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The Blight

By James Lasdun b. 1958 James Lasdun

What’s there to say? We didn’t care for him much,

and you can’t exactly commiserate

with someone you don’t just not love

but almost (admit it) hate.

So the news just hung over us

like the dud summer weather we’d had—

rain since June, the lawn sodden,

garden a bog, all slugs, late blight so bad

our sickened Beefsteak vines, our Sweet One Hundreds,

San Marzanos, the lot,

yellowed half black before the fruit had set,

which, when it did, began to bloat and rot

before it ripened—but like I say

(and not to speak ill of the dead)

we just didn’t care for him,

which is probably all there is to be said.

Source: Poetry (July/August 2012).

Biography

Originally from London, James Lasdun has received numerous awards for his work as a poet, novelist, and screenwriter. In his poetry, Lasdun explores the differences between his English roots and his adopted American home, often setting his poems in wild rural landscapes or barely tamed domestic interiors. Though written in free verse, his poetry can feel formal in its use of rhyme and cadence. With the poet Michael Hofmann, . . .

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