poems.
Soyinka, from Nigeria, came next, in a rather more benign mood than his political activist past would have led one to anticipate. A list provided of biographical notes on the whole cast of Parnassian poets demonstrated just how many writers are exiled, banned or pursued by regimes across the world and how political engagement is not really a choice in so many countries. We are spoilt in this country by having the opportunity to engage with anything else, without having the one, big over-riding issue to deal with all the time.
Kim Hyesoon, South Korea, read in Korean with translations to follow. It is possible to appreciate a small part of poetry in a foreign language and her poems had rhythm and structure that gave some idea of what was really going on before the English explained what had been said. However unsatisfactory the arrangement is, it was somehow effective here.
Togara Muzanenhamo, a graduate of Armitage's creative writing programme, from Zimbabwe, completed the first half with a quiet dignity, finishing with a powerful poem about returning to his old school.
Seamus Heaney (Ireland) opened the second half with some ancient Irish history, one piece in Irish and another translated by himself. In a long perspective, he went back also to his own origins with the familiar Digging, without which no proper consideration of his work would be complete. Heaney is like those footballers often described as 'having time on the ball'. Confident, unhurried, apparently letting the language do the work but it is easier said by him than done by others. A Peacock's Feather drew waves of appreciative sympathy from the audience having risked an undue amount of sentiment but apparently got away with it.
Bill Manhire represented New Zealand, another accomplished performer among so many, with poems surprisingly leaning towards the 'performance' genre. They worked and, in an unlikely way given the countries represented here, perhaps carried the most direct political import.
And Kay Ryan, an ex-United States laureate (where the job is handed round more regularly than here), ended proceedings with some humanely thoughtful short poems, a humour of some gentleness based on genuine rigour.
Each reader was impressive in their way, the Parnassus idea proving somewhat more successful than the original idea first sounded. There is a danger, especially with the Uzbek poet I heard beforehand of the syndrome associated with Ravi Shankar's appearance at the Concert for Bangladesh, "If you like our tuning so much, I hope you will enjoy the playing more.” Of course, there were raptures to be overheard of how 'amazing' it all was - the whole festival - and, yes, it is, but exactly how much of the whole experience of an Uzbek recital an English person can get is open to question But, hats off- it seems like the whole thing has been a tremendous success and makes the achievement of my ambition to finally see Seamus Heaney look parochial indeed.
