Thoughtful studies by an evenhanded critic that will no doubt urge readers back to the original texts.
An examination of the work of six so-called “confessional” poets—Robert Lowell, Elizabeth Bishop, John Berryman, Randall Jarrell, Delmore Schwartz, and Sylvia Plath—all schooled in modernism and poised to break the rules.
New York Sun book critic Kirsch calls these poets “rebellious heirs” of T.S. Eliot, who famously dictated that poetry should not be “the expression of personality, but an escape from personality.” Indeed, Lowell et al. were trained variously by New Critics, yet all transcended the heroic strictures of modernism by artfully working into their poetry the inner demons of their personal lives, which often involved mental illness, alcoholism, or suicide. Kirsch proposes a “brief biography of their poetry” by dropping in a few details from their lives only to show how brilliantly they reworked the material for effect. Beginning with Lowell, Kirsch quotes Allen Tate’s appalled warning—after reading Life Studies in manuscript, he declared, “the poems are composed of unassimilated details, terribly intimate, and coldly noted . . . of interest only to you”—then proceeds to analyze Lowell’s masterly manipulation of the material. Bishop’s “experiments in control” are set against Schwartz’s “pedestrian” attempts at reconciling art and life through artful spontaneity and innovation. By juxtaposing his childhood as a Brooklyn Jewish immigrant with that of the children of Tsar Nicholas II, for example, in the poem “The Ballad of the Children of the Czar,” Schwartz was the first who dared to dignify (and elevate) an intimate, shameful experience. Kirsch admirably works through Berryman’s “harrowingly intimate” poetry, which emerged despite his zealous apprenticeship under Yeats, contrasting him with Jarrell, who responded to the “burden” of breaking from Modernism by “respectful, self-protective evasion.” The essay on Plath sheds no new light, but demonstrates a perceptive restraint when comparing her “juvenilia” with the ferocious, mature style of later work that transformed her experience “beyond recognition.”
Thoughtful studies by an evenhanded critic that will no doubt urge readers back to the original texts.Pub Date: April 1, 2005
ISBN: 0-393-05197-8
Page Count: 256
Publisher: Norton
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2005
BOOK REVIEW
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BOOK REVIEW
From the national correspondent for PBS's MacNeil-Lehrer Newshour: a moving memoir of her youth in the Deep South and her role in desegregating the Univ. of Georgia. The eldest daughter of an army chaplain, Hunter-Gault was born in what she calls the ``first of many places that I would call `my place' ''—the small village of Due West, tucked away in a remote little corner of South Carolina. While her father served in Korea, Hunter-Gault and her mother moved first to Covington, Georgia, and then to Atlanta. In ``L.A.'' (lovely Atlanta), surrounded by her loving family and a close-knit black community, the author enjoyed a happy childhood participating in activities at church and at school, where her intellectual and leadership abilities soon were noticed by both faculty and peers. In high school, Hunter-Gault found herself studying the ``comic-strip character Brenda Starr as I might have studied a journalism textbook, had there been one.'' Determined to be a journalist, she applied to several colleges—all outside of Georgia, for ``to discourage the possibility that a black student would even think of applying to one of those white schools, the state provided money for black students'' to study out of state. Accepted at Michigan's Wayne State, the author was encouraged by local civil-rights leaders to apply, along with another classmate, to the Univ. of Georgia as well. Her application became a test of changing racial attitudes, as well as of the growing strength of the civil-rights movement in the South, and Gault became a national figure as she braved an onslaught of hostilities and harassment to become the first black woman to attend the university. A remarkably generous, fair-minded account of overcoming some of the biggest, and most intractable, obstacles ever deployed by southern racists. (Photographs—not seen.)
Pub Date: Nov. 1, 1992
ISBN: 0-374-17563-2
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1992
Necessarily swift and adumbrative as well as inclusive, focused, and graceful.
A light-speed tour of (mostly) Western poetry, from the 4,000-year-old Gilgamesh to the work of Australian poet Les Murray, who died in 2019.
In the latest entry in the publisher’s Little Histories series, Carey, an emeritus professor at Oxford whose books include What Good Are the Arts? and The Unexpected Professor: An Oxford Life in Books, offers a quick definition of poetry—“relates to language as music relates to noise. It is language made special”—before diving in to poetry’s vast history. In most chapters, the author deals with only a few writers, but as the narrative progresses, he finds himself forced to deal with far more than a handful. In his chapter on 20th-century political poets, for example, he talks about 14 writers in seven pages. Carey displays a determination to inform us about who the best poets were—and what their best poems were. The word “greatest” appears continually; Chaucer was “the greatest medieval English poet,” and Langston Hughes was “the greatest male poet” of the Harlem Renaissance. For readers who need a refresher—or suggestions for the nightstand—Carey provides the best-known names and the most celebrated poems, including Paradise Lost (about which the author has written extensively), “Kubla Khan,” “Ozymandias,” “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” Wordsworth and Coleridge’s Lyrical Ballads, which “changed the course of English poetry.” Carey explains some poetic technique (Hopkins’ “sprung rhythm”) and pauses occasionally to provide autobiographical tidbits—e.g., John Masefield, who wrote the famous “Sea Fever,” “hated the sea.” We learn, as well, about the sexuality of some poets (Auden was bisexual), and, especially later on, Carey discusses the demons that drove some of them, Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath among them. Refreshingly, he includes many women in the volume—all the way back to Sappho—and has especially kind words for Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop, who share a chapter.
Necessarily swift and adumbrative as well as inclusive, focused, and graceful.Pub Date: April 21, 2020
ISBN: 978-0-300-23222-6
Page Count: 304
Publisher: Yale Univ.
Review Posted Online: Feb. 8, 2020
Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
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