David Jones: The Overlooked War Poet?

This year being the anniversary of World War One’s outbreak, there is of course no end of books, exhibitions, television and radio programmes and the like devoted to it.

Inevitably people’s minds are also focussed more at the moment on those writers who wrote about the War. I suppose, being cynical about it, that the anniversary represents something of a commercial opportunity for a lot of publishers to release or re-release editions of Great War poetry or the many memoirs written by survivors.

Less cynically, I like to think that the reading public would have gravitated back to the works that came out the War anyway, since so many of them are part of the cultural landscape. Generations of Britons have studied poetry by the likes of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon in school. Books like  Goodbye to All That or All Quiet on the Western Front have also been widely read since publication and remain not only popular but classics of their kind.

However, there is one writer who took the War as the theme for one of his great long works, but who remains somewhat off radar as far as the general public is concerned, and is one mainly for the scholars. His name is David Jones. Jones was actually both a talented writer and artist. Born in 1895, a Londoner of mixed Welsh-English descent, he served on the Western Front between 1915 and 1918 in the Royal Welch Fusiliers. His first major literary work to be published was In Parenthesis in 1937. It drew directly on his experiences as a soldier on the Front. Published by Faber and Faber, TS Eliot acknowledged it as a major work, and wrote an introduction to it. Hailed upon publication, it remains highly rated today and remains the work for which Jones is most well known.

It was followed by The Anathemata, another long poem, in 1952.

Jones probably isn’t more widely known because, to be frank about it, both of these poems on which his reputation rests are both very long, and quite difficult. I am currently reading The Anathemata, and while there are passages in it of great beauty, and phrases that leap out at me and strike a chord, more often than not I console myself with TS Eliot’s phrase (which always springs to mind when I encounter verse that defies me to make sense of it) that “a poem can communicate before it is understood.”

In Parenthesis  is less of a challenge in comparison to the later work, but remains a challenge nonetheless. Though his work is rooted in myth, religion and the ancient past, as a writer he is every inch the modernist, having much in common with poets like Eliot, Pound and Bunting. He is an experimenter, and challenges the reader. That said, although Jones weaves in all manner of historical, mythical and religious allusions into the text, it is most definitely about the War and his experience of War. There is, therefore, plenty to help the reader orientate him or herself when reading the poem. 

I’m in danger of making the work sound more inaccessible than it actually is. While not every single line might connect with its audience first time (and some may not at all), there are passages in the poem of great power. Jones’s visual art naturally informed his written work, and results in vivid images and passages that are easy to picture in the mind’s eye.

Here is a link to a Guardian Books podcast, where Robin  Robertson reads from the final part of Jones’s poem. https://audioboo.fm/boos/1276875-guardian-books-poetry-podcast-robin-robertson-reads-david-jones#t=2m14s

Recordings also exist of Jones in later life reading from the poem in a very evocative voice that is part drawl, part growl. If I find a link I’ll add it to a future post.

 

 

 

 

William Burroughs’s most entertaining book? A review of Letters 1945-59.

The letters in this book- written mostly to Allen Ginsberg with some to other notable recipients like Jack Kerouac and Brion Gysin scattered among them- are amongst some of the most entertaining and well written by any writer that I’ve come across.

They cover a key period in Burroughs’s life, commencing in the mid 40s when he was trying to make a go of being a family man and a farmer. Odd to think of this latter day scourge of authority and conservatism worrying about how much his carrot and cotton crops will fetch, but he did all the same. Then comes the move to Mexico, the fatal ‘William Tell routine’ gone wrong when he shot his wife Joan, and the years of addiction and wandering, first through South America, and then to the Continent and North Africa.  All of this is fully documented here, at length and in fascinating detail.

If you want to learn more about what made Burroughs the man and the writer he was, and how his later world view developed, I think a lot of the answers are in these letters. Certainly without the letters I don’t think he could have been the writer he was. In fact on a very real level I don’t think he would have progressed as a writer at all without these letters as the initial spur to get his thoughts out and onto the page. They were his lifeline- at one stage he comments on how much he needs an audience, and for a long time Ginsberg and Kerouac fulfilled this role- at a time when he was effectively serving his writing apprenticeship, looking for things to write and still without an audience. The letters effectively kept him going and gave him a chance to develop. Also, we see his world view change and mature and by the end of this book we’ve seen him come to terms with his status as an outsider.

From would-be farmer worrying about how much his crops will yield, to a fully-fledged avant-garde artist in 15 years is pretty good going, Along the way there’s a lot of hardship, a lot of moaning about his lot and above all some genuinely funny passages. You can gain a lot from reading these letters in their own right, and if you’ve always been left cold by Burroughs or put off him, they will help you understand a lot more about why he wrote as he did and where his particular sardonic take on the world came from.

In a similar vein, the William Burroughs ‘reader’ called Word Virus is well worth a look.

In effect, this is Burroughs for slackers and lazy readers like me. I have had my copy for a fair while now, and I still regularly dip into it. While I think he’s a great writer, I have to admit that most of his work after Naked Lunch is a bit of a trial to get through. For example, whole novels written via the cut-up method are just too much for me to wade through, I’m afraid, even though I will readily admit that it can be a really exciting and often illuminating way of writing.

This is why this anthology is so valuable, in that it gives you tasters of everything of note he ever published. There is some stunning work in here, including samples of the very readable 1950s letters mentioned above, excerpts from early works like Junky and Queer, and also excerpts from Naked Lunch. There are also some stand alone gems collected in the book, like the chilling “Last Words” and also “Remembering Jack Kerouac”, a heartfelt and wise memoir of his friend and colleague, which manages to reveal a great deal about Burroughs himself, as well as his whole psychological approach to writing.

An extra bonus the extended biographical notes that link each section. These not only explain a lot of the work and put it into context, but they also fill you in on the key points of this extraordinary man’s extraordinary writing life.

This is perhaps all the Burroughs you will ever need, at least until you pluck up courage to get to grips with the individual texts in their entirety.

 

 

Paul Horn (1930-2014)

A brief diversion away from books this time, just to note the passing of master musician Paul Horn. In tho past week The Guardian published  an informative obituary.

Paul Horn began his career as a jazz musician, but it was his desire to record beneath the dome of the Taj Mahal while in India in 1968, and the subsequent album Inside, that saw him forge a new path and come to be considered (for what the phrase is worth) as the ‘godfather of New Age music’.

I’m no expert on New Ageism and neither can I really describe what New Age music is. I listened to Inside first because I read an interview with Jimmy Page in which he cited it as one of his favourite records and one that had influenced him.

Lucky I read that, because on Page’s recommendation I listened to Inside and fell in love with the music, its sound and the whole idea of the record.  It’s the sound of someone in love with sound, and who is experimenting with sound for the sake of it because it not only sounds good to him but because it’s one of the most natural things for human beings to do. It’s as full of life as the sound of children making noises underneath the arch of a bridge or inside a tunnel. They do it because they love it and it sounds funny, exciting, different, and fascinating.

Here’s a track from Inside that hopefully illustrates what I’m trying to say.

 

 

Review: The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely and The Long Goodbye (Penguin single volume) by Raymond Chandler.

For one reason or another, on a Thursday night a couple of weeks ago I picked up my old dog-eared Penguin triple volume of Chandler. I think I’ve read each novel at least once (some twice) but the last time must have been some years ago, since I could not for the life of me remember much about the plots in any of them. Just as well then, because it felt like I was reading them again for the first time. By the following Thursday I’d read all three books.

The Big Sleep is a great crime novel and a great book full stop. It is quite complicated, so I won’t try to summarise all the plot here, but what I do think is that if it isn’t Chandler’s best book, then in many respects it’s his calling card as a writer. While the plot can be tricky to discuss and get your head around, what comes across crystal clear is the evocation of the seedier side of pre-war Los Angeles, the general atmosphere of the place, and of course Phillip Marlowe himself.

Probably my favourite novel out of the three collected together here is Chandler’s second to be published, Farewell My Lovely. Take the seedy LA of The Big Sleep, add a cast of misfits, drugs, alcohol, a murder hunt, a missing person case and what have you got? A book that satisfies on the plot level, and which also sees gallant old Marlowe working in tandem with the law to being to solve a case. Brilliant stuff.  

Is The Long Goodbye Chandler’s best book? He seemed to think so and is on record in a letter to a friend as saying so.

Either way, I think that this book, the penultimate Marlowe novel published in Chandler’s lifetime,  shows off the immortal character of Phillip Marlowe at his wise-cracking, sharp, cynical but essentially gallant best.

Here’s the plot: One night Marlowe quite by chance makes the acquaintance of Terry Lennox, the politest drunk he’s ever met. One thing leads to another and the two strike up a friendship which mostly revolves around drinking cocktails in the early evening.

Then things are turned completely on their head when Lennox arrives very early one morning at Marlowe’s Laurel Canyon home. Lennox needs to get out of Los Angeles and fast. Marlowe knows Lennox is in trouble (part of him knew from the off that Lennox WAS trouble) but in that typically hard-but-fair Marlowe way, he agrees to help his new friend by driving him to the airport, where he can catch a plane for Mexico. The only proviso is that Marlowe doesn’t want to know what Lennox has done.

This is only the beginning of a plot that becomes more and more complex once Marlowe is engaged by the wife and publishers of an alcoholic writer, Roger Wade, to make sure that the scribe stays off the bottle and on track to finish his latest blockbuster novel.

I’ve described Marlowe as gallant a couple of times now, but that is a key adjective when trying to fathom this cynical, wise-cracking, tough but essentially decent man. Why he’d want to put himself through hell for £25 dollars a day plus expense (and sometimes for free) is beyond me. ”

“Well if I don’t do it, no-one else will, pal,” would probably be his reply.

I am now well into the companion volume to this, which collects three of the other most highly regarded Marlowe books in one. I will blog about this when I’ve read it.

For the moment though, if you have never read any Chandler then I can heartily recommend him. Though he remains not just a standard writer of crime novels but also a touchstone one, his books are not always kept in stock in new book shops in the UK at least.  Good independent retailers can always get them, however, and there’s always loads of them available second hand. Ebooks also seem to be readily available too.