That poem is sublime!

Hello. Is that Steve?
 

I have just spent the last hour chatting on the telephone to Richard. What a wonderful man! He phoned me out of the blue this evening. My email must have prompted someone to give him my number. I am pleased to say his health remains excellent and his mind remains sharp, although he is not writing. He has great support and many friends. He has invited me down to see him “for a drink and a nosh” which I intend to do before “our birthday” in November.

Coincidence piles on coincidence. He worked as a metallurgist at Samuel Fox’s steelworks in Stocksbridge, near to where I live. He has walked the same walks, been to the same pubs and enjoyed the same landscape. He loved it here, walking by the reservoirs to the local pubs. He lodged at a farmhouse in Upper MIdhope, which I know well. He then worked in his protected profession through the war in London at the Ministry of Aircraft Production. He lived through the Blitz. His account of this in “The Questing Beast” is vivid.

He was a friend of Graham Greene, through his publisher wife Elaine Greene. He describes Greene as “a very nice man, very approachable.” He confirms that he didn’t really mix in literary circles or read much poetry, but he admired Dylan Thomas. His great love was travel. He says his book on Turkey is “O.K. as a guide”, but recommends his “Journey in Lapland” which he says is much more personal, and is also the account of a great love affair with an American woman called Carla, who returned to California. after two months with him. As soon as I finish this post I will be onto Amazon!

I can scarcely describe my feelings as I spoke to him. He was as curious about me as I have been about him. We exchanged cat stories, we discussed psychiatry. I reminded him of his very sceptical take on “trick-cyclists” in “The Questing Beast”. That was just the character, he said; he felt that a psychiatrist he had known had helped him greatly in his younger days. He was pleased that I had “a proper job” as a nurse.
After the war he made a decent living from writing, and gave up working as a metallurgist. He rates the poems he placed in the Boston “Atlantic Monthly “as his best. He thinks “The Idle Demon” is his best collection of verse.

There was so much I wanted to ask! He still loves music. He loves Mozart and Wagner, and Elgar, Britten and Vaughan Williams.
I told him that I had posted poems of his on this site. He was happy and pleased about that, and interested to know that his books were still obtainable on the internet. I got the impression that he knows little about the internet. He is pleased that we are discussing and enjoying his work.

My thanks to all those who have been on this journey with me. To Jerome I pass on the torch as I head off for Corfu this Sunday. To Ann: how’s that for a happy ending? (And I am reading and enjoying your own “Gay Science” at the moment)To Cally: he chuckled with recognition when I talked about his “lack of Circularity.” He lives! To Steph and all others thanks for your praise and encouragement. This is the book to get hold of: LISTER, Richard Percival. A Journey in Lapland. The hard way to Haparanda. [With illustrations by the author.] (pp. 256. Chapman & Hall: London, 1965.)

And thanks Allen. Sublime indeed. I have never seen a “cleavage angle” better described! And it was your "Robespierre" non-thread that set me off on this quest.

I have Richard’s phone number, I have his address. I am honoured and amazed. I will hear his warm chuckling, his descriptions of his “very lucky” life in my head for a long time. At the end I asked the usual, boring question about his longevity. “Oh that, “he said, “walking, lots of walking.” “Come down; come down for a chat and a drink!”

That is so amazing. It almost makes me religious. I am so glad for you. And for him. What a story.

Damn, this may be one of the best stories ever to come out of the Sphere. Please tell Mr. Lister (I like the ring of that) he has new fans in America, and post a picture if you can. I'm ordering the book.

Dave

Can we each write a very short poem of praise or appreciation that Steve could print and present to Mister Lister - that's how I always think of him, too, Dave.

Let's do it, please! I adore him - the man and work of him.

Agree - this is the finest thread ever spun on the Erato loom.

Steve - I sense a vocation in this for you.

This thread is all about greatness, in its least used sense.

Cally

Thanks for sharing your journey with us Steve, a great story.

I think a great present would be to bring out a book of selected poems -- unless he'd rather not, but I think he might enjoy making the selections and helping to put it together. If we did a subscription, surely there's a publisher out there who'd want a group of ready buyers for his or her wares. I, for one, would be happy to chip in.

Ed

A stalker's notes.
 

Thanks, Janice, I get the same feeling. R.P. describes it as "the Holy Ghost".

Thanks David. It reminds me of a Paul Auster tale.

Cally, I'm not sure what that vocation is...A stalker of elderly writers?
As for greatness, a character of his writes: "I do not think her love for Pellinew ever died away at all, so there it all is, still lit up with the same light, though it is long ago." From TQB.

Thanks Steve, his book on Turkey must be high on your list.

Ed, I'm taking your ideas on board. I'm a hopeless organiser, but my wife Adrienne is good at making things happen.

R.P. makes me laugh...He quotes Johnson:" Sir, there are only two things that a man can and should absorb in unlimited quantities. One is air, the other is praise."

An utterly wonderful adventure. Thank you, Steve. What drama, and what a denouement.

Steve, a questing Bucknell if ever there was one. Marvellous! So glad the quest in this case achieved such a happy result. What a fascinating transition from metallurgist to master of light verse up there in the New Yorker etc with Nash and the others, not to mention the novels and other books. The collection or festschrift idea sounds interesting.

Another snippet from the web (whose quirks would surely provide a wealth of topics for RPL if he were still writing): 'Defenestration' was set to music by the group Instant Sunshine, one of whose members was the late Miles Kington of 'Franglais' fame.

I too am off to order 'The Idle Demon' and any others I can find. In the meantime, I hope RPL won't mind one more appetite-whetter appearing here, the wry knockabout of 'The Albatross', still flying in a far corner of cyberspace, though I can't answer for the punctuation, another reason for searching out the originals. Enjoy Corfu, Steve, you've earned it!

The Albatross R.P. Lister

I sailed below the Southern Cross
(So ran the seaman's song);
A pestilential albatross
Followed us all day long.

The creature's aspect was so grim,
And it oppressed me so,
I raised and on a sudden whim,
I lowered my crossbow.

The weather grew exceeding thick;
The sullen tempest roared.
A dozen of the crew fell sick,
The rest fell overboard.

The skies were so devoid of light
We could not see to pray.
The donkeyman went mad by night,
The second mate by day.

We set the live men swabbing decks,
The dead man manned the pumps.
The cabin steward changed his sex;
The captain had the mumps.

The cargo shifted in the hold,
The galley boiler burst.
My hair turned white, my blood ran cold -
I knew we were accurst.

I helped the purser dig his grave
On the deserted poop;
I leaped into the foaming wave
And swam to Guadeloupe

And there (he said) I nibbled moss
Beside the stagnant lake . . .
I should have shot the albatross,
That was my big mistake.