A cloud in trousers

March 5, 2011


There was a young man. A poet. At university with me. He looked like a  poet.  He was Hungarian, I think. And he was always prepared to discuss his poetry with me. ‘I could never get it’. So he would explain. Even his explanations seemed vague. It was as if he lived in a universe with his own private symbols, relationships, ideas. And they were all inaccessible to most people. Although he did have his followers. I find a lot of contemporary poetry  is like that. Inaccessible. Concerning itself with minute almost biological reactions to experience. Of course we all have our own tastes. In poetry, I love T. S. Eliot. But honestly, am bored by Ezra Pound. In ideas, I get Hegel. But am bewildered by Heidegger. In music, I love Tom Waits but am bored by the Rollingstones. So I get ‘tastes’. What I am talking about is something akin to ‘B.S.’ Except that these poets are very sincere. There was a revolutionary Russian poet (whose name eludes me) who described some public figure as ‘a cloud in trousers’. Now, that’s poetry.

2 Responses to “A cloud in trousers”

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