Writers on Teachers: LA Review of Books looks at Cambridge institution J.H. Prynne

Over at the Los Angeles Review of Books, as part of their "Writers on Teachers" series, Geoff Nicholson recalls the "daunting yet illuminating experience of having the famously inscrutable Cambridge poet J. H. Prynne as his Director of Studies." Nicholoson addresses the mystique of a non-academic in academia:

He was an éminence grise but also a dissenter. He had no doctorate, for instance, and he seemed to find the idea of PhDs absurd. He once suggested that potential doctoral candidates should be locked in a room and given a very long document to copy out, and accepted or rejected solely on the basis of how many mistakes they made in the copying. His mystique was only increased by the fact that he had published no substantial academic work. At that time there was perhaps less pressure for academics constantly to publish, but even so most of the English faculty were working on books drawn from their lectures. Prynne didn’t lecture much either.

But he did, of course, publish books of poetry. I have a few of them—High Pink on Chrome, Kitchen Poems, The Oval Window—unsigned alas. I still “read” them from time to time, when I feel in the mood for a little linguistic cage-fighting. Take this example from The Oval Window, a standout piece of Prynne obscurity that reaches sublime heights. Its completeness uncertain, the poem has no separate title but stands alone on the page:

Droplock to gab

off you steel

by wed foot

and fall under

fur on the gate

Tivoli Tivoli

and if flatter so

the better to win

O spite reserve

my mitten’s

bred sodden

at all given to

pad out, fill in

hold this piece

forth with and

so on go on

to the lammas

of forbidden let

red

ground

Naturally there is some familiarity at this point, certain provisional readings that I’ve teased out, but the fact is I find reading Prynne today every bit as difficult and baffling as I did back then. I am not for a moment suggesting this is a criticism.

We heard that a previous intake of students had sat Prynne down and said, more or less, “All right Jeremy, what the fuck is this poetry of yours all about?” And he had explained himself spendidly: the skeptics were converted into ardent admirers. My crowd didn’t force him to do that. Perhaps we simply didn’t want to do what previous students had done, but in any case it didn’t matter. Whether we “understood” Prynne’s poetry or not, we were ardent admirers already. The obscurity was part of the appeal. And frankly I get a bit weary of those articles about Prynne being the most neglected poet in England. He didn’t seek attention but he received plenty. I’m sure there are armies of poets who would kill for that kind of “neglect.”

To continue reading the generous account of learning under Prynne, go here. Or to watch the man himself lecture, play the video below.