Just 22 Miles Of Water

‘To understand all is to forgive all ‘ – that’s one French saying that doesn’t seem to have crossed the few miles of ‘The English Channel’, or the Straits of Dover or ‘The Sleeve’ or the ‘Passage of Calais’ or however the French translates – with the Normans; so perhaps they left it behind at the Conquest along with Armagnac and crepes and their blonde mistresses and never went back for it like I wonder if that blunt English saying, ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach; and those who can’t teach, become critics…’ ever made it across La Manche to that civilised nation where critics, teachers, and the mind are held in such respect; but suppose we equate football and poetry here: football supporters know their playing days are over, if they ever happened anyway; they aren’t equipped to teach except their sons, for some happy time; and so they hold to their precious love of the beautiful game by criticising the team, the manager, and especially the ref. Shoot the ref. So maybe it’s because you, and you know who you are, felt you couldn’t be the great poet which you so wanted to be, and found you couldn’t teach, that because you truly, deeply love poetry and all it stands for, and need to preserve that love, you criticise poetry so savagely here in England, and are hated for it; strange isn’t it that a few miles across the Channel from aggressive England you’d be feted, revered, honoured, as staunch upholder in critical essays of the ever-renewing greatness of French literature… I’ll settle for understanding all and forgiving all