When you start out with a feeling of alienation—from an unspoken, blank, or meaningless past—from a mass of others, or even single others, in the present–or from a future defined by a fraudulent and thin promise—the risks are either cynical withdrawal, refusing to believe that the estrangement can be overcome, or else sentimentality, the insistence that a momentary, blazing common feeling be allowed to outshine … Continue reading 152. (Wallace Stevens)
She is said to be reticent; it is the title and subject of a monograph on her work, and recently I read a poet remarking on having learned from her the lesson of reticence in a poem. But calling Elizabeth Bishop’s poetry or poetic voice “reticent” gets things the wrong way around. She is eager and seeking–and the world itself is too reserved for her; … Continue reading 138. (Elizabeth Bishop)
A friend of mine, the recent election in heart and mind, sent me Wallace Stevens’ poem, “United Dames of America.” The poem’s epigraph is from Jules Renard: “Je tâche, en restant exact, d’être poète,” which translates as “I strive, in keeping exact, to be a poet.” . There are not leaves enough to cover the face It wears. This is the way the orator spoke: … Continue reading 134. (Wallace Stevens)
William Empson, whose capacity for appreciation was as broad as any critic’s, could find scant space to admire Wallace Stevens. Reviewing R.P. Blackmur: His praise and evident affection for Wallace Stevens may well be wise and true; but it chiefly turns on finding profound excuses for his having so little to say, and the foreigner may still feel that there is no great need to … Continue reading 71. (Wallace Stevens)
“Her poems speak with the authority of sadness,” wrote Larkin, who might be said to aspire to the same in his own poetry, and who might also be said to have mangled the terms of his praise in light of his own practice. For whereas Larkin’s poetry often finds authority in sadness (and at its worst asks that we accept that sadness is inherently authoritative), … Continue reading 56. (Stevie Smith)
I was mostly in my right mind when I blustered, a few years ago, that John Dryden was among the five great poets in English. The number five was arbitrary and probably a stretch, and rankings are adolescent indulgences; but adolescent indulgences can’t be given up without incurring some serious damage and my point, which I stand by, was that Dryden really was a great … Continue reading 22. (John Dryden)
