FRAZER, TONY FRAZER
I first met Tony in 1994 in Hong Kong when I was teaching for part of the summer in Kowloon. It was August of far eastern humidity and jetlag disorientation and a world completely unfamiliar to me. We took the ferry over to Macao and had lunch in Tony’s apartment above the bay. We sat down to talk behind sweeping floor to ceiling glass and looked at the cinematic panorama. Tony knock knocked the glass, ‘See that, that’s bullet proof glass. Ha.’ I think I heard the James Bond theme tune begin at this point. You may think the glass was there to rebuff the rivalries of over-heated poets. It was rather about Tony’s day job with HSBC. The glass had been installed for him. Its absence had caused his predecessor a very serious problem when he was targeted by the assertive negotiation tactics of local financial rivals. They took a shot at him.
So I’d met this chap who lived in various exotic places, understood international finance and was possessed of an unlimited enthusiasm for poetry. TS Eliot and Wallace Stevens aside, I don’t think there are many characters in the poetry business who can even read a balance sheet. My first impression was that Tony knew his way around much more than just a balance sheet. This is why I maintain that banking was a cover and he was really a spy. ‘Oh no no, but I’ve known a few,’ he’ll say. Of course he has to say that doesn’t he. He’s worked in the Far East, the Middle East and South America in a world of shifting, secretive alliances, revolution, unpredictable events and obsessive characters. Perhaps the transition to poetry publishing is not so surprising. I say no more of this, we have an understanding – my silence for his - about my first encounter with a karaoke machine which also formed part of our first meeting.
As we know the bullet proof glass kept him safe for poetry. Without him the voice of poetry in the UK, the States and elsewhere would be significantly reduced and left to sing off the same dull hymn sheet. Working with him, as guest editor of the Shearsman magazine and as a reader for the press, is instructive. To begin with, it’s very hard to wrest work from his hands despite how busy he might be - surrounded by piles of manuscripts, books to proof, books to post and books to read. Then you discover how quickly he works. Next you’re floored by the realisation that uniquely for a publisher he does exactly what he says he will do. Tony’s unstinting generosity, good sense and boundless energy shines brightly in a dim world. He lives his enthusiasms. His entirely typical, open, unbloody mindedness has produced a range and profusion of books which would not be there without him. ‘Of course this won’t make a fortune, it might just earn its keep, but you sense it had to be written, so I have to do it.’ is the formula driving his happy industry.
I first met Tony in 1994 in Hong Kong when I was teaching for part of the summer in Kowloon. It was August of far eastern humidity and jetlag disorientation and a world completely unfamiliar to me. We took the ferry over to Macao and had lunch in Tony’s apartment above the bay. We sat down to talk behind sweeping floor to ceiling glass and looked at the cinematic panorama. Tony knock knocked the glass, ‘See that, that’s bullet proof glass. Ha.’ I think I heard the James Bond theme tune begin at this point. You may think the glass was there to rebuff the rivalries of over-heated poets. It was rather about Tony’s day job with HSBC. The glass had been installed for him. Its absence had caused his predecessor a very serious problem when he was targeted by the assertive negotiation tactics of local financial rivals. They took a shot at him.
So I’d met this chap who lived in various exotic places, understood international finance and was possessed of an unlimited enthusiasm for poetry. TS Eliot and Wallace Stevens aside, I don’t think there are many characters in the poetry business who can even read a balance sheet. My first impression was that Tony knew his way around much more than just a balance sheet. This is why I maintain that banking was a cover and he was really a spy. ‘Oh no no, but I’ve known a few,’ he’ll say. Of course he has to say that doesn’t he. He’s worked in the Far East, the Middle East and South America in a world of shifting, secretive alliances, revolution, unpredictable events and obsessive characters. Perhaps the transition to poetry publishing is not so surprising. I say no more of this, we have an understanding – my silence for his - about my first encounter with a karaoke machine which also formed part of our first meeting.
As we know the bullet proof glass kept him safe for poetry. Without him the voice of poetry in the UK, the States and elsewhere would be significantly reduced and left to sing off the same dull hymn sheet. Working with him, as guest editor of the Shearsman magazine and as a reader for the press, is instructive. To begin with, it’s very hard to wrest work from his hands despite how busy he might be - surrounded by piles of manuscripts, books to proof, books to post and books to read. Then you discover how quickly he works. Next you’re floored by the realisation that uniquely for a publisher he does exactly what he says he will do. Tony’s unstinting generosity, good sense and boundless energy shines brightly in a dim world. He lives his enthusiasms. His entirely typical, open, unbloody mindedness has produced a range and profusion of books which would not be there without him. ‘Of course this won’t make a fortune, it might just earn its keep, but you sense it had to be written, so I have to do it.’ is the formula driving his happy industry.