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| Death of a Poet | |
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(pamphlet)   Listen to the Poet Read |
we haven't finished the conversation yet the one about the primacy of form over content or vice a versa which was never going to be finished because it was a stupid argument anyway I knew it and perhaps you were coming to know it I see you did emotion at least once on the page last year perhaps you were getting it after all but what the hell do you mean by dying look at me when I'm speaking to you how dare you take off to the eternal verities and leave us all standing here stupefied talking to the wind it's not as if we were close or anything lovers for a little while I didn't mean it to last beyond an afternoon it felt a bit like incest but without the thrill of transgression I remember only a few things how you, years ago, threatened to learn to drive because it was impolite not to later you fell in love with a woman because, you said, she wrote such good poems you never mentioned her breasts or her skin I hoped the stiletto thin subject never found out she've filleted you for being such an idiot once, you said, you used to think poetry was important but now you knew power was important you wrote some good poems and drew little Biggles biplanes on the bottom and I published those too your most pathetic line was asking women up to your room to read your TLS review I didn't read it or look under the bed to see the bottles as for love - my entire distinction was once getting you to repay some money you owed the Poets Union if not a brother you were like a cousin we were the same age occasionally you'd drop it with me mostly you tried to impress called me 'dear' as if I were the imbecilic younger sister unselfconsciously spouted your recipes for success got off your face and slobbered up and down my arms in between patronising me and telling me what you did and did not approve of but I liked you anyway I was grateful you never realised how arrogant I was but we could never get off that topic it was a fight about heart perhaps you knew all along how fragile yours was you wrapped it up and hid it in case it broke and the poor silly fragile thing suffocated I'm sorry your form finally fucked your content mate or vice a versa I'm really very sorry John Forbes died of a heart attack in January 1998.
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Biography | Poetry | Essay: Poetics /Kinetics | Résumé | Copyright |
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