Sir, - Fred Johnston writes (Books, November 7th): "Putting one's political opinion in print with one's name at the bottom is not a practice in which Irish poets seem able to indulge".
Allow me to tell him why: Because there is no organ which will print such poetry, that's why. Not any longer.
I have been writing overtly political stuff, satirical verse, for 25 years, attacking all the targets Johnston mentions, and more. Structure published a dozen such pieces in 1974; in 1982 Raven Arts Press brought out a booklet of mine entitled Scurrilities.
Since then I have written, and in the case of the plays, performed:
Three verse plays: How To Roast a Strasbourg Goose; James Power O'Toole and the Emerald Oil Company; The 2nd Grand Confabulation of Drum Ceat.
A review: Another Broken Man to See You, Big Fella.
Two verse collections: Comrade Dao Jones Reasseses Tiananmen Square (including The New Pale). The Immodest Proposal Byronic Verses.
The text of the last-named I sent to the late Ted Hughes in two instalments; he wrote back in rapturous terms. I also sent it to many of my contemporaries, to journalists, editors and reviewers. Only one even acknowledged receipt.
Critics who attended my solo plays (1984-95) in Dublin, in the US and in Edinburgh were uniformly enthusiastic. I did not write them as solo plays and I only took to the boards faute de mieux.
The Abbey returned the text of Strasbourg Goose in 1985 with this note: "Rather more tact is required if subjects such as political corruption and torture are to be handled in the theatre." Tact, no less! Since then, by publishers and theatrical managements large and small my political work has been denied publication, audition, production (except for Tinderbox - God bless 'em - in 1989), or any show of interest.
Such is the price of political incorrectitude. - Yours, etc., Sydney Bernard Smyth,
The Old Distillery, Cuckoo Lane, Dublin 7.