Hilary Davies  (UK)

Tribute to Richard Berengarten

My first encounter with Richard dates back over forty years when he was the enabling power behind the wonderful Cambridge Poetry Festival. Even though I did not actually meet him then, that gathering of many different minds and colloquy of voices came out of his vision, and hangs in the memory. It was independent, variegated, ambitious. It was also where I saw, for the only time, two poets on stage together whose early love affair had become legendary through the novella, By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept. Their names were Elizabeth Smart and George Barker; nearly two decades later I was to marry their son.

Many years passed. In that time meetings with Richard were sporadic: at poetry readings, book launches, occasionally friends’ parties. He had known my future husband, Sebastian Barker, for much longer and they shared a mutual and profound passion for Greece. I remember them talking for many hours about the poets they mutually admired: Seferis and Elytis in particular; and the country and landscape they loved. Richard is a very gifted linguist and demonstrates all the understanding of the complex and subtle interwovenness of languages that such knowledge brings.

It is the range and depth of Richard’s lived experience of other histories, geographies and cultural traditions that distinguishes him in modern British poetry. His knowledge of other poetic cultures – Balkan, Chinese, French, Jewish and more – informs and enriches his own work; his engagement with poetic form and forms is second to none. To mention but two collections: his Balkan Trilogy is a masterly meditation on the great themes of suffering, sin, love and redemption, whilst his most recent volume, The Wine Cup, is as delicate and intoxicating as the wine it celebrates. His poetry gives and gives the more you read it.

I owe Richard a debt of gratitude I can never repay. My husband’s last book of poems The Land of Gold, was published in early 2014. It was by then known that he was dying. Richard organised a reading from it in the chapel of Trinity College, Cambridge, with himself, Clive Wilmer, myself and my husband reading. Friends came from far and wide; my husband’s three daughters travelled up from London. Richard spoke eloquently about the passions the two men shared; the audience was spellbound; afterwards there was a celebratory dinner nearby where talk of poetry flowed as liberally as the wine. Two days later my husband died very suddenly: Richard’s generosity to a fellow poet and friend had, it turned out, provided a consummation of all that Sebastian had lived for and believed in, spent in the company of those he loved. It is a gift whose worth is beyond words.

Photo above shows Octavio Paz in the centre, with Anthony Rudolf and Richard Berengarten to the right. Marie-José Tramini, Paz's wife, has her arms around his shoulders.

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