In Memoriam

P.J. Kavanagh, a poet who declared himself Irish
but who was quintessentially, impenetrably
third-generation English,
and declared:
                        I declare my triumphant uselessness, and sing
of, for example:

...yesterday a mist
draped shrubbery in white, like frost

(new cobwebs, dewed, in layers).
 

I wrote of that, as though no wars,
diseases, prisons, others’ cares

affected me one jot.

And he concurred with the great and (of course) unrecognised English poet Peter Reading: 

Phoney-rustic bards,

Spare us your thoughts about birds.