Saying when a genre began is usually so difficult it’s not worth discussing. So we can’t say Radclyffe Hall’s 1928 The Well of Loneliness began lesbian literature in Britain, but it definitely started something. It was banned in Britain after its 1928 obscenity trial (part of the same run of trials as Lady Chatterley), but the printings from France that made their way over the Channel in the next few decades managed to make the book into the founding text of a twentieth century, British, explicitly lesbian canon. The influence of its impassioned, political discussion of ‘sexual inversion’ was extraordinary, for queer literature in general and lesbian literature specifically.

Unfortunately, the defining feature of the canon it inspired was relentless depression. Emma Donoghue commented in her history of lesbianism in fiction that every lesbian narrative in this period seemed to be identical. According to literature, queer women only exist in very dark rooms on overcast days under the threat of something terrible. The terrible thing invariably happens, and an astonishing number of novels ended with double suicides. The trend towards devastating misery, which was overwhelming in the first part of the twentieth century, has petered out eventually. This process seems to begin with t he pulp novels that arrived in Britain from the USA, with part comedy, part soft porn titles like Sin Girls and Her Raging Needs. In the last few decades, critically acclaimed and influential writers including Sarah Waters and Jeanette Winterson have given fictional lesbians wellreceived and well-written happy endings. It is still worth wondering, though, why there is such an emotional black hole at the beginning of the canon.

The most likely answer is probably that there had never been a cohesive lesbian identity in Britain before. Lesbian histories of Britain never have much material to write about before the 1920s. The gay male community, which was more heavily persecuted in the nineteenth century and earlier, had something communally to rail against that they could define themselves through. The first hint of a lesbian rallying cry in Britain inspired writers hungry for a feeling of community to mimic it and emulate its style. And so the twentieth century British lesbian writer was shaped by the tragically bleak, desperate final words of the novel, Stephen’s prayer as she watches the love of her life abandon her for a man, “‘God,’ she gasped, ‘we believe; we have told You we believe… We have not denied You, then rise up and defend us. Acknowledge us, oh God, before the whole world. Give us also the right to our existence!”

This week’s work of monumental art is The Colossus, an oil on canvas painting made by Francisco de Goya in 1812. Goya was a Spanish Romantic painter, whose many paintings and etchings critique the politically tumultuous time in which he lived. In the second decade of the nineteenth century, Spain was occupied by the forces of Napoleon Bonaparte, whose reinstatement of the country’s monarchy crushed the hopes of liberals like Goya. This political upheaval culminated in the Peninsular War, at the end of which, in 1814, British and Spanish forces finally evicted the French.

The Colossus has been seen by many as Goya’s allegory for Spanish resistance during the period of French occupation. The giant’s aggressive posture, with his fists raised in defence against some unseen enemy, is argued to articulate this allegory. This interpretation fits neatly with the long held assumption that the painting is based on Juan Bautista Arriaza’s patriotic poem, ‘Pyrenean Prophecy’, written in 1810.

But assume that the painting is just romantic glorification of the people’s resistance and you elide many of the ambiguities and equivocations Goya has worked in to it. For instance, it is unclear whether the legs of the gigantic figure are just occluded by mountains, or whether they are actually stuck in the ground – if they are, then it can hardly be seen as the most drum-thwacking endorsement of the people’s power.

Also, the Colossus’s adversary is not even shown – is he just confusedly facing up to no one at all? And why are all the animals in the foreground running away? Are they running away from his foe, or just scarpering before he turns around? This ambiguity exists because the Colossus himself is such a questionable receptacle for our sympathies. He seems too ominous, too monstrous, to be a neat allegory for the noble resistance of the people. Or perhaps he is an allegory for the people, just not so flattering a one.

So Goya’s painting is a work of monumental art because it is too complex to be contained within neat, allegorising interpretations. The longer we look at it the more of our questions we realise it refuses to answer.

Those who feel that poetry is anachronistic and irrelevant in our wonderfully modernised world are perhaps unlikely to be convinced of its power to speak to the very heart of the universal human condition by the headlines (okay, the Guardian’s Culture section) surrounding the current election for the Oxford Professorship of Poetry. I will admit that Melvyn Bragg – Radio 4’s resident know-it-all and current Big Voice in the candidacy debate – is perhaps not the most convincing ambassador for immediacy and cultural relevance. But if we look past Bragg’s well-meaning shit-stirring – first he supports Soyinka, now he’s rooting for Armitage? What next? – we can perhaps agree that the elections do represent a genuinely exciting cultural moment.

The Professorship is second only to the position of Poet Laureate in terms of prestige, and hence carries with it huge weight in determining what we really think of when we think of poetry. The tensions that arise when the position is contested – whether a candidate is too grand, too old, too male, too white – are not solely a result of our poetic expectations; they tell us more than we perhaps realise about who we want in a position of power over culture itself.

The position of Oxford Professor of Poetry has been in existence since 1708, when Henry Birkhead decided in classic fashion that he wanted to do something important with all his money. Since then, the chair has been held by some of literature and poetry’s absolute titans – Matthew Arnold (1857- 1867), A.C. Bradley (1901-1906), W.H. Auden (1956- 1961), Seamus Heaney (1989-1994), Christopher Ricks (2004-2009) – and yes, you would be correct to observe that all of these titans are drawn from the same pool; they’re all white men.

The Professorship is a visible marker of the extent to which one group still dominates our collective idea of poetry, an idea which has only recently shown signs of being eroded with the inclusion of women and people of colour in nominations for the post. The post is awarded once every five years, and is interestingly the only position in the University still elected by Convocation (the collective name for all graduates of the institution; it was originally the main governing body of the University itself). All candidates must be backed by at least 50 Oxford graduates, and the ‘single criterion for eligibility’ is, fairly intimidatingly, that ‘candidates be of sufficient distinction to be able to fulfil the duties of the post’.

The list of nominees this year proves the post is as distinguished and covetable as it has ever been, and indeed represents an exciting choice to be made about what we expect from the holder of the position. Wole Soyinka is the current frontrunner, with an impressive 149 nominations – and the questionable honour of being first backed and then spurned by none other than Melvyn Bragg, who ‘queried the age’ of the octogenarian poet (perhaps forgetting that the current Professor, Geoffrey Hill, seems to get on just fine at the age of 82). Soyinka, who became the first African recipient of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1986, is a towering figure of poetry, drama and prose, whose astonishing literary output – combined with his commitment to justice and political activism – has won him the backing of many of the most prominent academics at the University.

Next in line is the lucky recipient of Bragg’s transferred affections, Simon Armitage – a man who perhaps defines more than any of his contemporaries the figure of the ‘working’ poet. Armitage combines a deep-rooted public popularity – he was the third best-selling living poet in the UK in 2013 – with a prolific teaching career, and has already spoken several times at Oxford in the recent past; he was recently invited to give the Richard Hillary Memorial Lecture, when his personable and accessible lecture won many round to his unassuming cause. Armitage writes in his statement that he would use the post “to discuss the situation of poetry and poets in the twenty-first century, to address the obstacles and opportunities brought about by changes in education, changes in reading habits, the internet, poetry’s decreasing ‘market share’, poetry’s relationship with the civilian world and the (alleged) long, lingering death of the book” – common ground, perhaps, with fellow nominee Ian Gregson, who wishes to address “how poetry has suffered, in recent decades, a catastrophic loss of cultural prestige and popularity”. Gregson’s cause seems admirable, but it seems perhaps a little backwards to campaign for one of the most elevated positions in the poetic landscape by asserting your very medium to be dead in the water.

Other nominees – Sean Haldane and A.E. Stallings among them – provide powerful and compelling statements stating their desire for the position. Though everyone loves a bit of competition, it almost feels like this singular position can never be enough wholly to speak for the truly exciting face of poetry as it operates today, for a poet’s work does not exist in a vacuum; like the crystallised statements these poets provide as evidence of their eligibility, individual poetic canons communicate with and cross-fertilise one another. Nonetheless, judging by the fervour surrounding the election, it seems the medium is very much alive in the public consciousness today.

Oxford’s Schola Cantorum, established in 1960, is what you get when you put some of the best singers in Oxford into one choir. I was lucky enough to sit in on one of the rehearsals for their upcoming concert ‘One Foot in Eden’, and despite planning to stay for half an hour ended up spending almost two hours there. It was captivating to watch expert conductor James Burton guide the choir through the repertoire, picking up on the tiniest details and helping the choir to engage fully with the music. A particular highlight of the rehearsal for me was Britten’s ‘Hymn to St Cecilia’, the words to which were written by W. H. Auden. Schola executed this difficult piece flawlessly, capturing at one its haunting beauty and mood of celebration.

Since its establishment, Schola has performed widely both in the UK and abroad, with concerts in recent years being given in Argentina, Italy, Israel, Mexico, Poland, Spain, China and France. In September last year the choir embarked on a hugely successful tour of the USA; the first time they have crossed the pond since 1989. Over the years Schola has produced some of the country’s finest singers, including Emma Kirkby, Ian Bostridge, Jane Glover, Laurence Cummings and Christine Rice, all of whom would consider their time in Schola as formative. Schola gives Oxford’s most talented singers who often sing in college choirs a chance to perform secular and contemporary music that church choirs don’t usually offer, and it was clear from watching everyone how much they all enjoyed this change.

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The concert on Sunday 14^th June will feature a summery selection of music, from Britten’s stunning ‘Hymn to St Cecilia’ and Flower songs, to Sibelius’ ‘Rakastava’ which is one of a number of Scandinavian songs on the programme. The choice of name ‘One Foot in Eden’ reflects the mix of pastoral and ecclesiastical that the repertoire contains and is also the title of a piece by Maw that the choir are performing. Many of the pieces are technically very challenging, so this concert is a great opportunity to hear an accomplished choir performing them. Last term I saw Schola perform Duke Ellington’s Sacred Concerts with Oxford University Jazz Orchestra, which was one of the most awesome musical experiences I’ve had during my time at Oxford. I can’t wait to see them perform again, and if you are free on Sunday evening then this opportunity to hear a truly world-class choir should absolutely not be missed.

Schola Cantorum’s ‘One Foot in Eden’ is on Sunday 14^th June, 8pm at the University Church of St Mary the Virgin.

Tickets available here: https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/date/168982 

Facebook event: https://www.facebook.com/events/1435541303417056/

Croquet is one of those things that reeks of Oxford. Close your eyes and picture a group in blazers and sun dresses tottering around a lawn. Now lose that image and accept that croquet is just an excuse for day time drinking and procrastination in the sun. 

1. ‘All The Small Things’ – Blink-182

Croquet is, without a doubt, a game for those who like the small things in life.

2. ‘Bitch’ – The Rolling Stones

Playing croquet with frenemies might be cathartic, as you smash their balls to the other side of the lawn.

3. ‘We’re All In This Together’ – High School Musical

Croquet is very much a team game, as expressed by this sickly song.

4. ‘No Need To Argue’ – The Cranberries

Warning: don’t play croquet with your significant other. Arguments will follow.

5. ‘Sunny Afternoon’ – The Kinks

Grab a couple of Stellas and head to your croquet lawn – there are few better ways to spend a sunny afternoon.

Last Monday saw the all conquering Years & Years roll into Oxford, fresh off of chart successes with smash singles ‘King’ and ‘Desire’. Playing to a sold out crowd at Cowley’s 02 Academy, the band showed why they’re amongst the most buzzed about bands in the UK, with a high energy infectious set that remained winsome even whilst the band’s relative newcomer status shone a little brightly.

The band ostensibly comprises three members, but even with an extra joining them for their live set, Years & Years remains essentially a solo act. The star is Olly Alexander, former Skins actor turned pop frontman, who engaged the crowd and seemed to be the main beneficiary of the adoring shrieks coming from the O2’s packed out first few rows. His voice soared across octaves, distinct enough never to get lost amongst the live instrumentation, malleable enough to run the gamut of tempos and emotions his songs cover.

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His performance connected with the excitable electricity within the often sneakily sinister lyrics that make Years & Years’ pop so fascinating. But up on stage, the slight Alexander didn’t entirely command. An endearingly sweet presence, he still seems overjoyed at this point in his band’s success that anybody is responding to them at all. Yet that he didn’t demand the audience’s attention hardly mattered, as his adoring followers gave it to him willingly. Every frenetic dance move or excitable jump elicited a huge response from the hugely game crowd, and his attempts to engage the back of the room were a nice touch. It’ll be interesting to see how long his wide eyed exuberance and humility can be maintained, as Years & Years complete their ascent to the top tier of UK acts.

Nevertheless, they barrelled through a set list that a less generous reviewer may critique as being a little front loaded with familiar hits. But when every song is a crowd pleaser – a position Years & Years fortunately find themselves in – it hardly matters. New single ‘Shine’ went down particularly well, and the band’s older tracks like ‘Take Shelter’ were received rapturously. The band tackled a tricky situation well; with their debut album not coming out until later this month, they’re still playing to crowds that at best can only be passingly familiar with the band’s oeuvre. But the new material sat alongside the prerelease singles nicely, and Alexander’s frequent trips to his sit down keyboard lent further variety to an already well crafted set. Years & Years delivered an immensely promising show from a young band. Despite not having fitted Oxford into their upcoming October tour, Alexander’s frequent expression of joy at the band’s reception suggest they’ll be back sooner rather than later.