LIT&LEARN
LIT&LEARN
THE STRAITS TIMES MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 2012
MONDAY,, SEPTEMBER 10, 2012 THE STRAITS TIMES
LIT&LEARN
12
13
Voices of the empire
Today, you will read about
the Poet Laureate and how
British poetry has evolved
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BY ANNA BRITTON
T
he Poet Laureate is an honorary title
bestowed by the reigning monarch
on a prominent poet of the time.
The tradition started back in 12th
century Mediaeval Britain with King Richard I
and has continued to the present day.
Carol Ann Duffy (right), the current laureate, was appointed in 2009 by Queen Elizabeth II. She is the first woman, and indeed the
first Scot, to hold the title.
The Poet Laureate is more a recognition of
service to poetry than an actual job but he is
expected to write some verse for notable occasions, such as the monarch’s coronation or
a significant country event. Over the years,
the choice of the Poet Laureate has effectively reflected the changes in society and fashion of British poetry.
If we look back to the early 17th century,
for example, we can see how Ben Jonson (a
contemporary and, some say, rival of Shake-
speare) was chosen for his reputation as an
all-round writer who was inspired by Roman
and Greek classical literature that was so popular at the time. Many of his poems follow the
classical style of focusing on rhyme and stress
as well as trying to stay simple and restrained.
William Wordsworth was appointed in
1843, although he initially refused the honour
saying he was too old. In fact, he is the only
laureate never to have produced any poems
while holding the post.
Although Wordsworth had studied the
works of Ben Jonson and his contemporaries,
he had a much more flowery style, which is reflected in his famous work The Prelude. His
work is often credited with having launched
the Romantic Age in English literature and his
poetry tried to use more colloquial language
to convey very strong feelings – a much more
modern approach than had been tried before.
The famous Alfred, Lord Tennyson followed on immediately after Wordsworth and
remained in the post for most of Queen Victoria’s reign. Tennyson favoured short verses;
many of which were based on classical mythological themes. He is the ninth most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary Of
Quotations and many of his expressions,
such as “tis better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all”, are
still common in everyday language today.
Fast-forwarding to the 20th century, we
have John Betjeman, one of Britain’s
best-loved laureates. His poetry is often considered a good starting point for students
new to the genre as his writing is humorous
and accessible with everyday themes that are
easy to identify.
The appointment of Carol Ann Duffy has
once again confirmed the laureate’s position
as a reflection of the times because her poetry deals with many current topics including
the banking crisis, climate change and the
much happier event of the wedding of Prince
William and Catherine Middleton.
In 2019, the post will become vacant again
and, no doubt, the next chosen laureate will
once again make his mark on poetry and society.
The Lake District, a popular hiking destination in Britain, is closely associated with William Wordsworth and has inspired much of his work. The poet was part of a group of
poets known as the Lake Poets.
ST FILE PHOTO
I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The Charge Of The Light Brigade
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered:
Their’s not to make reply,
Their’s not to reason why,
Their’s but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed-and gazed-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
The disastrous British charge of the Russian guns on Oct 25, 1854, was commemorated by Lord Tennyson in
his poem.
PHOTO GETTY IMAGES
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
by William Wordsworth
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did the sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
The poetry of
Sir Andrew Motion
BY DR SARAH MEISCH OF THE BRITISH
COUNCIL ARTS AND WRITING THE CITY
S
ir Andrew Motion (below), the United Kingdom’s former poet laureate
(1999 to 2009) visited Singapore in
October last year.
In addition to his laureateship and being
knighted in 2009 for his contribution to literature, Sir Motion is currently a Professor of
Creative Writing at Royal Holloway, a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and
Chairman of the Museums, Libraries & Archives Council. He has written numerous collections of poetry, an autobiography entitled In The Blood: A Memoir Of My Childhood, and several biographies, including
works on poets, such as Philip Larkin and
John Keats, who inspired him since his
school days.
Sir Motion recently released Silver, his
much awaited sequel to Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, which delves into
the thrilling adventures of Jim Hawkins’ son
and Long John Silver’s daughter when they
return to the island.
When in Singapore for the Singapore
Writers Festival last year, he participated in
a special session hosted by Writing the
City with students from the School of the
Arts.
As he softly read out some of his poems from The Mower (2009), the students were deeply touched by their simplicity and accessibility. His poetry unambiguously addresses details of childhood and his affection for the countryside whilst oozing sensitivity and beauty.
The honesty with which Sir Motion approaches his poems was mirrored in his engagement with the
students. He openly and humbly
shared intimate memories from
his life and replied to questions
with sincere warmth and respect.
The core memories that he fac-
es in much of his work are those of his mother who had a horse riding accident when he
was 17 years old and was left severely paralysed and in a coma for nine years until her
death.
In a cathartic exploration to keep her
memory alive through words and an attempt to discover an explanation for what
happened, Sir Motion exposed the painful
loss of her vitality and its ramifications for
the family: “Although we know now / your
clothes will never / be need, we keep them,
/ upstairs in a locked trunk.”1
Through unembellished descriptions, he
managed to create layers of intense emotions: “What I remember is not / your leaving, but your not / coming back (...)/ I am
still there, / seeing your horse return / alone
to the open stable, / its reins dragging behind / a trail across the plough, / a blurred
riddle of scars / we could not decipher then,
/ and cannot heal now.”2
Sir Motion’s poems about his mother
therefore flow with lines of simple statements which are however piercingly poignant: “I had imagined it all - / your ward, your
shaved head, / your crisp scab stuck there /
like an ornament, / but not your stillness.”3
His style is straightforward, “clear as water”4 and never deceiving the reader but
nevertheless deeply embedded
with reflection and nostalgia.
Despite the prestigious position he held as Poet Laureate,
his knightship and vast accolades, Motion epitomises,
both in his poetry and person, the rare beauty of
honesty and simplicity.
In the Attic,
page 16,
The Mower
2
The First,
page 18,
The Mower
3
The Second,
page 19,
The Mower
4
Page 11, The
Mower
1