G Wilson Knight

 I first came across Dick (G[eorge Richard] Wilson Knight), whose intimate domestic name Dick is from his second Christian name Richard, in the mid-1960s when reading his THE WHEEL OF FIRE during my undergraduate years in University of Baghdad. In Spring 1972 when reading for my MA in University of Leeds where Dick was Professor Emeritus but living in Exeter in his brother Jackson's Caroline House (named after mama Caroline) whose threshold I was destined to cross in Summer 1980, I attended a lecture delivered by Dick (read it, dear Ib, in Dick's book published later titled NEGLECTED POWERS). Brother Jackson was Emeritus Professor of Classics, University of Exeter and he was the translator of Vergil's ANEID in the Penguin Classics series. (Unfortunately, I didn't meet Jackson for he had been dead). Dick's lecture was on one of his icons, John Cowper Poyse, of the three Welsh Poyse brothers who were all men-of-letters and no wonder as their great-uncle was the celebrated nervously-unhinged eighteenth-century English poet William Cowper the man with the oft-quoted line (I first read it in Palgrave's TREASURY--whoever read beautiful poetry for the first time but read it not in Palgrave's TREASURY!) by Alexander Silkirk on whom DD modelled his Robinson Crusoe: "I am the monarch of all that I survey."
Dick (1897-1985), like his brother Jackson, a couple of years his senior, lived and died a celibate. Dick died on a highly Shakespearean day, the ides of March, the Soothsayer's warning to Caesar: "Beware the ides of March." By the way, in Spring 1995, our Mustansiriyah University colleague the heart-conditioned Najiyah, the one who did in a French university a PhD on that What's-his-name Renaissance dramatist who choked to death of over-eating, tried her hand--I assisted her as elocution coach--at directing our students in a stage version of JULIUS CAESAR. If you sought a Shakespearean authortiy to give you the best second opinion on your present paper RENAISSANCE ASPECTS IN SHAKESPEARE, it had to be Wilson Knight. One noon-time I stepped into his house and was in the mind of leaving with him some material I had written on Shaw so that I would call next day to collect it corrected by him. He told me to hold on, and I, standing by his chair watching him as if he was a falcon devouring its prey verociuosly, waited for about twenty minutes until he handed me my paper, fully corrected. Dick and I parted on an unfriendly tone. After a friendship with Dick was lasted over four years, one evening in the City of Exeter's Ship Inn where according to legend the celebtared British Renaissance seaman Drake drank ale, I was boozing with a curious bunch. One of the bunch was Bill, a former lion-tamer, WWII glider flier and a some-time stage actor and the son of a stage actors in a travelling troupe. Bill, having a stage background, used to recite lines from Shakespeare, and one day indeed night, after reciting Prospero's speech: "Our revels are now ended ... " turned to me as said: "Siddeek, if this not greatness, what's greatness then?". Other members of the bunch was Alec who after sipping a quick double gin and lime would excuse himself to disappear to return about half an hour later. We discovered that he would go for a prayer at the Exeter Cathedral next door to the Ship Inn, then he would come back to resume revels with us by his drinking Guiness. Christine whose husband was bed ridden cripple was another one of the bunch. Christine's husband whom we never met had been a successful hotelier and restauranteur in Torquy, a seaside town south of Exeter. Aspiring to expand his empire of hotel busniness, he bought two more hotels. Mismanagement turned him penniless. When he received court's orders to be put in debtors' prison, he fell crippled once and for all. Another one in the bunch was John Rice, a local unpublished young poet, originally Liverpudlian, who never wore socks and pants. It was John Rice who had originally provided me with Dick's telephone number and address. Now that particular evening, I told John Rice that Dick was a millionaire due to royalties of his books which were over 40 in number. Next morning, John Rice showed up at Caroline House begging money from Dick. Whan Dick asked John who told him that he was well off enough to give money to people in charity, John Rice told him it was me. Following evening, at the Ship Inn, John Rice told me he could procure 100 pounds from Dick. John Rice said to me :"Wilson Knight said angrily :'Let Siddeek Tawfeek not discuss my money in public.' "
The key to G Wilson Knight's approach to Shakespearean tragedy is that in tragedy there is triumph over life. After telling me this, he recited King Lear's passage to his daughter Cordelia after both are captured and he tells her that they would sit in a cage and watch people in their going and coming and to laugh at them. This stems from his optimistic view to human existence, a view that is Judaic-Christian and not Hellenic, and he prided himself on being one eighth Jewish. The man himself was a practising religionist, and when I invited him to celebrate my 36th birthday at girl-friend Frances's place in Exeter, he arrived in a car driven by a co-churchgoer. He also told me that one could triumph over tragedy by laughing at it, then he mentioned that we could laugh at Macbeth himself, but, he added, we couldn't laugh at Hitler who to him, on basis of holocaust, was the only unforgiven villain
Asking him about his favourite of the 40 plus books he had authored, he told me it was THE CHRISTIAN RENAISSANCE, out of print then and nowadays. Among his favourite authors beside Shakespeare, were Byron, Poe, Wilde, Shaw and John Cowper Powys, his icon and mentor in literature and in life, and one of his most favourite books was the play HASSAN from which he frequently recited to me the song that ends with the phrase: "on the road to Isfahan."
At 1 pm on 1st September 1981 G Wilson Knight stepped into my residence the Glwdyr, 41 Danes Road, Exeter. He came on foot as his residence in Caroline House which was about a mile's walk from my place. I served him mixed grill of beef chunks, mutton kebbab, kidnneys and lamb liver on a bed of burghul with pickled paprika and cucumbers. Dessert was konafa I had bought from the Greek delacatessen in town. After that we entered the living room where I had hidden the microphone to record our conversation. Result was a 50- minute- unguarded- moment conversation where the old man talked about his literary taste, personal habits and his writings on Shakespeare, and how one day he went to meet TS Eliot in his office at Lloyds Bank where Eliot worked as a clerk in order to negotiate publishing his first book, THE WHEEL OF FIRE, as Eliot was influential in publishing circles. Result: book was published with an introduction by Eliot.
G Wilson Knight the eminent Shakespearan critic whom I used to visit in his home, told me once that he was a great admirer and avid reader of the novel HAJJI BABA OF ISFAHAN and the play HASSAN. Indeed, such literary works--a cynical critic called them "sub-literature"--are highly enjoyable and extremely entertaining, and their literary merits are not inferior at all. I remember the beautifual English the author uses in HAJJI BABA OF ISFAHAN , and the beautiful lyrics in HASSAN, especially that song which says something to the effect of " .. and take the road to Samarkand ..." Furthermore, I love the history and geography of the area extending from Samarkand thru Bukhara to the mountains and valleys of Afghnistan, the area where Genghis Khan--one of my heroes--dwelt. And as you know Genghis Khan was grandda of Kublai Khan immortalised by Coleridge, and this links me more tightly to Genghis Khan. Many a Renaissance dramatist wrote plays with historical and geographical background of that part of the world