wordart 21 May 2009
One of my favourite poets died recently – the wonderful U A Fanthorpe. I read a lovely obituary in one of the papers and learned a lot more about her than I had previously known – basically, for me until then, it was simply all about the poems I had read. I know I have mentioned before that poetry often helps me when I am writing – it can crystallise an idea though of course the plip side is that it sometimes encourages me to get a bit ‘arty’ and dense (because I am not a poet and sometimes its influence is thwarted by my mind thinking I too can write something poetic). I’m not saying that some of the writing in my novels is not poetic, but it’s my version of a ‘prose poetry’, I guess, and not to be scanned or considered with or like the ‘real’ thing. I don’t like pretentious poetry and Ursula Fanthorpe was not pretentious. She also wrote about important things and those on the margins. It all came back to me last night because I was with a London niece when she declared that she didn’t like poetry, which is sad as she is a great reader of books and loves the written word – I think I should buy her a few collections I think she’ll enjoy. And it’s only a matter of time before she discovers Sylvia Plath and gets all moody so there’s hope yet!
