When Michael Donaghy died in 2004 – unexpectedly at the tragically young age of 50, of a brain aneurism – the UK lost one of its best-loved poets. Michael was not only a brilliant, prize-laden poet and performer of his own work, but a great teacher and inspirer of others. Coverage of his death was unprecedented. Picador published his final book a year later, and it met with great critical acclaim. We have been delighted to discover, upon going through his archive, that in addition to the dozen or so prose and critical excursions we knew about, and held in highest regard – Michael Donaghy has also written many essays, articles and lectures that were of similar quality. Donaghy’s wide-ranging intellectual curiosity is evident in his critical essays; in the course of a single paragraph, he refers to Irish music, neuroscience, Renaissance art and palaeontology to make a point about a line of Eliot’s or Dickinson’s. Fluently and amusingly written, and displaying the full scope of Donaghy’s magpie-like intellect, this book will appeal to poetry and non-poetry readers alike. The Collected Prose will have an introduction by Clive James, and will be published alongside his Collected Poetry.
I didn't mean to read this in one sitting. I just had to keep going thinking sooner or later I'd find something to disagree with. Anyone who sees Mahon and MacNeice as significant, and holds out for the singing line has my vote. He's refreshingly blunt about trends and fashions in poetry and his "may I make a suggestion" which ghosts Bunting's "I suggest" is probably compulsory reading for anyone trying to write poetry:
"i've collected a set of suggestions which I advise the inexperienced to follow for six months. After that, I tell them, follow your instinct."
The introduction by Clive James is judicious. That's a compliment and it's a word you don't get to use very often when describing blurbs and introductions.
The danger with collections like this, random assortments of bits and pieces published separately over time, is repetition. And there's a bit of it here, the same examples crop up, but that's hardly a glaring fault.
It's a beautiful selection of pieces about poetry which deals with poems rather than theories and which is going to reward rereading.
is there enough here to substantiate claims about Donaghy's status as a critic? That question needs time.