I don’t even dislike modernist poets, but we’ve come to a pretty pass when anyone who writes in older forms — some of which have existed for 600 years — is castigated, as I was by dear old Michael Horovitz. He says that as long as I insist on scrupulous metre and rhyme, I can never be a true poet. How so when all true poets once wrote that way? I’m just doing my best labouring away with sestinas and villanelles.

The first of Simon’s poems that I looked at, The Flags of the Nations, is a list, apparently of coloured bags to be used in a hospital. I applaud the idea and I even like this poem’s sullen menace, but after five read-throughs I found myself no wiser as to its meaning.

The Back Man is much more like it. This piece is not free verse, of course; it is blank verse. Simon is strict with this metre. It was a splendid read, with so many images, and wasn’t even remotely boring. The first part of the poem describes an expedition of some sort and he is imagining the animals. Then we’re off on a long tour of tremendous similes and metaphors, but it doesn’t seem to connect with the journey. Look at how it ends: “not kneeling empty-handed, open mouthed,/ at the altar, but in the barber’s chair/ or tattoo parlour”. I loved the way that it bounced along, and all the images, but at the end I just wish I felt moved.

The third poem, The Shout — about two boys “testing the range of the human voice” — is a cracker with two great punchlines. But I was dying to get hold of it and turn it into a villanelle: the echoing shouts could be reinforced by the repetition present in a villanelle. I will turn it into a villanelle if Simon will take one of mine and turn it into free verse. There’s a challenge for you.

The Shout is a great idea. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but I blush to admit — horror of horrors for the postmodern English professor — that I was itching to structure it. Of course, in its current form, it has a lightness of touch. It doesn’t feel worked; there is no smell of the lamp. If I tried to turn it into a villanelle, there might be a slight smokiness. On the other hand, a great many more people might enjoy it.

But why am I playing to the gallery? What does it matter whether people enjoy or understand it? Unfortunately, I’ve got this dreadful idea that poetry should also be entertaining. It can’t be entirely instructive. So I could make it more entertaining, but that might go against the grain.

Felix Dennis’s Lone Wolf is published by Hutchinson. A new Did I Mention The Free Wine? reading tour begins on Monday. Tickets for most events are free and can be obtained by registering online at www.felixdennis.com

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