13 September 2018, The Tablet

Chapter and verse


Radio

 

This year in the life of the Oxford-based poet Edward Clarke (9 September) began around breakfast time. “I’ve been up since 4 a.m.,” an exhausted-sounding voice intoned. “It’s now seven.” From somewhere in the middle distance came a child’s cry. “I’m in thrall to something stronger than one is,” Clarke continued, “and it’s quite knackering.” At this point his wife, no doubt fresh from consoling the crying child, volunteered that she was “just happy that he can do something he likes”.

Get Instant Access

Continue Reading


Register for free to read this article in full


Subscribe for unlimited access

From just £19.99 quarterly

  Complete access to all Tablet website content including all premium content.
  The full weekly edition in print and digital including our 179 years archive.
  PDF version to view on iPad, iPhone or computer.

Already a subscriber? Login