I was saddened today to hear of the death of the poet Adrian Mitchell aged 76.
I was lucky enough to see him perform several times and I was always uplifted by his honesty and humanity.
He always struck me as a shy man with a natural sensitivity – a big softy with the courage to tell the truth.
I identified with his distrust of institutions and admired the fact that he requested that none of his poems be set for exams in schools. He said: “If the poems are used for exams they’ll inevitably be taught by many teachers who don’t like them. It’s damaging for the health of the poems and those exposed to them”.
He saw the world through the eyes of a child but he was never guilty of sentimentality or tweeness.
His short poem for his daughter Beatrice when she was 3 years old touchingly captures the feelings of parenthood:
At the top of the stairs
I ask for her hand. O.K.
She gives it to me.
How her fist fills my palm,
A bunch of consolation.
We take our time
Down the steep carpetway
And I wish silently
That the stairs were endless.
You can find more about Adrian Mitchell and hear him reading some of his poems at The Poetry Archive.
