Politics
written by: Jim Murdoch
There was a time poetry was as much associated with politics as it was with nature and beauty—consider, for example, Wordsworth’s ‘London, 1802’ or Shelley’s ‘England in 1819’—and the tradition still limps on but it’s hard to motivate yourself when you realise whispering in a whirlwind is pointless, less than; hell, even screaming at a whirlwind is pointless. They say history is written by the victors, well, poetry is written by the survivors and their children read neither.
this is wrong, this is
this is wrong, so very wrong
this is wrong, wrong, wrong
Jim Murdoch grew up in the heart of Burns Country in Scotland. Poetry, for him, was about irrelevance—daffodils, vagabonds and babbling brooks—until one day in 1973 he read Larkin's 'Mr Bleaney' and felt as if the scales had fallen from his eyes. How could something so... so seemingly unpoetic be poetry? He aimed to find out.
Latest posts by Jim Murdoch (see all)
- Politics - September 5, 2024
- Freeform - May 29, 2024
- Quantum Ken - March 12, 2024
