‘There is no cure’ diagnosis led poet Phil Poole to chronicle final months

Published: 4 February 2010
by TOM FOOT

IT is the kind of condition we all dread, but for poet Phil Poole incurable cancer became his muse.
The 65-year-old wood­carver died at home on Monday, days before a collection of more than 100 poems chronicling his last year was due to be published.
Fellow poets and friends of Mr Poole, a regular at Torriano Meeting House in Kentish Town, spoke of his courage and his development as a writer.
Poet John Rety said: “Really, he realised he was no longer writing poems, rather he was putting important thoughts together in poetic form. It made him into a poet – and he was an exceptional one.”
In the introduction to the anthology of Mr Poole’s poems, which will be published later this month, poet Leah Fritz recalled hearing him reading his work at Torriano. She said: “Suddenly I woke up to a talent that I had missed over the years spent only half-listening.
“He was very supportive of the venue and when it was under threat by its landlords, Camden Council.”
Last June, oncologists at Whittington Hospital in Highgate discovered a tumor in his gullet that was malignant. Days later, he was told it was terminal.
Mr Poole’s poems begin the moment the nurse “tells me there is no cure”, continue with the Dawn Before the Op and on to his final poem, written last week and titled Death’s Compliment.
It reads: “‘You have fought well,’ said death from within the absence of his cowl. Many whine and cringe and ask: ‘Why me? Why me?’”
Born in Birmingham, Mr Poole studied English at university, where he became interested in John Milton and the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke.
A member of an elite group of woodcarvers, Mr Poole built his own house in Highgate and was deeply proud to have worked alone on a five-year restoration of clocks designed by Augustus Pugin and gothic furnishings inside the Houses of Parliament.
Artist Thelma Riley, a friend and neighbour for 36 years, said: “He was always totally individual and independent. He took a terrific intellectual interest in his condition.”
In an interview with the New Journal in July last year, Mr Poole said: “I always liked poetry but I wanted to do something physical with my life. The life of a writer is an unhealthy one. You would have to force yourself out to get some exercise, and I’m not the type of person to do that. So I spent 30 years doing other things.
“It was being creative in a different way though – poetry in motion, you could say.”
Mr Poole leaves behind a sister and his wife, Urja Burdhart, who lives in Germany.
His funeral is at Golders Green Crematorium on February 19. Friends will read his poetry at Torriano Meeting House  from 7.30pm on February 14.