Clive James
Clive James (1939–2019) was a distinguished critic, poet, author, television performer, journalist, and lyricist. He was born and raised in Sydney, where he attended Sydney University. From 1961 he lived in England. Among his countless publications are nine poetry collections, four novels, a translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy, five volumes of memoirs (most famously Unreliable Memoirs), and many collections of literary and television criticism. He wrote for ABR twenty times between 2001 and 2015.
After only four annual volumes, The Best Australian Essays has reached the point where the law of increasing expectations begins to kick in. By now the series has done so much that we want it to do everything. Speaking as an Australian who lives offshore, I would be well pleased if each volume could contain, on every major issue, a pair of essays best presenting the two most prominent opposing vie ... (read more)
If T.S. Eliot and Ezra PoundCame back to life, again it would be foundOne had the gab, the other had the giftAnd each looked to the other for a lift.
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In the clear light of a cloudy summer morningThe idiot boy, holding his father’s hand,Comes by me on the Quay where I sit writing.His father spots me looking up, and I don’t wantTo look as if I wished I hadn’t, soInstead of turning straight back to my booksI look around, thus making it a general thingThat I do every so often –To watch the ferries, to check out the crowd.
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There is a difference between celebrity and recognition. Celebrities are recognised in the street, but usually because of who they are, or who they are supposed to be. To achieve recognition, however, is to be recognised in a different way. It is to be known for what you have done, and quite often the person who knows what you have done has no idea what you look like. When I say I’ve had enough ... (read more)
An Oka kamikaze rocket bombSits in the vestibule, its rising sunAblaze with pride.Names of the fallen are on CD-ROM.The war might have been lost. The peace was won:A resurrection after suicide.
For once I feel the urge to send my thoughtsYour way, as I suppose these people do.I see the tideCome in on Papua. Their troop transports,The beach, our hospital. Over to you:Why was one little miracle den ... (read more)
Advertisements asked ‘Which twin has the Toni?’Our mothers were supposed to be non-plussed.Dense paragraphs of technical baloneyExplained the close resemblance of the phoneyTo the Expensive Perm. It worked on trust.
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High dungeon was a feeling I knew well When mockery from men weighed on my soul. As your Prime Minister I went through hell, If I can say so without hyperbowl. Triumphant now in power, the men of hate Who howled that I was unfit for command Make prejudice a tenant of the state. Don’t speak to me about the Taliband:
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A Context for Intensity
Clive James
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