Author's product rating: 
| Advantages: |
The world's best poet? |
| Disadvantages: |
Not up to his regular form |
| Recommend to potential buyers: |
yes |
Well Ciao’s category for John Hegley has contained Those Were Your Father’s alone now for far too long, hence him reposting this op from the other side. But when the chips are down, this is still not much of a help, as despite Hegley being one of the world's most enjoyable poets on the database, Can I Come Down Now, Dad? is probably the worst one he’s written. (Although, note ~ theediscerning hasn’t caught up with the last one or two yet.)
That isn't to say it isn't a very decent read, for it is. It's just that here the brilliant wordplay and forceful rhythms take a back-seat, for what the back cover calls "pathos".
Well, perhaps suppose it was a sign of Mr
Hegley maturing a bit, or certainly branching out a bit more. But since this book appeared in 1991, he has reverted to type in spectacular, dogged style.
That, for the uninitiated, is a bit of a pun on the subjects of a lot of the poems in the Hegley oeuvre, namely his glasses, and his canine friends. It is a bad pun, and not worth groaning at, but there are much better puns in the book, and they are worth groaning at - a lot.
Take, for example, the poem about his father being given a new belt - "my Dad said that he would give it to one of his children". A pure groaner, and a knock-out way to finish a short poem.
And yes, many of these poems are short - one is of just 6 syllables. Poetry books never take much more than an hour to read through once, unless you need to cogitate particularly on any items. Hegley books, therefore, always appear to be rather poor value, but are highly entertaining. There will be no spurious, high-brow metaphors here, or ridiculously extended vocab.
However, as suggested, here the themes are broadened out considerably from the usual Hegley topics, and the style becomes looser. Having heard Hegley recite his work you can immediately pick up any of his pieces and hear him say it in his unique style in your head. Here, though, the way he commonly forces the rhymes and metre together in constantly humorous clashes, is much reduced.
Theediscerning is always loathe to give quotes as examples, for two reasons ~ most poems are so short he would have to copy the whole poem, and Mr Hegley might not be too happy, and two, the original op didn’t and the book is nowhere at hand today for this repost. But he will make reference to "I am going" on page 39, which is one of the better odes in the book, where the rolling rhythms of the short lines are interrupted for poetic effect, and finally, the punchline.
It is the simplicity of a Hegley poem (especially something like the first poem here, "Luton") which makes people think they can imitate the style so well. Theediscerning knows from experience that you often will not be thanked for it. The subjects often appear banal - pets, Luton, train-spotting, string(?), and the verse so seemingly childish, that some might feel there is a schoolboy within, trying to get out.
Well, around the time of this book, get out he did, and into the pages of the Guardian magazine of a Saturday. This was a period in his career to date that theediscerning could take or leave, for it often meant it seemed he was writing to order, for Christmas, Easter, and so on. Yet even then some of the inspirations, or requests from his editor, left us with minor classics, such as "Smothering Sunday", which is included here.
One major feature of the latter part of this book is a whole slew of poems, short and long (by long, just think just over a small page-full), about the Romans, including the ruins in Chester, which provide us with a great limerick called "Gaul". Some of this is prose and not verse, and in the
books which followed Hegley chose to take a section aside and give us a short story, or a playlet, or poem cycle. There is nothing either right or wrong about this, it’s just worth mentioning (perhaps).
There are so many classic Hegley poems, and probably most cultured pub boors (if there is such a thing - count theediscerning as one) should be able to recite at least one or two. The pity is there aren't many at all in this book. The short ones come across as flippant, and not as erudite as normal. The "pathos" is covered by several poems about (his) school days, and some dark ones about childhood family life, which are clumped mostly at the front of the book, and might come as a shock to Hegley fans new to this volume.
For people who read poetry regularly, Hegley should be a known name, and it is (just) conceivable how many people might not like his style. He is perhaps the modern, male version of Stevie Smith, for those who know of her snappy, witty, rule-breaking output. For theediscerning he provides many a laugh (witness here the genie in the wireless - he'd lost his bottle) and often a surprise. It is just that here, both are watered down by a more pensive mood, much more blank verse and less discipline. But we all have our off days.
