David Lehman

7 / 28/ 22

According to the know-it-
all but very nice poet
who runs the United Bard
Company, Martin Stannard
sets the standard
of outward excellence
and inward sense.
The man’s a card,
an ace, and for a reward,
I say we must
commend him on 27 August,
with seventy cheers,
one for each of his years.

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Rupert Loydell 1

WHAT THE POET SAID ABOUT IT for & from Martin Stannard ‘As you know, Ted, I’m very cynical.’ – Father Dougal McGuire, Father Ted Poetry has always been for me a process either of finding out what I think, or asking myself questions about what I think, and often learning more about what I think. I don’t know if that’s the right way to explain it, but it’s possible to be the right person or the wrong person sometimes, discovering that what I thought I thought is not what I thought it was. In some cases, I'm astonished by myself. I didn’t know I was that smart, and I'm still in agreement with what I said back then. I don’t really like stacks of poems that, let’s be honest, have someone’s death to thank for being there. People might think me almost totally deficient when it comes to appreciating other people’s emotions, and caring about how they feel, and all that business. I could be seen as a cold robot with no heart or, as some people might have it, plain stupid. Wh...

Alan Baker

I came to Martin Stannard's poetry relatively late, when, at a book fair, I picked up a pamphlet entitled "Easter" (published 1994). The easy, familiar tone and the quick wit drew me in to what was at first just a pleasant read. Then, imperceptibly, the poetry took me to to a zone of wonder and disorientation that was exhilirating. Fast forward twenty-six years and, by 2020, I had the honour of being Martin's publisher, when the third title of his that I published, "Reading Moby Dick and Other Matters", was released. It's a beautiful object (I can say that as the book design was all Martin's). And the title poem, "Reading Moby Dick" has all the features I'd been struck by in "Easter" but with an added sophistication that the intervening years of poetic practice had brought to it. It opens with a knowing dodgy joke - "Call me optimistic..." which sets the tone of irreverence and tongue-in-cheek meandering...

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