.. I introduced the poet Geoffrey Hill for a reading at the 92d Street Y in Manhattan. Hill was a peculiar combination of the dour and the droll. Afterwards, while we were sitting together in the green room, I told him that while reading up for the introduction I discovered that he and I had something personal in common. "What's that?" he asked. And I told him that we were both sons of policemen. He suddenly became an altogether different person. We swapped stories and he looked up with a twinkle in his eye and said, "It really is a brotherhood, isn't it?" And so it is. And Hill is also maybe the best poet in the language. He does seem difficult upon first encounter. But, as he told the audience that night: "Just read the poems through, don't bother with the allusions, I often don't remmeber them myself."
Dave Lull sends along a web guide to Geoffrey Hill.
Frank, no kidding! My father was a Garda (cop) in Dublin, working his way up from patrol to Inspector and he never missed a trick. When he died, he was running the Central Control Room for policing the city of Dublin. I remember when the Pope came to visit Dublin, my old man was working night and day to set up the security for it and of course, I was very proud.
ReplyDeleteI knew we were in the same brotherhood, Noel!
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