Dead Poet's Society admits one Irving Layton.
It is sad to be an atheist,
Sadder yet to be one with a limp phallus.
Poet Irving Layton is dead at 93. To be completely honest, which is of course what he'd want, I'm not a huge fan of him or his egotistic, misogynistic poetry. As my grandmother always says, "He was so mean to his wife." (Which one of the five she's talking about, I'm not sure.)
But he did tutor Leonard Cohen -- and for that reason alone he is worthy of our thanks. (Other students of his include Moses Znaimer and Irwin Cotler. Thanks?)
I suppose, to be fair, he's got a few good poems of his own, too. And many more about his dick. ("It amazes me that organs that piss / Can give human beings such perfect bliss.")
If you have an Irving Layton memory you can post it on this tribute blog. One hopes that he didn't outlive all his lovers.
- A couple clever Layton poems posted by a fan in Saskatoon.
- Out of the Woodwork post "Against This Death"
- "To a Young Girl Sunbathing"
- "Death is a name for beauty not in use"
- John_d at THIS Blog posts "There Were No Signs," which admittedly is lovely. But has a bitter aftertaste given that we know Layton didn't ever learn how to love from hating, but learned how to hate and call it love.
- Wonkitties hearts Layton.