James Elroy Flecker (1884-1915) was an English poet, novelist and playwright. As a poet he was most influenced by the Parnassian poets. He was born in London, and educated at Dean Close School, Cheltenham, and Uppingham School. He studied at Trinity College, Oxford, and Caius College, Cambridge. While at Oxford he was greatly influenced by the last flowering of the Aesthetic movement there, under John Addington Symonds. From 1910 he was in the consular service, in the Eastern Mediterranean. His most widely known poem is "To a poet a thousand years hence". The most enduring testimony to his work is perhaps an excerpt from "The Golden Journey to Samarkand" inscribed on the clock tower of the barracks of the British Army's 22nd Special Air Service regiment in Hereford. His other works The Bridge of Fire (1907), Forty-Two Poems (1911), The Golden Journey to Samarkand (1913), The Old Ships (1915), Collected Prose (1920), Hassan (1922), Don Juan (1925), and Letters of J. E. Flecker to Frank Savery (1926).
I tried not to judge these poems by their subject matter (mostly death and hell), but by technical excellence and came to the conclusion that only a few of them were of really fine quality.
"No Coward's Song" starts powerfully with,
"I am afraid to think about my death, when it shall be, and whether in great pain I shall rise up and fight the air for breath, or calmly wait the bursting of my brain."
But then it pitters out by saying he'd rather be a living mouse than a dying man.
There are a few poems about biblical characters, but then there are ones about lost faith (including a prayer to Satan). Depressing on many levels.
Red-faced because I really knew nothing of Flecker, I was inspired to find a book of his poems after reading a Nevile Shute novel in which quotations from Flecker headed every chapter. Reading "Forty Two Poems" I realised that some of his lines were familiar to me, although I'd no idea who had originally penned them. How to describe Flecker's work for somebody who has never read him? Well, he is mystical - but no Blake; epitaphic - but no Housman; romantic - but no Shelley. Yet I believe his work reaches down the years to us...
O friend unseen, unborn, unknown, Student of our sweet English tongue, Read out my words at night, alone: I was a poet, I was young.
Since I can never see your face, And never shake you by the hand, I send my soul through time and space To greet you. You will understand.