|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
26 Jun 2008
I attended the Baggs Memorial Lecture on Happiness at the University of Birmingham on Monday, which this year was given by the Poet Laureate, Andrew Motion. As memorial lectures go, the 'Happiness Lecture' is a quirky one. Thomas Baggs was born in Birmingham in 1889, and subsequently got a couple of degrees at the University. When he died, he left a bequest providing for an annual public lecture on happiness, specifically "Happiness -- what it is and how it may be achieved by individuals as well as nations." You could argue that a large sum of money would be better directed towards more directly practical purposes, but I love the fact that he left money for an academic lecture on happiness.
Andrew Motion started by saying that -- while he was honoured to be asked to deliver the lecture -- he did rather wonder whether someone on the committee had put his name forward for a dare. Poets are generally not renowned for their happiness, and he freely admitted that his own poems tended towards slight gloominess. Anyway, he did a great job, surveying the opinions of writers and philosophers throughout history about what makes people happy. He also -- as you might expect given his profession -- read a few poems illustrating his points. There were two in particular that I had never heard before and found completely ravishing. I love it when you hear or read a poem, and find some imagery that is totally unexpected and yet precisely captures the way you feel about something. I loved the following lines from 'Postscript' by Seamus Heaney and 'Coming' by Philip Larkin:
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans
-- Postscript by Seamus Heaney
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
-- Coming by Phillip Larkin
Motion's own opinion was that you find happiness through the fulfilment of other things like creativity. Thinking about it on the way home, I also think that you can't find happiness directly. Like the pursuit of love, the pursuit of happiness is doomed to failure. Instead, (and like love) it tends to turn up when you are least expecting it, but you have to be open to its possibility and recognise it when it arrives.
2
Andy Cunningham: Hmm. Well, we'll have to differ. It is poetry after all, and not a scientific paper: it doesn't have to provide empirical proof of anything, just make interesting associations in your mind 
Of course swans don't have lightning, but haven't you ever seen a group of swans against black water or thunderclouds and found them startlingly white, so white they seem to sear your retinas like lightning in the night, leaving an after-image? I read the 'earthed lightning' as meaning lightning brought to the earth rather than the physical term of earthed.
And 'astonished the brickwork', I thought that was wonderful! No, brickwork isn't sentient, but I saw it as a comment on the surprise of nature bursting out despite the dull suburban, man-made environment. Perhaps you have to read the whole poem, which is about the coming of spring. But don't tell me you didn't appreciate 'freshly-peeled voice'?
You, sir, have no poetry in your soul
by bsag @ 26/06/2008 9:18 pm • Permalink •
3
I was unfortunate not to be able to attend the lecture. Good to get filled in. Just found you on the Google.
by Adult Ãœhler @ 26/06/2008 9:36 pm • Permalink •
1
"The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans"
What? I got the slate-grey lake bit, but swans don't have lightning, and if it's earthed then it's a dull spark into the ground. Bad analogy. Bad Poet. No biscuit.
" A thrush sings, Laurel-surrounded ... Astonishing the brickwork."
The brickwork, at least around here, is incapable of thought, let alone astonishment. If you can find me any brickwork that's clearly astonished by the singing of a bird that sounds suspiciously like a STD, I'll change my mind. Until then, this is the ranting of a lunatic with the IQ of a pitchfork.
by Andy Cunningham @ 26/06/2008 8:57 pm • Permalink •