It took me a long time to read this book, because I was often tempted to follow up or explore further poets or poetry extracts featured in it. I would say that it opened windows for me. In the concluding paragraphs Andrew Marr calls it, “a book about poets for lovers of poetry” and I did find, throughout the book, that poems I had skimmed through before came to life for me when I learned more about the poet and the contemporary relevance of the work.
It is a history, not written in terms of detailed, consequential events, but a history of context, of the prevailing climate, of social pressures and enduring passions. I remember being impressed with the opening, which presents Caedmon, our earliest known poet, (in translation as well as in the original Northumbrian dialect) as freshly and vividly as though he were alive today. It’s not surprising that there should be a bit more historical context in the early section of the book than in the later periods, where Andrew Marr seems frequently to lament that he has to omit poems that he admires, or limit himself to extracts.
His tone is light, even flippant, but his commentary is both incisive and profound. There were no more than two or three occasions, as far as I can recall now, where his style of writing jarred. One was where he was at pains to point out that he does not believe in God; it didn’t add anything to what he was saying, and by comparison with his usually carefully phrased commentaries it stood out. I was going to say, “like a sore thumb” but then remembered that I actually got a sore thumb while reading this book, as it’s pretty fat and heavy last thing at night as one is drifting off . . .. but that didn’t add anything either to what I am supposed to be writing about, so I shall stop being hard on Andrew Marr for the odd personal intervention in a book that engrosses, elucidates and elevates.
And he is careful, in a politically correct sort of way. He focus on poetesses (oops, I mean, female poets), although what we have of their work from early times is scant, and he includes the entire United Kingdom (though not necessarily, he explains later, the wider dominions of the former Empire, unless the poet spent years in Britain and reflected its values (T.S. Eliot is allowed). He has no trouble delving into Scotland and Ireland, although I felt that Wales took a wee bit of a back seat despite her ample supply of poetic material. He gets to Scotland pretty quickly, and I knew immediately that he is a Scot (I hadn’t particularly noticed the clues in the name!). He has great fun with the early Scottish poets and provides translations or summaries of the poetry in Scots.
William Dunbar’s poem, “Lament for the Makars (the makers of poems) sends a shiver down my spine whenever I come across it. It is an elegy for dead poets, and Dunbar himself was sick when he wrote it. Here are two verses. The Latin line means, “The fear of death overcomes me” (or, as Marr has it, “upends me”). The Latin line is in italics, which I can never get to work on Goodreads!
“I that in hail wes, and gladnes
Am trublit now with gret seikness,
And feblit with infirmitie;
Timor mortis conturbat me.
. . .
No stait in erd heir standis sicker; (secure)
As with the wynd wavis the wicker, (reed)
Wavis this worldis vanitie;
Timor mortis conturbat me.
This early Scottish section, which contains poems about freedom, independence and what became the essence of socialism, remains my favourite part of the book, and, I think, Andrew Marr’s. It has great vigour, and he seems happy to lay before us his deep admiration for these poets.
The chapter on Shakespeare is called, “England’s Miracle”, but incudes the other big names of the Elizabethan and Jacobean reigns. From there on there are plenty of big names to crowd the page, but Marr is at pains also to seek out lesser-known poetry that expresses something of the people and the times. I had never heard of Margaret Cavendish, who is described as a poet “much more impressive than the male poets of her time” (the Restoration). Marr continues, ”Reading her, we get a vivid idea of how the early-modern human mind was beginning to grapple with the disconcerting early revelations of science.” This includes an early “animal rights” poem, where “Wat” is a hare. I can’t resist setting out here a few lines from the longer extract quoted by Marr:
“The horns kept time, the hunters shout for joy,
And valiant seem, poor Wat for to destroy.
Spurring their horses to a full career,
Swim rivers deep, leap ditches without fear;
Endanger life and limbs, so fast will ride,
Only to see how patiently Wat died.
. . .
Men hooping loud, such acclamations make,
As if the devil they did prisoner take.
When they do but a shiftless creature kill,
To hunt, there needs no valiant soldier’s skill.”
Marr quotes Cowper on slavery, Blake on the industrial revolution and Burns on egalitarianism and humanity, not forgetting the latter’s humour and popularity. He does indeed keep up a fairly consistent levity of approach, usually by tacking a post-modernist comment onto the serious historical or social exposition. I found it a highly successful way to trace the path of a people. I could say so much more – I haven’t even mentioned the period before the Great War shook the country into modernity, or the potent time capsule of the war poets, or the thirties ‘social’ poets, or the stunning political and emotional impact of the major Celtic poets, too well known to list – but you need to read the book! I am an inveterate buyer of books, but I surprised myself when I sent for the works of Alexander Pope just because Marr calls him a genius. Watch this space!