Reviewing 'ENGLISHMAN: The Poems of Noble Red'
I distinctly remember reading Noble Red’s Passage Prize poem to an assembled group of anon’s after the winners were announced. We unanimously enjoyed his poem most of all of the top three. Like most promising poets though I didn’t hear too much more from him until I rejoined Twitter and started following him. It was with great interest I saw he had published a small chapbook - a collection of 25 poems for the bargain price of 1.99$
What I found within was a tight collection of traditionalist poems with a heavy political focus but also a surprising amount of the personal.
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As a collection this is short, just 25 poems but as a fellow poet I understand how much effort and care has gone into them. The generative energy necessary for a poem can vary but suffice to say these 25 are all demonstrative of the skill of a Traditionalist poet.
Another broader observation about the collection is how much it reminded me poetry can be about the personal without being effete. This is something that haunts much of the nonsense poetry pushed in our faces. Noble Red has a number of poems that perhaps say something of his life, his character that are valuable because we relate to them. They are not just myopic reflections. I feel challenged to write more personal poems myself again.
I’ll pick a poem or two and some excerpts to talk about and give you a flavor but please do go buy his collection
I CRAWL ON THIS SOIL
I crawl on this soil
Nose, toes and fingertips
In the dirt,
I am part of this land
In ways that you are not;
You hate me for it, yes,
But yes, you understand.
I swim in this sea,
Its searing cold
Was made for me,
The women of my tribe
Adore it even more;
But not you, no,
Oh no, not yours.
I claw these rocks,
From bog to mountain top,
My bones made from the same,
My blood runs in rivers,
From village to city;
Your blood runs elsewhere,
You should go there.
This poem is perhaps the most serious of the first few, the others will make you chuckle in amusement but this poem has a seriousness to it. It is grounded in the sense of place that Noble Red is writing of. As an Englishman I appreciated it for not going into the trope of flowery pleasant land (which of course it is) but rather looking at that bleaker beauty we have. It also is an explicit call out to the unwelcome in our land.
THE FEMINIST CAFÉ
The feminist café is closing down,
Its struggle is now at an end,
It seems that it’s hard to sell coffee and cakes
While proclaiming how much you hate men.
The feminist café is closing down,
Well it did seem a little half-baked,
They may not need a man, but a sound business plan
Can insure against costly mistakes.
The feminist café is closing down,
There’s not much of a market, I fear,
That Ruth Bader Ginsburg book on display
Went unsold for over a year.
The feminist café is closing down,
Goodbye Hannah and Zoe and Nell,
I won’t get to taste your feminist cakes,
But I’m sure you did terribly well.
The feminist café is closing down,
Their worldview, it seems, does not pay,
And now they must wait for a man with a van
To carry the pieces away.
This is what ‘political’ themed poetry should be - this is tight poetry in the traditional style that delivers. It is wickedly dry and amusing but tells a story we all know. Noble Red is unafraid of the debates around political vs non political art I think - he just goes out and writes what he wants and it’s good stuff. There are other overtly political poems that may not age as well in 100 years here but that’s ok we are here in the now and they are great ripostes of the current age.
THE ROARING FIRE
Gentlemen, with all good cheer,
Salute the turning of the year,
I’ll pour us all a golden beer,
And we shall build a roaring fire.
Ladies, to the hearthside come,
Embrace your sweethearts, every one,
Our happiness has just begun,
With kisses by the roaring fire.
Children, safely in their beds,
With sweet dreams in their sleepy heads,
A golden future lies ahead,
We’ll forge it in the roaring fire.
From craggy peak to sandy shore,
A flame in English hearts restore,
And England will be ours once more,
Within us burns a roaring fire.
That last line refrain that repeats here just builds such energy. This poem is what I want when I think of new English poets, though I live now in America, I feel a kindred here. The roaring fire that awakens in us through poetry is why we are beating the drum of the written and spoken in the age of the visual.
I could go on and on quoting poems from this collection but three is enough of a taste. There are others that will speak to fellow poets in a way I am envious of. There are still more that inspire and amuse. A worthy note was the eulogy to Jimmy Greaves, whilst before my time how Noble Red writes this poem captures how my father and grandfather spoke of their own sporting heroes of days gone by.
All in all Noble Red is at the forefront of English poetry and I look forward to a longer collection in the years to come to place on my shelf beside my Kipling, Thomas, and Tennyson.
