Edinburgh International Book Festival: Carol Ann Duffy

Amid soggy cagoules and banjaxed brollies, Carol Ann Duffy warmed up a driech morning in Auld Reekie. The event began with music from John Sampson, who performed a startling reveille on a hunting horn, followed by an audience singalong to the Skye Boat Song. The Poet Laureate began her readings with a moving piece about the Christmas truce of World War I. She then launched into an enjoyable medley from her 1999 collection The World’s Wife. 

Introducing the poem on Mrs Faust, with a straight face Duffy suggested Faust’s exchange of his soul for twenty-five years of unimagined power was a bit like Nick Clegg's coalition agreement “…although he won’t be getting that long.” The genial John Sampson then returned with a set of increasingly exotic instruments, including a crumhorn and an unpronounceable instrument from China. Twenty-five years ago, “…when Meryl Streep was still prime minister,” Carol Ann Duffy wrote a poem that was recently removed from the GCSE curriculum because an invigilator interpreted it as an incitement to violence. Duffy’s response was to sentence the objector to life imprisonment inside a poem. The wonderful Mrs Schofield’s GCSE appears in Duffy's latest collection, The Bees.

She read three further pieces from the book, including a stunning poem called Cold, about the death of her own mother. Duffy closed with an uplifting poem in which she imagines meeting her mother for the first time at the moment of her death, and then going back in time with her. It was a magical conclusion to a hugely enjoyable event. John Sampson's contribution nicely complemented the words. But with or without music, Carol Ann Duffy is always on song. [James Carson] 

An addition to James's comments above: There was a second performance of this event the next day. It was virtually identical - same poems, same political jokes - but for the guest appearance of Roger McGough, who received a large round of applause. Perhaps because of this, he asked Carol Ann Duffy if he could just take over the event, but "No," she said. "You're not the Poet Laureate." "No," he repeated, mock-bitterly, "....I'm not the Poet Laureate." It was all in good fun. [Keir Hind]