He was also a great gardener, primarily of vegetables. He loved them...the technical differences, of sowing time, depth & nature of their favourite soil, best time to harvest each one. I once edited a book of unlikely enthusiasms and John contributed an essay on veg growing, and was especially eloquent on that disgusting vegetable, the parsnip. It is a work of literary art, that piece, and almost persuaded me that I might enjoy eating a parsnip after all.
I'd add only that he was, too, a brilliant teacher. I had John as a tutor for a term, then for several years as a supervisor for my post-graduate thesis: meticulous, attentive, warmly encouraging while necessarily critical, he was wonderfully supportive - and, as we heard in his lectures or read in his books, gleefully hilarious when he wanted to be. I always looked forward to time spent with him.
The last time I met him was at a fundraising event at Merton for former Philosophy and English students. He advanced the case that we must all support the Humanities for as long as humankind is the only species capable of declaring war upon itself.
He was also a keen beekeeper. I once sent him a poem called 'Bees of Arabia' about the wild honey sellers you find beside roads in the middle of the desert.
In his kind reply, he explained that bees can forage nectar for up to 3 miles, concluding with characteristic pragmatism that "choosing a desolate spot for the hives may be deliberate. If you site them near habitation, people get stung."
He was also a great gardener, primarily of vegetables. He loved them...the technical differences, of sowing time, depth & nature of their favourite soil, best time to harvest each one. I once edited a book of unlikely enthusiasms and John contributed an essay on veg growing, and was especially eloquent on that disgusting vegetable, the parsnip. It is a work of literary art, that piece, and almost persuaded me that I might enjoy eating a parsnip after all.
I think that piece is collected in his book of journalism? I agree, it's splendid writing.
I'd add only that he was, too, a brilliant teacher. I had John as a tutor for a term, then for several years as a supervisor for my post-graduate thesis: meticulous, attentive, warmly encouraging while necessarily critical, he was wonderfully supportive - and, as we heard in his lectures or read in his books, gleefully hilarious when he wanted to be. I always looked forward to time spent with him.
The last time I met him was at a fundraising event at Merton for former Philosophy and English students. He advanced the case that we must all support the Humanities for as long as humankind is the only species capable of declaring war upon itself.
He was also a keen beekeeper. I once sent him a poem called 'Bees of Arabia' about the wild honey sellers you find beside roads in the middle of the desert.
In his kind reply, he explained that bees can forage nectar for up to 3 miles, concluding with characteristic pragmatism that "choosing a desolate spot for the hives may be deliberate. If you site them near habitation, people get stung."
A thoughtful intellectual figure, the kind that always intrigues me.
He was great
“the world is his prey and he runs it down rapturously” is the sort of pun that Donne himself would have enjoyed.
yes exactly
I didn't know that. V pleased