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A long, strange trip Thom Gunn had the conviction that his poetry and life were ‘continuous with each other’
SEAN O’BRIEN
THOM GUNN A cool queer life MICHAEL NOTT 720pp. Faber. £25.
You can tell when a poet is very famous, because people who don’t read poetry have an impression of the life. It is not yet clear whether Thom Gunn (1929–2004) has reached this point, though Michael Nott’s absorbing book may propel him over the line. More than once Gunn declared himself glad to have avoided the weight of fame experienced by his contemporary Ted Hughes. The Irish poet Paul Durcan once remarked, apropos Andrew Motion’s Life of Philip Larkin: “I hate biography”. This unsparing and exhaustively researched biography of Gunn would hardly make him more enthusiastic. Nott is candid about his subject’s eventual decline into methamphetamine addiction, and about some of the company he kept in his final years. At one point, as a break from the thieves and hustlers for whom he was an easy mark, Gunn sits in the backyard of his house in San Francisco to read a biography of F. R. Leavis, who can scarcely be imagined returning the favour.
The closing chapters may excite a certain toldyou-so moral glee in some quarters, but Nott takes Gunn all in all: as a leading poet of the postwar period, as a critic and as a much-admired teacher, a loyal and generous friend, and a man who tried, not without success, to make a life and a family, and to balance the competing claims of insatiable desire (“Boss Cupid”) and his enduring love for Mike Kitay, his partner of fifty-odd years.
Gunn’s early life was materially comfortable. Bert, his father, edited the Evening Standard and the Daily Sketch. Charlotte, his mother, a novelist, was intelligent, sensitive and unfulfilled. Gunn described his parents’ relationship as resembling the Wilcox-Schlegel marriage in Howards End. Both had affairs. They divorced and she married the journalist Ronald Hyde, a protégé of Lord
SEPTEMBER 13, 2024
Beaverbrook. Charlotte’s relationship with Thom was intense and intimate: at times he shared her bed. When she and Hyde agreed to separate, she immediately changed her mind, but he did not. Four days after Christmas 1944, the teenage Gunn and his younger brother Ander discovered his mother’s body at home when they forced a way into the room where she had placed the gas poker in her mouth. Her death was something Gunn was unable to address in his poetry until late in life, in “The Gas-poker” (2000). Perhaps his dislike for the work of Sylvia Plath, which he called “hysterical”, was because of the manner of both women’s suicides. Although Gunn had good women friends, an irritable misogyny emerges from time to time.
What Gunn needed ever after was a secure relationship, a home and a routine where writing and teaching could be clearly demarcated. These protective measures were matched, and sometimes opposed, by a determination to live as he chose. He loved Cambridge, where he found a devoted teacher at Trinit y in Helena Shire, and began lifelong friendships with Tony White, star of the student stage, and the critics Karl Miller and Tony Tanner. Love disrupted Gunn’s smooth academic progress when he met Kitay, a visiting American student. It determined the major decision of his life. In 1954 he moved to America to live with Kitay. The effect of America on Gunn’s poetry was equally dramatic.
Problems in the earlier years of his relationship with Kitay arose from Gunn’s need to be both sexually free and securely loved. Kitay, by contrast, was in effect a serial monogamist, for the most part tolerating Gunn’s adventures while making his own more permanent arrangements within the pair’s agreed boundaries. Calm and crisis seem equally important. Gunn’s work, especially in the early books, is marked by the effort to affirm, or understand, or frame, or wield an identity in the face of a world marked by disorder – a condition historically and artistically exciting as well as personally alluring. In the late Elizabethan England of “A Mirror for Poets”, “the boundaries met / Of life and life, at danger”, where “mankind might behold its whole extent”. In San Francisco, the pursuit of
TLS
Thom Gunn’s mother, Charlotte, c.1923; Mike Kitay (left) and Gunn at Heidelberg Castle, 1953; Gunn in San Francisco, c.1980s; all from the book under review
Sean O’Brien’s most recent collection of poems is Embark, 2022
ecstasy, through sex and drugs, and the rituals of S&M among the leathermen appear to be a way of giving form to the chaos of desire. Contradiction was both a threat and a means of control. The city was the arena: as Gunn wrote in “A Map of the City”, “I would not have its risk diminished”.
Gunn observed that homosexuality seemed to him as normal as any other orientation, though in the earlier books the speakers’ sexual preferences are left for the reader to infer. Concealment was necessary for him to be able to teach at universities. His teacher and friend Yvor Winters would, he said, have been appalled to learn that Gunn was queer. (Another friend was Donald Davie, the Christian conservative poet and critic.) In an unpublished essay, “Poets and Gay Poets”, Gunn argued that the term Gay Poetry “releases but at the same moment it imprisons”. In the same essay he wrote: “It may be difficult to accept in 1980, but there are larger concerns for a human being than the important one of sexuality”.
Nott is painstaking in detailing the comings and goings in the house on Cole Street, as well as Gunn’s innumerable encounters in bathhouses and bars, but it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between even the prominent figures. When they periodically re-enter the story, Nott seems to think we know them better than we do. (There are useful biographical notes in The Letters of Thom Gunn (TLS, May 21, 2021), which Nott edited with August Kle i nz ahler and C l ive Wilmer.) To g ive f u l l er a c c oun t s o f e ve n a f r a c t i o n o f t h e d r amat i s personae would have been a Proustian undertaking. We don’t learn all that much about Gunn and politics, either, though at one point he remarked that he seemed to spend all his time marching on City Hall. In 1999, interviewed by James Campbell, he said that he was still a socialist, unlike others who had come of age in 1950, while Labour was still in power in the UK. But he seems most animated by the politics of everyday life, the idea of community, the willingness to help, and his sense that “we walk with everyone” (“Touch”).
The hard-earned ordinariness of life was doomed for many with the arrival of Aids in the early 1980s. Nott conveys the horror of the emerging disease
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