On Radio 4 this morning, there was a long feature on the world famous pianist Alfred Brendel, who turns 80 soon, and who has turned from playing concert piano to emphasising his role as poet, cemented by a new collection out any day now. Brendel has been published by Faber, and writes an odd sort of poem: free verse, mainly, with surreal or zany references to often musicological situations. His Mozart murder poem is a good example of where his ear takes him. I am not a classical music critic but accept Brendel's preeminence in that field. I wonder, would he be attended to as a poet otherwise? The UK has many equally (more?) deserving older poets of great achievement who could do with a spot on national morning radio, too. I raise this because in the piece he was asked whether he was a pianist or poet, and he had the modesty to say both. Glenn Gould, bless him, was a genius as an editor and radio man, but never let that get to his head. The title poet - for those who wish to take it - is always there, a hat on a high hat-stand we can all reach on tip toes - but those who claim the fedora should be careful it not slip off our too-big heads.
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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Looking around my bedroom, I see three of my own paintings. Surely that qualifies me for an exhibition at the Royal Academy!