There is something peculiarly poignant about a poet who burns with such fierce satirical energy, who seems to embody the very spirit of angry, impatient youth, and who then dies at thirty years old — as if the intensity of the flame had consumed the wick. John Oldham lived only three decades, yet in that brief span he produced a body of work remarkable for its ferocity, its metrical daring, and its willingness to dra…
“I wear my Pen as others do their Sword. To each affronting sot I meet, the word is Satisfaction: straight to thrusts I go, and pointed satire runs him through and through.”