The sonnets are ‘okay’, but if you could
imagine what a fog of teenage scorn
obscures The Prelude... If you had been born
last century, you might have understood –
a different revolution in your blood,
your room in Hawkshead blazing rock and porn,
poetry in the junkmail, your hair shorn,
tongue pierced and neck tattooed: you’d have been good
at English, though you would have stayed off school
to go to Glastonbury, taken dope
and doubtless knocked some French girl up again.
But could it these days be considered ‘cool’
to blog your own mind’s growth, just in the hope
of someone logging on to hear your brain?
first published in Critical Quarterly