Last night BBC 2 aired a 50-minute dramatisation of Christopher Reid's magnificent long poem, "The Song of Lunch", which I think takes its place now, beside "The Rape of the Lock" as vers de societe classic. Reid is part of a generation of major English poets who have somehow been sidelined by the NextGen - so that James Fenton, Craig Raine, Charles Boyle are, though of course widely-known, somehow not treated with the kid gloves afforded to Kid Armitage and Sundance Duffy. Well, Reid is tops in my book. The production was marvellous,sad and very funny, and superbly well-acted, though Rickman seemed perhaps overly-distracted, and Emma's neck was not as long as in the poem. It made me think the whole thing was a reverie, whereas in the text, it seems more vividly nightmarish - the lunch is happening, the crisis is real. I am not sure the fellow cast as the original owner of the bistro was funereal enough; and the Eliot-look-alike was too fat and short. Also, would an editor in Bloomsbury real get blotto on one grappa and two bottles of plonk, having consumed a starter, a bit of pizza and a few breadsticks? Likely not. Still, the sadness of time was perfectly portrayed. This proves poems can work on TV. Bring them on!
THAT HANDSOME MAN A PERSONAL BRIEF REVIEW BY TODD SWIFT I could lie and claim Larkin, Yeats , or Dylan Thomas most excited me as a young poet, or even Pound or FT Prince - but the truth be told, it was Thom Gunn I first and most loved when I was young. Precisely, I fell in love with his first two collections, written under a formalist, Elizabethan ( Fulke Greville mainly), Yvor Winters triad of influences - uniquely fused with an interest in homerotica, pop culture ( Brando, Elvis , motorcycles). His best poem 'On The Move' is oddly presented here without the quote that began it usually - Man, you gotta go - which I loved. Gunn was - and remains - so thrilling, to me at least, because so odd. His elegance, poise, and intelligence is all about display, about surface - but the surface of a panther, who ripples with strength beneath the skin. With Gunn, you dressed to have sex. Or so I thought. Because I was queer (I maintain the right to lay claim to that
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best wishes
martine
You're joking, right? Anyone would be drunk on that lot, whatever they'd eaten - certainly over the driving limit!