Oxford Professor Of Poetry
The chair of Professor of Poetry at the University of Oxford is an unusual academic appointment, now held for a term of five years, and chosen through an election open to all members of Convocation, namely, all graduates and current academics of the university; in 2010, on-line voting was allowed. It carries an obligation to lecture, but is in effect a part-time position. As of 2009, it carried a stipend of £6,901 (£4,695 as of 2005) plus £40 in travel expenses for each Creweian Oration.
The Professor of Poetry delivers three lectures each year. In addition, every second year (alternating with the University Orator), the Professor delivers the Creweian Oration, which offers formal thanks to benefactors of the University. Until 1968 this oration was delivered in Latin. The chair was endowed in 1708 following a bequest by Henry Birkhead.
Read more about Oxford Professor Of Poetry: Recent Elections, 2009 Election, 2010 Election, Holders of The Position
Famous quotes containing the words oxford, professor and/or poetry:
“The logical English train a scholar as they train an engineer. Oxford is Greek factory, as Wilton mills weave carpet, and Sheffield grinds steel. They know the use of a tutor, as they know the use of a horse; and they draw the greatest amount of benefit from both. The reading men are kept by hard walking, hard riding, and measured eating and drinking, at the top of their condition, and two days before the examination, do not work but lounge, ride, or run, to be fresh on the college doomsday.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)
“Indeed, there is hardly the professor in our colleges, who, if he has mastered the difficulties of the language, has proportionally mastered the difficulties of the language, has proportionally mastered the difficulties of the wit and poetry of a Greek poet, and has any sympathy to impart to the alert and heroic reader.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)
“It is at the same time by poetry and through poetry, by and through music, that the soul glimpses the splendors found behind the tomb; and when an exquisite poem brings tears to one’s eyes, these tears are not the sign of excessive pleasure, they are rather witness to an irritated melancholy, to a condition of nerves, to a nature exiled to imperfection and which would like to seize immediately, on this very earth, a revealed paradise.”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867)