Forgive me thinking that the NASA satellite threatening to scatter deadly bits and pieces over populated areas of the Earth later today is an apt Damoclesian symbol for our current age - the Age of WTF. We are currently living in a sort of limbo, or suspended state of emergency - bad stuff, or weird stuff, seems just around the corner. Our world economy seems on the brink of a second Great Depression; environmental chaos looms; in the UK, universities and hopsitals are in breaking-point flux; societies are unravelling; and even the speed of light seems no longer to obtain. I confess to being more than a bit anxious about what's to come.
THAT HANDSOME MAN A PERSONAL BRIEF REVIEW BY TODD SWIFT I could lie and claim Larkin, Yeats , or Dylan Thomas most excited me as a young poet, or even Pound or FT Prince - but the truth be told, it was Thom Gunn I first and most loved when I was young. Precisely, I fell in love with his first two collections, written under a formalist, Elizabethan ( Fulke Greville mainly), Yvor Winters triad of influences - uniquely fused with an interest in homerotica, pop culture ( Brando, Elvis , motorcycles). His best poem 'On The Move' is oddly presented here without the quote that began it usually - Man, you gotta go - which I loved. Gunn was - and remains - so thrilling, to me at least, because so odd. His elegance, poise, and intelligence is all about display, about surface - but the surface of a panther, who ripples with strength beneath the skin. With Gunn, you dressed to have sex. Or so I thought. Because I was queer (I maintain the right to lay claim to that
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I was a bit concerned to learn that one's chances of being hit by this NASA satellite are considerably higher than winning the lottery. I can think of quite a few places where I'd like it to land but perhaps I'd better not name them!
Best wishes from Simon