When I watched the movie last night, Alan Bates rising from the hay, Peter Finch striding the marketplace, Terence Stamp a slim Grenadier, I wanted to shout out these were the three most handsome men ever to walk the planet. Quickly I realized that old tendency of my race to assume itself sole proprietor of the world was a knee jerk I wanted to fight. All I needed was one adjective, to wit: white.
An anthology of poetry I have been rereading, Chief Modern Poets of Britain and America,Vol. II: Poets of America, is a great reminder of fine poems, it reminds only of fine poems by white people and should be: Chief Modern White Poets of Britain and America,Vol. II: Poets of White America. Ditto these three heart breakers are to be clearly labeled.
Three of the grandest white men to descend from Olympus as ever white men were to descend from Olympus are Peter Finch, Terence Stamp, Alan Bates. Three sets of blue eyes, handsome faces not bland. My people of the white race will have much to account for in our final days. Know we can offer these three men (and Julie Christie) as proof our hearts beat wildly and in the right place now and then. We can offer Thomas Hardy's novels, every damn last one of them, most Schlesinger movies, most Nicholas Roge (cinematographer for Madding) movies, all Thomas Hardy Poetry, Wessex country and the great uneven and red-cheeked English countenance, with a hope St. Peter'll curl up on his high stool in rapture.