Thom Gunn Dies
Poet A.D. Winans sent out this announcement about the passing of Thom Gunn.
I saw the obit of Thom Gunn today in the San Francisco Chronicle. He was a favorite poet of mine, who was born in Britan, but who had lived in San Francisco the past 40 years. He died in his sleep, apparently from a heart attack. He was a unique poet in that he was equally at home in rhyme, non-rhyme, in free verse and patterned rhythms. Perhaps he was such a favorite of mine because of his compassion for the dispossessed, those looked down on by society, and his insight made them into likeable if not loveable persons, in his poems.
He was the recipient of many literary awards, not only from his native country, but the prestigious MacArthur Foundation which bestowed on him in 1992 a $369,000 fellowship for life time achievement in poetry.
He was what many might call an Outlaw poet, "wearing leather when lecturing at the University of
California, and "identified with the biker culture." He disliked "snob snob-constructed divisions
separating "high culture" from "low" culture." In short, he was my kind of poet.
One of my favorite poems which was quoted in the obituary written for his lover, whose "abiding bond lasted through frequent separations:"
"As you began
You'll end the year with me
We'll hug each other while
we can
Work or stay while we must.
Nothing is, or will ever be,
Mine, I suppose. No one can
hold a heart.
But what we had in trust
We do hold, even apart."
He often wrote poems about San Francisco, the city of my own birth, ranging from poems about the homeless people on the streets to the beauty of the landscape.
There are only a few days left in April, the month that celebrates poetry, and you would do well to celebrate it by becoming familiar with the work of Thom Gunn.
-- a. d. winans | 4-28-04
I saw the obit of Thom Gunn today in the San Francisco Chronicle. He was a favorite poet of mine, who was born in Britan, but who had lived in San Francisco the past 40 years. He died in his sleep, apparently from a heart attack. He was a unique poet in that he was equally at home in rhyme, non-rhyme, in free verse and patterned rhythms. Perhaps he was such a favorite of mine because of his compassion for the dispossessed, those looked down on by society, and his insight made them into likeable if not loveable persons, in his poems.
He was the recipient of many literary awards, not only from his native country, but the prestigious MacArthur Foundation which bestowed on him in 1992 a $369,000 fellowship for life time achievement in poetry.
He was what many might call an Outlaw poet, "wearing leather when lecturing at the University of
California, and "identified with the biker culture." He disliked "snob snob-constructed divisions
separating "high culture" from "low" culture." In short, he was my kind of poet.
One of my favorite poems which was quoted in the obituary written for his lover, whose "abiding bond lasted through frequent separations:"
"As you began
You'll end the year with me
We'll hug each other while
we can
Work or stay while we must.
Nothing is, or will ever be,
Mine, I suppose. No one can
hold a heart.
But what we had in trust
We do hold, even apart."
He often wrote poems about San Francisco, the city of my own birth, ranging from poems about the homeless people on the streets to the beauty of the landscape.
There are only a few days left in April, the month that celebrates poetry, and you would do well to celebrate it by becoming familiar with the work of Thom Gunn.
-- a. d. winans | 4-28-04
posted by Richard Hansen at
11:03 AM
<< Home