Titlebook: Harold Monro; Poet of the New Age Dominic Hibberd Book 2001 Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited 2001 Bertrand Ru

FLING

Inheritance, Sophia Monro — handsome, heavy-featured, pious, deeply conservative, worried about everything — practised melancholy almost as an art, and with good reason. Her husband Edward had been a compulsive gambler, bankrupting himself several times before dying of consumption on the Riviera at the age of 4

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kidney

,Ireland 1902–6, for about five years, time enough to become a poet. He would have over a year of the rural solitude prescribed by Romantic tradition, and after that there would be Dorothy to share life with him. His job required only a few hours’ daily attendance in an office and probably some travelling round the

bronchodilator

GLOOM

,Pilgrimage to Freedom 1908–9,k had found it while walking in the mountains of southern Switzerland, later discovering that solitary long-distance walks were an essential part of the Samurai discipline. Harold decided his own search would start with a ‘pilgrimage’, a journey of the soul through snow and hard weather to the ever-

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,The Mountain and the Tower 1909–11,or the mind and one for the body. He discovered the mountain first, windswept and comfortless, fit for Supermen, a place of self-discipline and hard work. Then he — or rather Maurice — found the tower, a medieval one in Florence, the city of aesthetic and sensual delight. For a while he shuttled bet

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,The Poetry Review 1911–12,Palace Hotel, the smell of English tobacco, the terraces of drab houses — and Harold was amused by his excitement, though none too excited himself at being back in England. The papers were full of news about strikes, armed escorts for food convoys, the growing threat from Germany and trouble in Irel

gruelling

Visual-Acuity

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