I mentioned before that poetry seems to arise in situations of extremes. And that the quantity of poetry that a person pours out need not necessarily determine the size or longevity of the poet’s reputation. If anyone vindicates both these judgments, it is Chidiock Tichborne.
I do not care to hear the views of a retired footballer or crisp-seller on the matter of immigration. Nor do I wish to hear the views of such a person on the Nazi genocide of European Jewry.
The DIE agenda constitutes an absolute obsession with exact representation (or preferably overrepresentation) of women at senior positions, including board positions in American companies.
The two Russian warplanes dumped fuel on and around the drone which eventually crashed into the Black Sea. Quite a serious escalation.
Does the outer space into which we dissolve taste of us at all?
This week Mr Coad was on GB News being questioned about Matt Hancock, WhatsApp, Isabel Oakeshott and the various other intrigues preoccupying us as our nation goes down the swannee.
Saddam Hussein turned out to have no Weapons of Mass Destruction, despite the intelligence estimates of the US, UK, Germany and many other countries which said he did.
Poetry is not especially useful when describing the state of the traffic heading downtown. It is not required for summing up the pleasures of shopping. But there are moments when only poetry will do—as the most distilled form of communication possible. Consider how people not just read but often try to write poetry upon the […]
I spent last week touring American universities for the Common Sense Society, and as usual when speaking at campuses felt both a certain degree of hope and a considerable amount of dread.
We have politicians who behave like schoolchildren, teachers who live in fear of their students, and bosses and CEOs who are terrorized by their most junior employees. When did all the adults leave the room?
Only a few writers will crop up here more than once, and only three will appear several times. To nobody’s surprise, one of these will be the greatest poet of the twentieth century: T. S. Eliot.
It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that we have officials who think owning the work of our national poet is a sign of right-wing extremism. Because in recent days it seems that everything has been such a sign.