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 John
Whitworth was born in 1945 and lives in Canterbury with his
wife and two daughters. He has been a reviewer of poetry for Poetry
Review and a general reviewer for The Spectator, and
his poems have appeared in most of the leading poetry journals and
magazines as well as in The Times and the Arts pages of
The Independent.
"John
Whitworth's poems are as smart and full of fun as a pair of glazed
tap shoes. He is a wise, rueful virtuoso." Les Murray
In
a Manner of Speaking
i)
W.H. Auden
A bloody butler
cycling by a lake,
A pallid lake surrounded by green willow,
A Balkan princess murdered by mistake,
Three Staunton chessmen left upon her pillow,
The puzzle of her single sapphire earring,
The bungled hold-up at the discotheque,
The abandoned Volvo burning in a clearing,
The Hognose viper coiled about her neck:
Each problem posits a unique solution,
Each boil requires a dedicated lancer,
Deft fingers must tease out each convolution,
Unlike real life there has to be an answer,
A special key to fit each special door;
Spool up the string and find your Minotaur.
ii) Sophie Hannah.
I need a man
who’ll change a nappy pronto,
Who, shown a seam to sew, will sit and sew it,
Who’s faithful and obedient as Tonto;
If there’s a lawn to mow this man will mow it.
I need a man who’ll cook a four-course meal
For six and do the washing-up for ten.
I need a man who knows just how I feel.
I need a man who’s not like other men.
But, on the other hand, I need a hairy man,
A buccaneer who shags and snorts and boozes,
A nobody-supposes-he’s-a-fairy man
Who does exactly what he bloody chooses.
He owns a fleet of silver Maseratis
And other women fancy him at parties.
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