Old White Guys

I’ve had a bit of an Old White Guy week with two joy-delivering discoveries. First, Richard Ford.

‘Earth to Laurie. Where have you been all these years?’

Richard Ford (I now know) is the deservedly successful creator of Frank Bascombe with whom I am currently sleeping or at least sharing, before I nod off, the sardonic observations of a man who will never again see 50 nor enjoy good prostate health. If you too have just emerged from the Siberian taiga or landed from Mars and haven’t yet read Richard Ford  –  get to it.

Then there is Ted Kooser who lives in Nebraska and deserves an Olympic Gold for self-deprecation. He says, and I quote, ‘I considered myself a relatively unknown poet. 2004 I got a call to say I’d been chosen to be Poet Laureate. I was so staggered I could barely respond. Next morning I backed the car out of the garage and tore the mirror clean off the driver’s side.’

You can sample his poetry here

Don’t you just love it when you stumble on a writer or a composer or an artist who really speaks to you, better late than never.  But then I start worrying who else I’m missing. Perhaps those will  be my dying words.

‘I never got to read…. so much….

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