Who turned the page? When I went out
Last night, his Life was left wide-open,
Half-way through, in lamplight on my desk:
The Middle years.
Now look at him. Who turned the page?
Last night, his Life was left wide-open,
Half-way through, in lamplight on my desk:
The Middle years.
Now look at him. Who turned the page?
In an article written for The Guardian, Blake Morrison describes Ian Hamilton's poetry and life's burden's. Here's what he wrote about the poet:
"Hamilton, did write about "true things, significant things". And burdened though he was, the best of his poems are marvellous for their unburdenings - for seeming to come out of nowhere ("miraculous lyrical arrivals") and to leave all the doubts behind. This is "Old Photograph": "You are wandering in the deep field / That backs on to the room I used to work in / And from time to time / You look up to see if I am watching you. / To this day / Your arms are full of the wild flowers / You were most in love with."
A photo records an instant but the person captured in this one looks up "from time to time", animated by the poet's memory. We infer loss - a broken relationship, a falling out of love - but can't be sure; there are no clues about the identity of the "you". The poem has an emotional force nevertheless: there's the pressure of all that hasn't been said as well as what has. All but three of the words are monosyllables, as if the poet were too choked to speak."
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Poetry is so much more powerful when it speaks about Death. And, it terrifies me to think about Death's many facets.. I wish it were not the ultimate truth of life.
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