Saturday 24 April 2010

Peter Porter RIP

Poet Peter Porter dies
Peter Porter, winner of the Forward prize, the Whitbread poetry award and the Queen's Gold Medal for poetry, has died at the age of 81

Richard Lea
guardian.co.uk
Friday 23 April 2010

The poet Peter Porter has died this afternoon, aged 81, after struggling over the past year with liver cancer.

Hailed by his friend and colleague Anthony Thwaite as "one of the finest poets of our time", Porter was a prolific writer, who combined erudition, sophistication and a human touch to produce a series of marvellous collections stretching over five decades.

Born in Brisbane, Australia in 1929, he came to London in 1951, working as a bookseller and in advertising before writing on poetry for the Observer. According to Thwaite, Porter "never quite knew where he belonged".

"In Australia he was considered English, and in England he was considered Australian," Thwaite explained. "He sort of floated."

Porter published his first collection of poems, Once Bitten, Twice Bitten, in 1961, already demonstrating the ingenuity and charm which came to typify his work. He found critical acclaim in 1978 with The Cost of Seriousness, a collection written after the suicide of his wife in 1974. In it, he examines whether art can wield any power over death and despair, suggesting that "it can only make gestures" in the face of "real pain".

A string of prizes followed, including the Duff Cooper prize, the Whitbread poetry award, the Queen's Gold Medal for poetry, and the Forward prize in 2001, for Max is Missing.

The editor of Poetry Review, Fiona Sampson, paid tribute to his "marvellously furnished mind" and called him "a tremendously generous presence in British poetry, not only because of his integrity, but also because of the range of his own work". He was "an enormous role model", she continued, who demonstrated how a "love of music and visual art and poetry could be brought to bear to produce magnificent poems".

His most recent collection, 2009's Better Than God, was hailed in the Guardian as "a densely fleshed book by a poet at the height of his powers". A selection of his poetry is due to be published by Picador next month.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/apr/23/poet-peter-porter-dies

See also http://www.clivejames.com/guest-poets/peter-porter

Your Attention Please

The Polar DEW has just warned that
A nuclear rocket strike of
At least one thousand megatons
Has been launched by the enemy
Directly at our major cities.
This announcement will take
Two and a quarter minutes to make,
You therefore have a further
Eight and a quarter minutes
To comply with the shelter
Requirements published in the Civil
Defence Code - section Atomic Attack.
A specially shortened Mass
Will be broadcast at the end
Of this announcement -
Protestant and Jewish services
Will begin simultaneously -
Select your wavelength immediately
According to instructions
In the Defence Code. Do not
Tale well-loved pets (including birds)
Into your shelter - they will consume
Fresh air. Leave the old and bed-
Ridden, you can do nothing for them.
Remember to press the sealing
Switch when everyone is in
The shelter. Set the radiation
Aerial, turn on the Geiger barometer.
Turn off your television now.
Turn off your radio immediately
The services end. At the same time
Secure explosion plugs in the ears
Of each member of your family. Take
Down your plasma flasks. Give your children
The pills marked one and two
In the C D green container, then put
Them to bed. Do not break
The inside airlock seals until
The radiation All Clear shows
(Watch for the cuckoo in your
Perspex panel), or your District
Touring Doctor rings your bell.
If before this your air becomes
Exhausted or if any of your family
Is critically injured, administer
The capsules marked 'Valley Forge'
(Red pocket in No 1 Survival Kit)
For painless death. (Catholics
Will have been instructed by their priests
What to do in this eventuality.)
This announcement is ending. Our President
Has already given orders for
Massive retaliation - it will be
Decisive. Some of us may die.
Remember, statistically
It is not likely to be you.
All flags are flying fully dressed
On Government buildings - the sun is shining.
Death is the least we have to fear.
We are all in the hands of God,
Whatever happens happens by His will.
Now go quickly to your shelters.

PETER PORTER

Metamorphosis

This new Daks suit, greeny-brown,
Oyster-coloured buttons, single vent, tapered
Trousers, no waistcoat, hairy tweed – my own:
A suit to show responsibility, to show
Return to life – easily got for two pounds down
Paid off in six months – the first stage in the change.
I am only the image I can force upon the town.

The town will have me: I stalk in glass,
A thin reflection in the windows, best
In jewellers’ velvet backgrounds – I don’t pass,
I stop, elect to look at wedding rings –
My figure filled with clothes, my putty mask,
A face fragrant with arrogance, stuffed
With recognition – I am myself at last.

I wait in the pub with my Worthington.
Then you come in – how many days did love have,
How can they be catalogued again?
We talk of how we miss each other – I tell
Some truth – you, cruel stories built of men:
‘It wasn’t good at first but he’s improving.’
More talk about his car, his drinks, his friends.

I look at the wild mirror at the bar –
A beautiful girl smiles beside me – she’s real
And her regret is real. If only I had a car,
If only – my stately self cringes, renders down;
As in a werewolf film I’m horrible, far
Below the collar – my fingers crack, my tyrant suit
Chokes me as it hugs me in its fire.

PETER PORTER
(from Once Bitten, Twice Bitten, 1961)

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