The outward poem is like a pine tree made half of tin and half of wood. The poem of things conceives itself to be describing the world correctly because there are pieces of the world in it. The poetry cannot sustain the poet or itself because the imagination has no privacy in which to grow. In the last thirty years in America the intelligence of the poet runs back and forth hurriedly between the world inside his head and the world outside. The imagination meanwhile is thinking in its chamber. The intelligence knocks at the door, demanding some imagination to put between a flat statement and a piece of glass, and rushes out with the gift. Then it hurries back to get a little more imagination to prevent two subway cars from rubbing together. The imagination is continually disturbed, torn away bit by bit, consumed like a bin of corn eaten gradually by mice.I know many would think me crazy, but in some ways Bly and the Avant Garde are concerned with the same thing: the inability of language to contain the world. Bly’s answer is to return to the imagination, like myth, to say the unsayable.
The imagination does not want to hear these constant knockings on the door. It prefers to remain in its chamber, undisturbed, until it can create the poem all of one substance—itself. The imagination out of its own resources creates a poem as strong as the world faces. (snip) When this happens the poem enters the unconscious naturally.
THERE AND GONE ….
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Here is an autumn hokku kindly shared by a reader in Japan: In a moment,It
no longer is —The rainbow. When we look at English poetry, it is common to
ask t...
1 week ago
6 comments:
That essay brings back memories. When I first started reading poetry seriously about fifteen years ago, all the critics were talking about how Pound was great, but I felt then that most of the time he didn't practice what he preached in his Imagist manifesto; I didn't like him. Ditto with people like Plath and Lowell of [i]Life Studies[/i]. I realize now how some of my dislike could be attributed to not being ready to read them. But at the time it was really refreshing to come across Bly's essay: finally, a kindred spirit!
I think Bly really touches on something important. And gives good directions. I'm not sure if he succeeded in his following them though. I too came across him almost fifteen years ago and I was excited by his earlier work. His poems since then have not done it for me. But that doesn't negate what he did do. As well as his contributions in translation.
When _Morning Poems_ (his last new collection of the 20th C) first came out, I admit I was a sucker for it. There, he adopted Stafford's practice of waking up early each morning and writing a poem. What I liked about the book was that for the first time in a long while, the voice in Bly's poetry carried no bitterness, anger, even posture; rather, it was a very natural, wise voice speaking. It doesn't appeal to me as much now, but I still have a soft spot for it. I actually think that these days Bly is arguably as strong a poet as he has been for quite a long time. He has found a form that suits him--poems in triplets that faintly echo ghazals--and I find some of his leaps there amazing.
Likewise, my estimation of him as a translator (in terms of technique) isn't as high as it used to be. But I _love_ that he translated (or made "versions" of) all those poets into English when translation wasn't in vogue. If I had the money now I'd buy his _Selected Translations_ book that just came out.
Jose, To be honest, I haven't read that one. But I will now make it a point. Your comment on his having found a form intrigues me.
Daniel, Just saw your post linking back to this one.
Thanks. Second time today I wished you had comments on your site. For the Bly: I love that reply to your mother. But also for the guitar: rock on guitar gods of the western world!
Greg, FYI, the book with the triplets is called _The Night Abraham Called the Stars_ and was published I think around 2001 or 2002; just wasn't sure it was clear from my previous post that the triplets referred to a book other than _Morning Poems,_ which uses mainly quatrains. Cheers J
Jose. Thanks for the clarification. $4.17 on ABE including shipping!
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