Hello Gentle Reader,
For readers of The Guardian, Carol Rumens column “Poem of the Week,” was an institution of the paper. The column itself provided thoughtful and engaging literary analysis. Rumens herself, carried her columns with assured authority, but not because she was an academic or former poetry editor or an accomplished poet in her own right; but rather, because she was a great reader, admirer and devoted lover of poetry. This appreciation allowed Rumens to approach poetry with a love of the form itself; celebrating its technical brilliance; a poet’s unique style; the forms historical context, legacy and roots; while delighting in the playful use of language. In Carol Rumens hands, poetry (which for the unrehabilitated facilitates a Pavlovian response, whereby they slouch in their seats, eyes glaze over, minds drifting away, as an academic lecture is unleashed from a professor teacher, droning on about meter, rhythm, rhyming scheme, syllabic count and stanza organization), becomes a pleasure and a joy. Poets, who have gradually been reduced to the ironically neglected top shelf ivory tower heights, descend and return, whereby they are read for pleasure; not requirement or assignment. Carol Rumens analyses, only enhanced the poem of the week. Rumens never pathologised or autopsied the poem; dissecting and vivisecting them to provide readers a taxonomical overview of how it operates and functions; nor did Rumens strip them back or down to their baseline components and parts. Rather than looking at poetry through a clinical lens, splayed out on a metal examination table. Rather, Rumens operates as a delighted and excited tour guide, who is never exhausted by the wonders or treasures she will impart from her research and contemplation. Rumens guided readers through the poem as if it were a cathedral or basilica or palace or castle, praising the architecture, the craftsmanship; revealing the hidden cadences and inherent lyricism; reflecting on the imagery and symbolism; before pausing to review the entire structure, and just exactly what the writer had painstakingly worked at crafting. Carol Rumens revitalised poetry appreciation, by showcasing its inherent human qualities, its ability to capture the strobe of lightning. Those flashes and fleeting moments which springboard into queries and existential ponderings, grappling with the eternal question of what is the human condition, and what is it to be alive. Carol Rumens herself, was a poet of equal renown, and had written one novel (“Plato Park,”), three plays, while being an avid translator and editor of Elizabeth Bartlett’s poems. When it came to her own column, Carol Rumens reflected on it modestly, revealing the sincere pleasure in reading and writing about poetry; while confessing to owing a duty of care to fellow writers and their poems. Though, perhaps most importantly, Carol Rumens conveyed the real frustrations about the challenges poetry faces:
“I’m sick of hearing that too much poetry is written and published. No, too little poetry is taught and read. A poem isn’t usually a butterfly or a mobile phone. It deserves a longer life. I wish I wrote better about poems and poetry, but I know I should go on writing, any way, as best I can.”
In this regard, Carol Rumens was a remarkable guide for reading poetry. Her columns were erudite and informative, but never dry in their discourse. Reading Rumens column was more like chasing butterflies in the meadows, rather than observing the lepidoptera pinned to boards encased behind glass. Carol Rumens “Poem of the Week,” columns revealed and celebrated the soul, the heart, the breath and life of poems.
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
M. Mary
For
Further Reading
The Guardian: "Carol Rumens, poet and the Guardian’s poem of the week columnist, dies aged 81,"
The Guardian: "Archive: Poem of the Week,"
