by Andrew Marr (Fourth Estate, £11.99)
Andrew Marr’s triumphant We British: The Poetry of a People is not just an anthology, but a history of Great Britain seen through the lens of poetry.
It begins in the year 657 with the Northumbrian poet Caedmon, and takes us up to the present day, each chapter wisely and wittily guiding the reader through successive poetic movements. Marr’s argument is that the British are peculiarly good at poetry (better than we are at painting, architecture and music). And it’s not just that we have Shakespeare and the war poets—we also have wonderful geographic diversity. Irish, Scottish and Welsh poets are well represented.
Marr knows what he likes. He believes—and who can disagree?—that John Donne wrote the greatest poem about love-making ever written: “Licence my roving hands, and let them go/ Before, behind, between, above, below.” My only quibble is the absence of the superb Anglo-Welsh Katherine Philips (1632 -1664) and her poignant poems about miscarriage and stillbirth.
This book is a labour of love, written from the heart, but also discerning and well judged. Marr is especially good on the under-rated poets of the Second World War and on the Liverpool poets, including the wonderful Brian Patten, who was surprisingly championed by Philip Larkin. There is a fine account of the origin of Adrian Henri’s “Mrs Albion, you’ve got a lovely daughter,” a homage to William Blake and Alan Ginsberg, about sassy Scouse girls. Every school kid in the country should be given a free copy of this book.
Andrew Marr’s triumphant We British: The Poetry of a People is not just an anthology, but a history of Great Britain seen through the lens of poetry.
It begins in the year 657 with the Northumbrian poet Caedmon, and takes us up to the present day, each chapter wisely and wittily guiding the reader through successive poetic movements. Marr’s argument is that the British are peculiarly good at poetry (better than we are at painting, architecture and music). And it’s not just that we have Shakespeare and the war poets—we also have wonderful geographic diversity. Irish, Scottish and Welsh poets are well represented.
Marr knows what he likes. He believes—and who can disagree?—that John Donne wrote the greatest poem about love-making ever written: “Licence my roving hands, and let them go/ Before, behind, between, above, below.” My only quibble is the absence of the superb Anglo-Welsh Katherine Philips (1632 -1664) and her poignant poems about miscarriage and stillbirth.
This book is a labour of love, written from the heart, but also discerning and well judged. Marr is especially good on the under-rated poets of the Second World War and on the Liverpool poets, including the wonderful Brian Patten, who was surprisingly championed by Philip Larkin. There is a fine account of the origin of Adrian Henri’s “Mrs Albion, you’ve got a lovely daughter,” a homage to William Blake and Alan Ginsberg, about sassy Scouse girls. Every school kid in the country should be given a free copy of this book.
