Maureen Duffy

Maureen Duffy Poems

Maureen Duffy Biography

Maureen Patricia Duffy (born 21 October 1933) is a contemporary British novelist, poet, playwright, nonfiction author and activist. Duffy's work often uses Freudian ideas and Greek mythology as frameworks.[citation needed] Her writing is distinctive for its use of contrasting voices, or streams of consciousness, often including the perspectives of outsiders. Her novels have been linked to a European tradition of literature which explores reality through the use of language and questioning, rather than through traditional linear narrative. James Joyce in particular, and Modernism in general, are significant influences on her fiction, as is Joyce Cary. Duffy has inspired many other writers and proved that the English novel need not be realistic and domestic, but can be fantastical, experimental and political.' Her writing in all forms is noted for her 'eye for detail and ear for language' and 'powerful intense imagery'. Her early plays often depict working class life, with humour and evocative language, and she joined the Royal Court writers' group at a time when the social realist school, associated with such playwrights as John Osborne and Arnold Wesker, was transforming British drama. Some of her plays have been described as 'anarchic...dealing with taboo subjects..."total theater" reminiscent of the ideas of Antonin Artaud and Jean Genet, employing Brechtian techniques'. Jean-Paul Sartre is also an influence on her drama. Duffy's affinity to London, present and past, and of its cosmopolitan inhabitants, often features in her writing; which celebrates diversity, regardless of class, nationality, ethnicity, gender, sexuality or species. She advocates 'an ethic of compassion' towards human and animal rights.)

The Best Poem Of Maureen Duffy

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

Poets don't grow old gracefully:
recall old lusts with Hardy
or clamour like Yeats for new.

'How are you?' people ask them, meaning
'Goodness, you're still alive.'
'Are you still writing?' signals
'If so, you're quite forgotten.
I haven't seen any reviews,'
and 'Aren't you going gently yet
into your good night?'

Gower, his loins frozen by Venus,
piped of a king and his bounty of wine.
Did he who'd sung of every turn and twist
of love regret the arrow's sting he'd begged
Love's priest to tear from his heart
as he lay apart from his chaste wife?
Merlin the magus, besotted in old age
entombed in the rock by Nimue for his lust
must have been a poet too.
How else could he have cast such spells?

When David was old they brought him a virgin
hoping for a new Song of Solomon.
Help us all then Lady, Sappho's own goddess,
to sing your song until the last bittersweet note.

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