More than any poet since Betjeman, Wendy Cope has the rare gift of being funny and serious - often in the same poem. That is crucial. Beneath the jaunty villanelles, the comic repetitions and the triple-metre, some hard truths about life and love are being smuggled in. One favourite is the poem 'April'. I quote it here in full:
'The birds are singing loudly overhead
As if to celebrate the April weather.
I want to stay in this lovely world forever
And be with you, my love, and share your bed.
I don't believe I'll see you when we're dead.
I don't believe we'll meet and be together.
The birds are singing loudly overhead.
I want to stay in this lovely world forever.'
Like Auden's 'Lullaby', the poem gains its power and maturity from cherishing what it knows is only temporary.
Two other poems, 'Health Scare' and 'Keep Saying This', are franker confrontations with illness and death, and rhyme and repetition become charms, invoked to keep despair at bay ('It helps to say their names and make them rhyme'). You can't help being reminded that 'Ring-a-ring-of-roses' was written about the Black Death.
Accepting futility, though, doesn't mean going down without a fight. Cope's sharp (but never withering) sense of humour can deliver wicked, one-two combinations to the head, as in 'Special Needs', 'Unbearable', 'Football', and 'Differences of Opinion':
'He tells her the earth is flat -
He knows the facts, and that is that.
In altercations, fierce and long
She tries her to best to prove him wrong.
But he has learned to argue well.
He calls her arguments unsound
And often asks her not to yell.
She cannot win. He stands his ground.
The planet goes on being round.'
Cope's quality control system is a sound as ever. Her collections may be few, but they're always worth waiting for. A worthy addition to the Cope canon, and a treat for readers everywhere.