More Ontological Insecurity in the Home Counties

I had lunch with a friend in Farnham today, an old colleague of mine from the bookshop and, as usual, we discussed everything from the state of contemporary health care provision to the dearth of contemporary poetry. After this I had to go and wait for another friend down in the town- from where, incidentally, I am currently penning this little epistle- as I am meant to be helping him shift some of his stuff from the quaint beauty and cobbled streets of Lower Church Road to the unknown pleasures and hidden terrors of Lewisham, South London.

I'm writing because while waiting there's been a new development which I thought merited notation in these hallowed pages. Following on from yesterday's somewhat despondent little piece about growing up in and around Surrey, fate has delivered a wonderful little book into my hands called 'Poets in London and the Home Counties' (I'll pause as you gasp, no doubt wondering what circle of formerly unrecognised poetic genius has escaped the notice of the wider academy)...

Now, having given you enough time to blow a little bubble, let me burst it immediately by telling you that the book is absolutely hilarious, although it doesn't mean to be. One poem, by Judy Parfit, begins as follows:

'Countryside full of natural beauty
Skies wide open, views expanding
High on the North Downs, walking gazing...'


so far so good, sufficiently picturesque if a little hackneyed, but the poem continues...

'Horses grazing, or with riders passing

(wait for it)

Roaring of the M25 and A217'

...

There it is! She couldn't avoid it; starting with seemingly innocuous, pastoral subject-matter, Parfit can't help but bulldoze through her own tender sublimity at the sixth line, so apparently pernicious is the smell of exhaust fumes in her nostrils.

Another guy, who obviously sees himself as a bit of a political poet, a Stephen Spender-like figure, has a problem with the authorities in his town:

'But Epsom's not a pleasant place
To work or make your home
Because Epsom Borough Council
Won't leave the town alone'.

He has a rival, an Orwell-fancier over in Guildford:

'Dogs allowed to the foul the pavement'

(oh dear, surely not?)

'This is not an understatement'

(my God!)

'Big brother all over Guildford watching you'

(well obviously not effectively enough if there's dog crap everywhere!)

'It gets you in a right stew!'

(yes, no doubt!)

There are a heap more examples, from a veritable menagerie of Surrey's finest, all apparently dsylexic but articulate and misanthropic enough to put the underclass in The Lyrical Ballads to shame! My personal opinion? 'The Surrey School' won't be bothering the editors of Norton any time in the near future but, hey, it shows I'm not the only struggling writer in these parts...

...and, boy, some of these writers are really struggling.