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Nettling Authority: Lawrence’s Reaction to Censorship in his Late Poetry

Bethan Jones
p. 9-26

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1Throughout his writing career, D.H. Lawrence was plagued by censorship. The suppression of his novel The Rainbow in November 1915 marked the beginning of a process that would culminate in the battle over Lady Chatterley’s Lover: a novel riven with controversy as a result of its sexually explicit content and the breaking of class taboos. Yet it was an event subsequent to this clash with a resistant publishing industry over his last novel that will be the focus of this article.

  • 1 I am grateful to Christopher Pollnitz and John Worthen for providing detailed contextual informatio (...)

2On 14 June 1929 a number of Lawrence’s paintings were exhibited for private view at the Warren Street Gallery in London, and the following day the exhibition was opened to the public. The exhibition was immediately controversial: a Daily Express reviewer commented that some of the paintings, notably Spring, Fight with an Amazon and Boccaccio Story, would “compel most spectators to recoil with horror” (Nehls 1959: 338). One result of the notoriety of these paintings was that about 13,000 visitors flocked to the gallery to see them. Then, on 5 July, police raided the exhibition and impounded thirteen of the twenty-five paintings. Dorothy Warren (owner and manager of the gallery with her husband) was summoned, under the Obscene Publications Act, to “show cause why [the pictures] should not be burnt” (Nehls 1959: 361). A hearing was arranged in Marlborough Street on 8 August, presided over by the elderly magistrate Frederick Mead (1847–1945), with Percy Robinson acting for Lawrence, St John Hutchinson for Dorothy Warren, and Herbert G. Muskett prosecuting. It was Muskett who described the paintings as “gross, coarse, hideous, and unlovely from any aesthetic or artistic point of view,” and who drew attention to the representation of pubic hair in the paintings: “an almost invariable test” of obscenity (Nehls 1959: 382). Mead asserted his opinion that the paintings were obscene and should be condemned, but in the end agreed with the compromise proposed by Robinson that they should be released on condition they were never again exhibited in Britain (Nehls 1959: 381–7).1

3Lawrence’s reaction to the suppression and near destruction of his paintings was one of profound bitterness and frustration. It was principally this event that catalysed his composition of the Nettles collection, characterised by barbed, vitriolic poems attacking modern society and its authority figures. Drafts of these poems are to be found within the manuscript generally known as the “More Pansies” notebook, but now to be published as the “Nettles” notebook by Christopher Pollnitz in his impending Cambridge University Press edition of Lawrence’s poems. It was from this notebook that Lawrence selected the poems to be incorporated in Nettles; these drafts were mostly revised and reordered within their new context.

4Lawrence spoke to Charles Lahr about his idea of preparing “a little set of poems” in late November (Lawrence 1993: 578), while earlier in the year he had in fact foreseen a volume that would be a sequel to Pansies, in a similar vein (Lawrence 1993: 412). Yet his dissatisfaction with Lahr’s capacity to make a visually presentable book of Pansies probably influenced his decision to publish a shorter selection with an established publisher. On 13 December 1929, he posted an autograph manuscript of his “Nettles” poems to Laurence Pollinger to be issued as a Faber pamphlet (Lawrence 1993: 595). Nettles would become No. 11: a follow-up to Lawrence’s successful Pornography and Obscenity which was published as No. 5 in Faber’s Criterion Miscellany series. Unlike Last Poems, Nettles has the status of an authorially determined completed volume: Lawrence was correcting proofs (probably the galley proofs) on the morning of 6 February 1930, before leaving for the Ad Astra sanatorium in Vence (see Brewster 1934: 309).

5In this article I will discuss two poems—“13 Pictures” and “Auto da Fe”—which reflect Lawrence’s most explicit (and raw) response to the seizing of his paintings. Subsequently, I will focus on a group of “nettles” comprising the “Songs I Learnt at School” sequence (incorporating three poems), “13000 People,” “Innocent England” and “Give me a Sponge.” I have elected to discuss these poems following the order in which they were collected within Nettles, rather than the order in which they were composed.

613 Pictures” and “Auto da Fe” were drafted as numbers 89 and 90 within the “Nettles” notebook but were not selected by Lawrence for the published Nettles volume. The raid took place on 5 July, the day before Lawrence was driven by automobile to Florence where he stayed from 6–16 July, so “13 Pictures” marked the transition between poems composed at Forte dei Marmi to poems written in Florence. This poem begins:

  • 2 This, and all subsequent citations derive from D.H. Lawrence: Complete Poems, ed. Vivian de Sola Pi (...)

O my thirteen pictures are in prison!
O somebody bail them out!
I don’t know what they’ve done, poor things, but justice has arisen
in the shape of half-a-dozen stout
policemen and arrested them, and hauled them off to gaol.2

7This “nettle” was written at a time when Lawrence was still uncertain about the fate of his paintings, and before the hearing at Marlborough Street. It provides an account of the raid that correlates very closely with the actual events. Lawrence alludes to “half-a-dozen stout / policemen” who “hauled [the pictures] off to gaol,” while in his 1957 account, Philip Trotter, husband of Dorothy Warren and fellow manager of the Warren Gallery, remembered two plain-clothes detectives and two uniformed constables entering the Gallery while a “cordon of constables” and a police van were stationed outside (Nehls 1959: 343-4).

8A number of paintings—victims of the policemen’s cruel and unnecessary attack—are mentioned in the poem, though not all that appear were actually among those seized:

O my nice Boccaccio, O how goes your pretty tale
locked up in a dungeon cell
with Eve and the Amazon, the Lizard and the frail
Renascence, all sent to hell […]

9According to Trotter, Lawrence’s Boccaccio Story and Fight with an Amazon “may fairly be assumed to have precipitated the crisis” (Nehls 1959: 354). The reference to Eve relates to Flight Back into Paradise (see Ellis 1998: 330); “the Lizard” obviously indicates the painting with this exact title (Ellis 1998: 409); while “the frail / Renascence” designates Renascence of Men (Ellis 1998: 458). Of the paintings referred to here, only Boccaccio Story and Fight with an Amazon were among the thirteen impounded.

10Conspicuously here, and in many of the other poems to be discussed, Lawrence refers to his paintings as prisoners. This was the case in his correspondence from first learning of the raid; on 9 July 1929 he wrote to Dorothy Warren: “Well, there’s a go! even the Boccaccio Story and ‘Eve’ shut up in prison now, with only Mr Mead to look at them. Hope he’ll get his meed” (Lawrence 1993: 361). Subsequently, upon receiving a telegram from Dorothy Warren, evidently vowing to fight the confiscation on principle, Lawrence declared to her that his priority was the recovery of the paintings: “you don’t say if you’ve got the pictures out of prison — and I’m so anxious about that” (Lawrence 1993: 367).

  • 3 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 633-4.

11By the time he composed his next poem on the subject—“Auto da Fe”3—the situation had progressed. Lawrence knew that his chief enemy was Frederick Mead (not “Meade,” l. 22), the octogenarian magistrate at the Police Courts at Marlborough Street (not “Road”) who may have authorised the police raid and who certainly presided over the case. The poem is distinctive in employing an extended parallel: its title literally translates as “act of faith” (Spanish), but specifically refers to the public burning of a heretic by the Inquisition. Lawrence was familiar with the term through “The Grand Inquisitor” chapter (Book V, ch. v) in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, and would refamiliarise himself with the chapter by writing an “Introduction to The Grand Inquisitor” (Lawrence 2005: 127–34).

12When Lawrence was first informed of the threat to burn his paintings, he immediately thought of their destruction as an “auto da fe” (Lawrence 1993: 363). In a letter to Maria Huxley of 10 July he wrote: “You have heard of the catastrophe, of course—13 pictures seized and in gaol […] and threatened to be burnt—auto da fe” (Lawrence 1993: 363). In the poem, he uses the expression “Unholy Inquisition” to expose the irony of something that is allegedly moral and lawful, yet actually involves a fundamental miscarriage of justice—even murder. Following this analogy, Mr Mead, who asserted his opinion that the paintings were obscene and should be condemned, becomes the Grand Inquisitor, and a mock-heroic rhetoric is employed in order to deride his rather haughty and pompous persona: “Oh he has put his pince nez on.” The six stout policemen of the previous poem have now become the “Inquisitors minor,” interestingly losing stature through shuffling down the hierarchy of authority. In the previous poem, these rotund and ruthless policemen were the principle villains, as the magistrate was as yet unnamed and therefore not a convincing or satisfying target for satire. The stout bobbies therefore occupied the foreground as the principal figures of threat. Here, however, they are merely “minor” figures—pawns in this game—hence “six fat smaller fry” and “busy-busy bobbies.”

13In “Auto da Fe” the pictures are not only prisoners by implication, as in the last poem, but “my darling pictures, prisoners”: the narrative voice is unashamedly protective and tender. In addition, the figures depicted in the paintings become animate characters, sentient and carefree, as is evident in the portrayal of “the gardener whose shirt’s blown back.” In Boccaccio’s Decameron, Day 3, Novel 1 (1348–53) and also in Lawrence’s painting Boccaccio Story, the convent gardener’s smock has ridden up, exposing him to the passing nuns as he pretends to sleep (Lawrence actually conflates two such scenes in the painting). In Flight Back into Paradise, Lawrence painted “Eve dodging back into Paradise, between Adam and the Angel at the Gate who are having a fight about it” (Lawrence 1989: 639); within the rhetoric of the poem, however, Mead becomes the cause of Eve’s flight: she is “running from the likes of him.” The poem unequivocally reveals a sense of proprietary tenderness towards these wronged innocents, mixed with the kind of outrage evident in “All my pretty pictures huddled in the dark awaiting / their doom at the hands of Mr Meade.” Arguably, the first line in particular contains an oblique reference to Shakespeare’s “What, all my pretty chickens and their dam / At one fell swoop?” (Macbeth, Act IV Sc 3): the words spoken at the very moment when Macduff finds out about the murder of his family. Lawrence’s poem therefore associates itself with a paradigm of slaughtered innocence: an association that also hints at a personal catastrophe with nationwide ramifications. In Macbeth the consequences extend to the entire kingdom as one monarch is toppled and another crowned. In Lawrence’s poem, the burning of his paintings is seen to resonate beyond personal ire: “But the day they burn my pictures they burn the rose of England / and fertilise the weeds on every mead.” These lines hint at a betrayal of essential Englishness, here emblematised in the rose, and associated with the freedom that seems to be an illusion rather than a reality within this promised land. On 5 August, three days before the hearing at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court which would settle the fate of his paintings, Lawrence replied to a suggestion that he write a newspaper article on freedom: “I’ll try and do a freedom one—but feel a bit out of temper with England and her freedom” (Lawrence 1993: 405). This is a disillusionment that echoes throughout the “nettles,” including a sub-group of poems collectively entitled “Songs I Learnt at School.”

  • 4 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 574-9.

14This sub-group is to be found much later in the “Nettles” notebook than the poems discussed above.4 They constitute numbers 217–18 in the notebook, but in the subsequent published volume Nettles, Lawrence rearranged the poems so they appear in the order 217, 219 and 218. The titles are: I. “Neptune’s little affair with Freedom”; II. “My Native Land” and III. “The British Boy.” The first draws on Thomas Dibdin’s song, “The Tight Little Island”:

Oh what a bright little I—sland!
A right little, tight little I—sland!
Seek all the world round there’s none can be found
So happy as our little I—sland!

15In Lawrence’s poem the phrase the land of the Free,” usually connected with the USA (appearing in “The Star-Spangled Banner”) is ironically transferred to Britain. The events of the poems unfold with Father Neptune meeting the personified character Freedom who invites him to England. As Neptune walks bright and naked up to the shore, a commotion ensues and he is ignominiously arrested:

And instantly rose a great uproar
of Freedom shrieking till her throat was sore:
Arrest him, he’s indecent, he’s obscene what’s more!—

Policemen and the British nation
threw themselves on him in indignation
with hand-cuffs, and took him to the police-station.
The sea-god said, in consternation:
But I came at Freedom’s invitation!—
So then they charged him with defamation.

16The sea-nymphs far out in the ocean, retaining their erroneous view of England as liberated, assume that “old Neptune was off on a spree with giddy Freedom in the land of the Free.” Their lusty singing, revelry and celebration merely serve to intensify the irony of a situation in which promised freedom is soured by prudish outrage and unjustified entrapment.

17The second poem in the printed sequence—“My Native Land”—extends these ironies, playing on the paradox of belonging and exclusion. The poem alleges that the language spoken by the native Englishman is the best, yet he is unable to speak plain English for fear of causing offence to the delicate English sensibility and becoming alienated:

Oh mince your words, and mince them well
if you don’t want to break the sweet English spell.

For we English are really a race apart,
superior to everyone else: so don’t start
being crude and straightforward, you’ll only prove
you’re a rank outsider of the fifth remove.

18The English race is seen as arrogant and self-satisfied, dedicated to the preservation of its own separate and superior identity. Plain, honest speaking is associated with exclusion and is only likely to cause offence. The pun on “rank” (set against the earlier “sweet”) implies that the truth-teller is acrually repellent to the over-sensitive Englishman with his absurd predilection for euphemism and evasion.

19In the first and second verses of the third poem in sequence—“The British Boy”—Lawrence invents a generic school song which enacts a mock celebration of belonging through the preservation of native roots:

Oh I’m a British bo—oy, Sir,
A joy to—o tell it you.
God make me of it worthy
Life’s toilsome journey through!

And when to man’s estate I grow
My British blood the world shall know,
For I’m a British bo—oy, Sir,
A joy to—o tell it you!—

20Yet the poem then reiterates part of the second verse only to subvert it comically, playing on the Blakean dichotomy of innocence and experience:

And so to man’s estate he grew
and his British blood the world it knew.

And the world it didn’t give a hoot
if his blood was British or Timbuctoot.

21The tone of the poem is evidently flippant and light-hearted, yet there is an underlying sense of real bitterness that becomes more clearly evident when the essential gripe of the poem comes to light. Quite explicitly, the poem addresses the issue of Lawrence’s paintings and the reaction of his countrymen once he has brought them from abroad to his native land (itself an act of faith):

But with that British blood of his
he painted some pictures, real beauties

he thought them, so he sent them home
to Britain, where his blood came from.

But Britannia turned pale, and began to faint.
Destroy, she moaned, these horrors in paint!—

22While the previous poem features a disingenuous and duplicitous figure called Freedom, here it is Britannia who is personified and misbehaves. In an act of violent repudiation and betrayal, she stabs her trident through the poor British boy’s pictures: an explicit allusion to the damage inflicted on Lawrence’s painting Boccaccio Story while in custody. The Warren Gallery solicitors described the damage on 13 August, indicating that “a hole has been made in the canvas and it has been most inexpertly repaired from behind by having a piece of canvas stuck on to it and we understand that an attempt has been made to put paint over the front part of the picture where the injury took place” (Nehls 1959: 351). In the poem, the trident (trivialised through being referred to as a “toasting fork” but still dangerous) is then levelled at the head of the British boy who has been foolish enough to entrust his precious works of art to his homeland’s care.

  • 5 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 577-579.

23While “The British Boy” bemoans injustice and betrayal on a national scale, “13,000 people”5 is more specifically targeted at the visitors to the Warren gallery exhibition. Philip Trotter recalled that over 12,000 had attended (see Nehls 1959: 336–9), attributing this extremely large number to the reviews in the Observer (16 June), Daily Express (17 June) and Daily Telegraph (27 June) which indicated the scandalous nature of the pictures. Nonetheless, Trotter was keen to protest that the Gallery had not sought to attract such crowds: “We, the Gallery, did not exhibit Lawrence’s pictures to 12,000 prurients” (Nehls 1959: 357). Lawrence was kept informed about events in London, and reported on 19 July that “over 12,000 people had been” (Lawrence 1993: 379). Since, as a form of protest, Warren and Trotter kept the depleted exhibition open for seven weeks after the raid, the total of 13,000 is unlikely to be exaggerated. The “nettle” in which this number is specified appears in the notebook as number 191 and was probably written on or around 30 July, as Frieda wrote to Dorothy Warren at that time, loosely quoting lines 21–2 of the poem (Nehls 1959: 378).

24The poem plays on the artistic convention (following biblical precedents: see Genesis iii. 7) of using fig-leaves to cover the genitalia, particularly in religious paintings and sculptures. As in the poems previously discussed, this nettle is playful yet bitter: there is a sense of outrage beneath the light-hearted tone. The long poem is repetitive and modulatory, with the line conveying the absence of a fig leaf achieving its humorous effect through subtle variation. The voyeurs leer and gawp at the “fig-leaf that was not, woe is me!,” ‘the spot where the fig-leaf just was not!,” “the single spot / where a fig-leaf might have been, and was not” and the “simple spot / where a fig-leaf might have been, but was not.” This pattern of repetition within the poem reflects the obsessive gaze of the visitors who blush, giggle, snigger, boil, fume or sneer. The poem expresses the absurdity of the way in which people’s reaction to being in puris naturalibus (in the unadorned state of the new-born) is tainted by the sort of reaction to sex that Lawrence had tried to redress in Lady Chatterley’s Lover. The pictures function as correlatives to this novel in attempting to depict nature in a frank, uncompromising way; unfortunately the reaction was very much the same.

  • 6 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 579-580.

25The following nettle—“Innocent England”6—appears immediately prior to the one just discussed in the “Nettles” notebook, but the sequence was reversed so it succeeds “13,000 people” in the published volume. This poem takes the missing fig-leaf trope further; it is, however, not merely a representational poem but uses poetic license to underline the absurdity inherent in the confiscation of the paintings. The title is itself laden with irony: as in “Neptune’s little affair with Freedom,” England is satirically labelled “land of the free!” and shown to be quite the opposite. The poem heightens our sense of unnaturalness through suggesting that although English prudery demands a fig-leaf, such a thing does not grow on English soil and is hard to come by:

Oh what a pity, Oh! don’t you agree
that figs aren’t found in the land of the free!

Fig-trees don’t grow in my native land;
there’s never a fig-leaf near at hand

when you want one […]

26Fig-trees do, in fact, grow and flourish in England, even in Lawrence’s native Nottinghamshire, but the idea of their absence underpins the poem. The initial title of this poem—“Lament of the Fig-treeless Englishmen”—hinged on this central, retained conceit. Lawrence engages with the paradox that whereas the fig has a sensual and mystical meaning in Roman, Italian and Renaissance civilisation—as in his own poem “Fig”—the fig-leaf plays a repressive and obfuscating part in Renaissance and later Western art.

27Given the lack of availability of these fig-leaves (at least within the poem’s rhetoric) the possibilities of an alternative cache sexe (a minimal covering for the genitalia) are explored. English mist or fog, emblematic of another form of denial, serve as an equivalent method of obscuring the place “where the turtles sing,” the perversity emphasised by the suppression or denial of nature as reflected in these birds of love.

28In keeping with the poem’s emphasis on prudery and fake innocence, the policemen who raid the gallery are not stout bobbies or smaller fry, but “Virginal, pure policemen.” This reference might help date the poem, given its similarity to Lawrence’s letter to Rhys Davies of 24 August 1929: “Your idea of the lily-white policemen of London fainting with shock at the sight of one of my nudes would make an A.1. squib” (Lawrence 1993: 448). This possible derivation suggests that the poem may not simply have originated as a raw response to lived experience, as is also indicated by its lack of accuracy: according to the poem “The upshot was, my pictures must burn,” while in fact they were returned to Lawrence only slightly damaged. In addition, the poem states that: “Mr. Mead [...] said: Gross! coarse! hideous!,” while it was actually Herbert G. Muskett (the prosecutor) who described the paintings in this way.

29This phrase actually became the title of a later “nettle” (number 221), with an obvious connection to “Innocent England”:

  • 7 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 680.

Gross, coarse, hideous —”
(Police description of my pictures)
Lately I saw a sight most quaint:
London’s lily-like policemen faint
in virgin outrage as they viewed
the nudity of a Lawrence nude!

30This truncated version of events was embedded in a letter sent to Charles Lahr on 14 September 1929, as an illustration of the kind of aphoristic satire suited to a projected magazine, The Squib (Lawrence 1993: 484).

31The final poem in the group I am concerned with here—“Give me a Sponge—was originally penned as nettle 91, immediately following “13 Pictures” and “Auto da Fe” in the notebook. In “Auto da Fe” the Grand Inquisitor “casts a yellow eye” on the exposed gardener and the running Eve, and “Give me a Sponge” is principally concerned with the effect of the onlookers’ gaze on the paintings themselves. Lawrence reverses the idea that the observers are being corrupted by seeing these paintings, suggesting instead that the pictures are being tainted by contaminating eyes:

  • 8 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 580-581.

Ah, my nice pictures, they are fouled, they are dirtied
not by time, but by unclean breath and eyes
of all the sordid people that have stared at them uncleanly
looking dirt on them, and breathing on them lies.8

32This is in fact the first poem in which it is stated that the pictures have been rescued and returned. The priority is therefore no longer reclaiming them; instead it is the cleansing of paintings that are stained with the horrifying residue of the “obscene” eyes that have crawled over them. Lawrence vividly literalises this idea through his portrayal of the contaminating process: the eyes leave a “slimy taint,” “snail tracks smearing” and “nasty films.”

33As in “13 Pictures” and “Auto da Fe,” there is a sense of protective tenderness towards the “gentle souls that figure in the paint.” Interestingly, too, there is another oblique allusion to Shakespeare, this time deriving from a speech given by Macbeth:

Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red. (Act II Sc 2)

34Lawrence reformulates this as: “Ah the clean waters of the sky, Ah! can you wash/away the evil starings and the breath/ of the foul ones from my pictures?” The rhetorical questions reveal the futility of an attempt to cleanse a murderer’s hands—or, in the terms of the “nettle,” to remove the “touch of tainted death” from the canvasses.

35The poem-sequence considered here seems to furnish a necessary medium for venting spleen and retaliating against the authority figures that condemned Lawrence’s precious work. In Nettles the victims of his satire are wide-ranging and certainly include influential figures who had wounded him in print, like the New Statesman reviewer Thomas Earp and John Collings Squire of the London Mercury—both hostile reviewers of his paintings. Other “nettles” are fuelled by less personal gripes, such as the poem condemning William Gladstone for sexual repression and the attempt to rescue prostitutes by bringing them home for tea and a chat (see the poem “Daddy-Do-Nothing” in Nettles). Several government parties (personified as Aunts Maud, Gwendoline, Libby and Lou) are exposed as fraudulent or repressive: each comes in for her fair share of censure.

36Arguably, Lawrence’s late squibs are not among his greatest poems. They appear at times to be merely an exercise in rhyme schemes he had abandoned, while he seems prepared to forfeit poetic craft in the interests of creating a sharper sting. Yet these “nettles” testify to the satirical capabilities that Lawrence also exhibited in inspired late stories such as “Things,” “Mother and Daughter” and “The Man Who Was Through with the World.” At times, the “nettles” achieve an effective blend of the playful and the savage, particularly when metaphor or poetic distance intervenes to stave off the raw immediacy of unmitigated rage. Finally, it is interesting to note that these poems coexist in the “Nettles” notebook with drafts of poems to be selected for “Last Poems”: the “Dead Nettles defined in contradistinction to the published Nettles and which rank among Lawrence’s finest achievements in this genre.

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Brewster, Earl and Achsah. D.H. Lawrence: Reminiscences and Correspondence. London: Secker, 1934.

Ellis, David. D.H. Lawrence: Dying Game. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.

Lawrence, D.H. Complete Poems, ed. Vivian de Sola Pinto and Warren Roberts. London: Penguin, 1993.

Lawrence, D.H. Introductions and Reviews. Ed. Neil Reeve and John Worthen. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Lawrence, D.H. The Letters of D.H. Lawrence, vol. v. Ed. James T. Boulton and Lindeth Vasey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989.

Lawrence, D.H. The Letters of D.H. Lawrence, vol. vii. Ed. Keith Sagar and James T. Boulton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993.

Nehls, Edward. D.H. Lawrence: A Composite Biography, vol. iii. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1959.

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1 I am grateful to Christopher Pollnitz and John Worthen for providing detailed contextual information about the raid, relating specifically to the “Nettles” notebook poems.

2 This, and all subsequent citations derive from D.H. Lawrence: Complete Poems, ed. Vivian de Sola Pinto and Warren Roberts (London: Penguin, 1993) p. 632-33.

3 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 633-4.

4 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 574-9.

5 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 577-579.

6 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 579-580.

7 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 680.

8 See Complete Poems, ed. Pinto and Roberts, p. 580-581.

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Bethan Jones, « Nettling Authority: Lawrence’s Reaction to Censorship in his Late Poetry », Études Lawrenciennes, 41 | 2010, 9-26.

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Bethan Jones, « Nettling Authority: Lawrence’s Reaction to Censorship in his Late Poetry », Études Lawrenciennes [En ligne], 41 | 2010, mis en ligne le 24 janvier 2014, consulté le 18 janvier 2018. URL : ; DOI : 10.4000/lawrence.139

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Bethan Jones

Bethan Jones is a Lecturer at the University of Hull, and has published widely on the works of D.H. Lawrence. Her doctoral research focused on an intertextual approach to his late poetry, and she is currently co-editing a volume of Lawrence’s short fiction (The Virgin and the Gipsy and Other Stories) for Cambridge University Press. She is editor of The Journal of the D.H. Lawrence Society and contributes regularly to the French Journal Etudes Lawrenciennes. Other research interests include Modernism, the works of Margaret Atwood and the interrelation between literary texts and music. She also specialises in creative writing, having written poetry, short fiction, song cycles, musicals and opera libretti.

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