How the British Poetry Revival appears in one history of its times: Dominic Sandbrook’s White Heat
In
Sandbrook’s chapter ‘Playpower’, taking its title from Richard Neville’s book,
which gets a hard kicking, partly about the Oz trial, we find a lively,
if ultimately dispiriting account of a supposed ‘counterculture’, which I won’t
analyse in detail, since I want to pull out a few passages that deal directly
with poetry and its world. The origins of this counterculture are partly
literary: ‘The roots of this ‘alternative society’ went back to … students in
the 1950s … [who were] keen on American beat writing and the French
existentialists… they were attracted to jazz, impenetrable poetry, coffee bars,
duffel coats, art-house films and CND marches’. (Sandbrook 522: 523) This
accords with Lee Harwood’s account of Sam Wedges coffee bar in Soho rather
well, in his piece on meeting Tristan Tzara. Note how the other items in Sandbrook’s
inventory escape adjectival denunciation. The poetry is ‘impenetrable’. (Which
is just what attracted Harwood when Roger Jones declaimed lines by Tzara
in the jazzy coffee bar! ‘I’d
never heard a poem like this before, never heard language used this freely,
such leaps in what seemed a torrent of words and images. I'd never heard a poem
that had this immediate force.’
We
are reminded, as we draw nearer to the counterculture’s exemplary ‘particular
moment: the International Festival of Poetry, held at the Royal Albert Hall on
11 June 1965’, that ‘the great majority of British teenagers… far more
interested in … pop music, football and Jean Shrimpton than in jazz, poetry and
Jean-Paul Sartre.’ (Sandbrook 523). Nevertheless, the audience was 7,000 strong
for the reading. Often taken as a central event, Sandbrook says, it is
over-rated. After all, you get more at a football match (which seems to me beside
the point). ‘The whole thing,’ we are told, was ‘badly organised’ (true, by
most accounts!); ‘there was a general air of drunkenness and anarchy (which I’m
tempted to say, sounds quite genial, if I think of Bob Cobbing’s writers forum
afternoons in the 1990s!’ But the man who wrote the sixties down as it
happened, Barry Miles, gets the last word on the evening in Sandbrook’s
account: ‘awful bullshit and made the whole thing so boring’. It was a
‘dreadful reading… one of the worst poetry readings ever.’ (524). (Compare with
Virtanen’s account, which I review on the link below). Note that Barry Miles is
described as ‘a stalwart champion of avant-garde poetry’. (524). I can’t help
but feel that ‘avant-garde’ functions with almost the same inherence of dismissal
as ‘impenetrable’ earlier. (Sandbrook is happy to quote Larkin as the
summarising poetic voice of the age.)
He is similarly dismissive of
‘happenings’. In Liverpool we like to think Adrian Henri, (a figure that, in the
pubs I frequent, is referred to most nights), is the man who invented the
happening as a performative extension of poetry (and art). After an account of
Indica Bookshop, International Times and Oz, Sandbrook returns to
the theme of the essential alienation of the working class from the aesthetic
side of the British Poetry Revival:
It
often seems that the somewhat bizarre style of the movement could have been
deliberately designed to alienate working class opinion. In 1965, for example,
the Cavern Club hosted a ‘multi-media anti-nuclear extravaganza’ devised by the
local poet Adrian Henri. At the end of a four-minute count down the lights went
out and a false ceiling made of paper came down on people’s heads, to the most
deafening noise we could devise,’ he explained. ‘The cloakroom girls screamed
and hid under the counter. In the darkness and confusion, strange mutant
figures moved.’ This was all very well, but it was unlikely to convince most
ordinary Liverpudlians that they ought to devote their weekends to marching
against the bomb. (533-4)
And so on and so forth. (Looking at an
adjective again: how does the word ‘local’ operate with ‘poet’? I’ve always
thought it a put-down.) He curiously misses the point in ways like this. He is
right, in that, although he idolises the Beatles and the Stones, he
acknowledges that the most popular record of the 1960s was The Sound of
Music. His source for this re-evaluation is Dave Harker’s essay in eds. John
Seed and Bart Moore-Gilbert, Cultural Revolution, London and New York,
Routledge, 1992, in which I also had an article on ‘The British Poetry Revival’
that might usefully have fed into his account of ‘impenetrable’ ‘avant-garde’
poetry. His accounts of value (in his otherwise wonderful insightful book!) depend
on popularity. (So jazz isn’t accounted for at all, even though this period is
recognised as a ‘golden age’ in recent jazz criticism: a clear analogy with the
‘alternative’ poetry of the period.) Henri wasn’t trying ‘to convince most
ordinary Liverpudlians’ about the bomb! The artist can only affect those that
receive the art (like Harwood in Sam Widges!). Also hasn’t Sandbrook picked the
wrong target? Isn’t Henri part of a genuinely popular poetry from the 1960s
(onwards)? (See Andrew Taylor's book on Adrian Henri.)
Jeff Nuttall is an
important figure, but is not without his foibles and failings. (He is also
remembered around the pubs of Liverpool, from his time as Head of Art here.) Bomb
Culture is a useful source book on the era, but there is a lot of polemic.
It was written in the moment (in contrast to Barry Miles who wrote after
the events, though from having been inside the sixties, to borrow one of
his book titles) and it does contain some perishable rhetoric of the time.
Sandbrook focusses in on this! While Nuttall argues, ‘young people under
various pretexts made war on their elders… the war continues’, Sandbrook
argues, in a move that should be familiar now: ‘But this was nonsense. The vast
majority of young people did not make war on anybody’. (543) They watched the
telly that he prefers to analyse. However, what about that minority, those not
‘average citizen[s]’? (544) They must include the poets of the British Poetry
Revival, surely? I agree ‘the spread of an ego-dissolving delirium’ and a
‘sense of health and beauty pertaining to the genitals and the arsehole’ may
not be for everyone. (544).
In Sandbrook’s words,
this alternative societal thinking, was irrelevant: ‘playtime was over’. (544)
Perhaps I could simply
add ‘Poetry time has begun!’ if that didn’t afford too much valency to Sandbrook’s
views!
23rd August 2025
Other posts: An original set of posts
on the British Poetry Revival begin here: Pages:
Robert Sheppard: A History of the Other: Part two. This
feeds off my book The Poetry of Saying which in turn fed off my PhD.
I revisited the subject to write ‘The British Poetry Revival,
1960-1978’, in Görtschacher and Malcolm, eds. A Companion to British and
Irish Poetry, 1960-2015, Hoboken and Chichester: Wiley Blackwell, 2021:
235-243, here: Pages:
Robert Sheppard: Return to the British Poetry Revival 1960-78
And reflect on it here: Pages: My
two pieces (British Poetry Revival & Harwood) & editorial exhibit in
CONTEMPORARY BRITISH AND IRISH POETRY, 1960 – 2015 Edited by Görtschacher and
Malcolm
I began to review Juha Virtanen’s book Pages:
Thoughts on Collaboration 13 or: review of Juha Virtanen, Poetry and
Performance During the British Poetry Revival 1960-1980: Event and Effect.
This is turning into a strand of new posts, so this will become the hub post:

