In "Sylvia," with G. Paltrow, Hughes is played by "James Bond".
In a message dated 2/1/2016 6:11:47 P.M. Eastern Standard Time,
lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx writes:
"The current issue (2-11-16) of the NYROB contains a review (by Janet
Malcolm author of The Silent Woman, Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes) of Jonathan
Bate's book Ted Hughes: The Unauthorized Life."
I wonder if someone in Britain (I doubt it) ever cared to write the
AUTHORISED life -- after all he was the authorised poet laureate -- or
"laureate
poet," as Geary prefers ("I can't see why an adjective has to follow such an
important noun as 'poet' is -- but Brits will be Brits.").
Helm goes on:
"Bate who did respectable work on Shakespeare and John Clare thoroughly
blew it (according to Malcolm) when it came to Ted Hughes."
The implicature seems to be that Hughes gave him all the reasons for that!
(I mean: how can Malcolm think that John Clare and Shakespeare compares to
a writer played on the big screen by "James Bond"?).
Helm:
"[Janet] Malcolm, it seems, [is] extremely critical of Hughes personally;
which coincides with my view of Hughes after reading peripheral things
about him while reading about Sylvia Plath, whom I did appreciate. But
Malcolm
is relentless. Why is she so hostile to Bate? According to this review
(by Caryn James) of the The Silent Woman, [Janet] Malcolm attempt[s] to
restore Ted Hughes's honor:
http://www.nytimes.com/1994/03/27/books/the-importance-of-being-biased.html?pagewanted=all
After reading both reviews I am
inclined to credit [Caryn] James over the more (IMHO) historical [Janet]
Malcolm.
Here is another review of Bate's book (one that finds it more favorably
disposed toward Hughes than one could get from Malcolm). This one (by James
Kidd and IMO is better than the Malcolm review):
http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/news/sir-jonathan-bate-on-his-controversial-new-
biography-about-poet-ted-hughes-a6678591.html . I've never liked Hughes'
poetry but inasmuch as so many others do, I keep trying to find something in
them, unsuccessfully up to now, to appreciate."
Good. Recall that this is an 'unautorised LIFE', not a critical approach
(lit.crit-like) to his output.
"[James] Kidd quotes Bate's as writing, “What is really scary is that your
average, very well-educated young person has not only not read Ted Hughes,
but has never heard of Ted Hughes.” I on the other hand don't find that
fact all that scary."
Recall that Kidd is writing for the "Independent". "The Independent" is
someone who doesn't NEED to *know*: he feels independent!
But it is true that there is a long list of poets laureates post-Hughes --
I agree with Geary that "two" makes for a long list:
Thus, Hughes was appointed by Queen Elizabeth II on 28 December 1984. He
held the post till 28 October 1998.
(Geary adds: "He ceased to be the poet laureate when he died; not out of a
personal decision --" the implicature: he did not commit suicide).
Then came Andrew Motion. He was appointed Poet Laureate by Queen Elizabeth
on 19 May 1999 (Geary adds: "Note that for a year there was no poet
Laureate in England -- and the world kept turning round.")
Motion ceased to be a poet laureate in May 1st 2009.
Geary notes: "In this case, death was not the cause."
Motion was motioned out, and followed by Carol Ann Duffy who was appointed
Poet Laureate on 1 May 2009 by Queen Elizabeth II.
The functions of the poet laureate are various, but they are all
implicatural, i.e. cancellable.
There is, for example, an implicature to the effect that the poet laureate
(who is really chosen by the Prime Minister) has to write verse for
significant national occasions. But Hughes famously said,
"I can't think of one."
His poem about the hawk roosting is brilliant, though. And isn't a hawk
roosting a significant national occasion for those nations that do have hawks?
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot.
Cheers,
Speranza
I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.
The convenience of the high trees!
The air's buoyancy and the sun's ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth's face upward for my inspection.
My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot
Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads -
The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:
The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.
------------------------------------------------------------------
To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off,
digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html
