Heaney wins T. S. Eliot prize

So. Out of all the collections of poetry released in Britain in the last year, right down to the smaller publishers, the one most worth celebrating is apparently a collection inspired by a 67 year old's memories of travelling to work on the London Underground as a young man, containing a 9/11 poem that mawkishly compares the hijacked planes to Jupiter's chariots, and written by a poet who has already been given far too many awards and needs no more exposure.

What's the message this gives out? "Don't worry if you haven't read any poetry in the last forty years - you haven't missed anything. It's still the same bunch of old men telling anecdotes about their gentle lives and passing limp comment on five year old political developments."

What justification is there? Perhaps the poetry world is simply thanking Seamus Heaney for being able to sell books in notable quantities, and also for limiting generations of amateur poets to imitation of his pedestrian style.

Most of the time I wonder why no one seems to give a damn for poetry. When things like this happen, I wonder why anyone does.

< /hyperbole >

Jon Stone - poetry editor