In the morning I read Louis Zukofsky, and he made
me depressed; at noon I read Edmund Blunden, and that
fellow... That Oxford fellow made me angry. I think I now
hate him more than D. H. Lawrence. I had a fading
recollection of reading decent poetry by him, but this... This
was hell. Blunden had read the Romantics and had an
obsession with endless rhyming, loved the Ye Old English
countryside like Enid Blyton, and his idea of a short poem
might be short compared to Beowulf. And he, nominated
for the Nobel more times than are sunny days in Durham!
A meeting with an idol of a god that had been told to
be made of gold yet was but clay and unfired
when you came to gaze.
16.03.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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