WE ARE NOT A MUSE

BEING A POET MYSELF, I am always interested in the criteria involved in choosing our Poet Laureate, or versificator Regis, as the title was termed when first introduced by Richard Coeur de Lion. When some years ago I wrote briefly about Andrew Motion, the outgoing laureate, my efforts almost led to a case in court, which only goes to prove that poets are more sensitive than politicians, even abysmally talentless poets whose verse is on the same standard as the lyrics to a rap song.

WHEN QUEEN VICTORIA was asked to sign the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, which, in Article 11, included penalties for homosexual and lesbian conduct, she refused to sign the Bill as it stood. Victoria refused to believe that it was possible for a woman to indulge in sex with or love another woman. “Lesbians do not exist,” she is reported to have said

THUS MY INTEREST WAS SLIGHTLY AROUSED when I heard, some time ago, about the Queen’s latest choice as versificatora, announced yesterday. Carol Ann Duffy is in fact one of my favourite writers of the moment, although that does not necessarily mean that I would think she should be chosen as the Poet Laureate, and obviously being a lesbian and stout New Labour supporter has nothing to do with the Queen’s choice: “My love is like a red, red rose,” is of equal merit when written by a man or a woman, Tory or Labour supporter.

TALENT IS WHAT MATTERS, as in everything else. And one of Carol Ann Duffy’s more sneaky poems is in fact called “Talent”, and is one of those poems we are supposed to think about rather than enjoy. As it happens, I have a poem of the same title myself, with which I will end this afternoon.

Talent
This is the political circus. Now think
of a man, failing in the polls in
all the papers. He holds his breath.

There is no vote yet.

You want him to call an election, don't you?

I guessed as much; he promises then recedes.

The word bampot is written all over him.