The state of British poetry

 What is it, then? I'd be interested to know.

The weekly e-mail from the TLS is headlined by a review of five books that purports to enlighten us. Except if I can still fiddle my way into the whole article, I've forgotten how; the nearest shop that may or may not sell the TLS is some way from here and I simply don't know if Tristram Fane Saunders is who I'd like it all explained to me by. Maybe he is the new Messiah but he could equally be a new kid on the block who's done his homework and got good marks.

The 'state of British poetry' now, as elucidated by one come lately to it, is - much to my demerit- of as much interest to me as what a young person on the street thinks of the latest pop records. Entirely valid, I'm sure, but not guaranteed to be something I'd understand. But I'm not going to find out unless I try.

One of the five books in Tristram's survey is a collection of reviews by Rory Waterman. And that, being trustworthy, arrived today. It looks like a book worth having but in the same way that it's going to be good to see his particular form of words regarding books about Larkin published in the last fifteen years, it's not Larkin that I'm trying to catch up on.

So, what can you do?

One could, at a stretch, find the TLS or even read some poetry by younger writers and see what I think for myself. But I don't listen to Radio 1, I only listen to Tony Blackburn's 60's and Bob Harris's improving 70's shows.

There was a time when something aspiring to the canonical was essayed by Alvarez, then Motion/Morrison, Hulse/Kennedy/Morley, O'Brien and Lumsden but, convenient as it was to be informed about where we were, the wholesome diversity of British poetry meant that the Identity Parade looked more like an identity crisis.

One can't have it both ways.