Larkin’s three-stanza stunner, in all its ripe glory
Ithink of Radio 4’s Poetry Please as a sort of Sunday treat, like going around to your grandma’s and having cake for tea. It’s the most upmarket request show on radio, gently hosted by Roger McGough, who combines respect (for the audience, the poems, their place in literary tradition) with a discreet assertion of his own status within Parnassian ranks.
This week’s edition was about Philip Larkin, fondly remembered by McGough from his own time at Hull University where Larkin was not only the librarian but sub-warden of McGough’s hall of residence. Here was McGough’s poem to prove it, read by its writer. Larkin’s own verse was, for the most part, read by splendid Alex Jennings with other poets who had known Larkin (Andrew Motion, Douglas Dunn, Sean O’Brien and Paul Farley) adding their voices, memories and opinions.
McGough gently warned us at the start of “very ripe language” to come and, when he arrived at the Larkin work in question, This Be the Verse, he advised listeners who might be offended to turn off for a couple of minutes, adding that it had never before been aired in full, despite being the programme’s most requested
poem. You probably know the one, three stanzas long, written in April 1971, famous for its use of a copulative verb (used in its sense of “to destroy”) in proximity to “mum and dad”. In this elegantly constructed programme, produced in Bristol by Sally Heaven, Larkin’s three-stanza stunner arrived halfway through, its explosive irony shining through the mist of other people’s memories. Forget the duties real life Sunday tea can impose, like being kissed by Grandma or lectured by uncles, Poetry Please remains a singular treat. Jake Yapp Saves Humanity in 28
Minutes (Radio 4, Tuesday; Radio 4 Extra yesterday) was a joy. Not everyone will share my opinion, comedy being a subject that divides people even more passionately than poetry. Yapp is a satirist, a parodist. Such Radio 4 programmes as Today and Broadcasting House invite him in to do potted summaries of things to wake up their audiences. His twominute “day in the life of Radio 4” is a gem. I’ve heard it several times now and it never palls with its send-up of an afternoon play ( The Swans Have
Burst by Roger Fraser Dunlop) and, indeed, of the aforementioned Poetry
Please. In this show, all of that was but a preface to the dissection of advertising that followed, hitting every mark hilariously. His supporting cast, George Fouracres and Susan Wokoma, were superb, as were cowriters Liam Beirne and Robin Morgan. Joe Nunnery produced. Come back soon.
Late Returns (Radio 4, Thursday) was about Nicholas Royle, who writes books, hoping to return three library books borrowed years ago. That was credible. The way he told his story was not. He began, in whispers, in Manchester’s Central Library where, he said, he used to go a lot. Then he hopped off to Paris, hoping to bring back a Robbe-Grillet that he’d nicked long ago, only to find the library no longer existed. Or, rather, it did but it wasn’t public any more. Then he was in London, hanging around the Kentish Town public library and the Senate House library of University College to no great effect. Next minute he was back in Manchester.
In between came various chats about books and their borrowing, the morality of not returning and the attractions of particular editions. He made it sound as if everything came as a surprise. Who does he think we are? We’re listeners. We know the BBC never gives you an open ticket. They require beforehand, to the last dot and comma, the who, what, where, when, why and how of every programme. Loved his idea. Loathed his assumption we’d believe every word.
Yet we’re perfectly capable of accepting fantasy when its boundaries are clear. It’s been a while since we heard Caroline Bone in The Archers but the death of the actress who played her, Sara Coward, comes as a blow. In The Archers she’s been away in Tuscany, only returning to check that Lynda Snell isn’t running riot at the reception desk of Grey Gables (the fictional country house hotel Caroline and husband Guy own), or the Grundys haven’t totally wrecked Grange Farm (which Caroline and Guy have rented to them, pending sale). I was hoping she’d turn up next week at Jennifer Aldridge’s dinner party and show that snooty, snobby Miranda Elliott what posh really is. Now she can’t. Caroline, and Sara, will be much missed.