I think it's a matter of how much, how often. Shakespeare was arguably gay, or gay on Tuesdays. Marlowe was gay every day of the week. Shakespeare sounds like a Tory, Marlowe is surely a leftie. But these things do not define their art . Auden wrote a couple of love poems everybody knows. But you don't have to be gay to like them. Auden started left, ended right. But we lovers of his poetry don't care.

Oh, boogers, now I can't even feel smug about the scansion, as I scanned the ultimate line rather than the penultimate. (But I console myself with the fact that John is giving me full credit, anyway. And that I scanned the actual line in question as Christopher did, without blinking.)

Slinking off....

There you are. You were right all along. That carping fellow has no ear.

'That carping fellow' spotted a metrical irregularity which may, on closer inspection, have turned out to be only a metrical snare.

Isn't that what good criticism does? Makes us notice things?

'That carping fellow' also has the good sense to notice just how good Fenton is - no mean feat with a poet whose output is as slim and neglected as William Empson's.

I sometimes feel as if my own adulation of Fenton is as niche and deplorable as a penchant for beige suede slip-ons;- or being gay even.

While enumerating favorite contemporary Brits, I'd be remiss in not mentioning Cope and Whitworth, my favorite resident British poets. Dick Davis I prefer to claim for Ohio.

That fellow likes Empson too. His are the best villanelles in the English language.

This is a long-time favorite of mine, too. Like Mr. Anonymous, I don't have anything more than that to say about it, but I thought I'd chime in anyway.

Amit's question about a wrong way is a good one. I assume free verse was meant (and agree with John's comment), but maybe others (or John himself) have a different or more specific answer.

Me too - I've always loved this poem (particularly because the sandwich and nightie bits cause me to bust out laughing). I'm delighted to be reminded of it.
Also, I think the penultimate line will scan if you throw the emphasis on the first word -- THAT'S all you are!

This is right up there with Swift's Judgment Day where God finds the human race too far beneath contempt to be worth damning.

Dick Davis was Irish, I think, not Brit at all. That's before he was American. He once said nice things about me though I can't remember what they were.

Dick D was a Brit. Grew up in Hull, I believe. Lovely man and fabulous poet.

No time to post-- will be back!

Charlotte