My Favourite Poet
Robert
Lowell’s poetry style is characterized, as Confessional poetry, which is a style of poetry that
emerged in the United States during the 1950s and 1960s that has been, described
as poetry "of the personal." The content of confessional poems is
autobiographical and marked by its exploration of subject matter that was
considered taboo at the time.
This subject matter included topics
like mental illness, sexuality, and suicide.
Robert Lowell began his poetic career by
studying with New Criticism poets such as Allen Tate, John Crowe Ransom, and Robert Penn Warren. He wrote rigorously formal verse and at
thirty was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for his second book, Lord Weary's
Castle. However, his most famous book, Life Studies, was a radical
departure not only from his earlier work, but also from the larger poetry scene
at the time of its publication in 1959.
Lord Weary’s Castle
The depth of this book of
poems is incredible. I won't pretend to understand it, but there were moments
where I was grasping at and glimpsing whatever it was Lowell was offering. I
felt like a child reading this, which was both annoying, and beautifully
enlightening...
The rhyme and meter and
cadence are outstanding. Outstanding. I don't know of any poet who
writes this way anymore. He's the last of his kind, and a transitional poet
into its current form.
Lowell really draws from
the classics - Greek and Latin. I don't know Latin, and wish I did. He'd
include a line here and there in his poems.
He also drew upon the Bible
quite heavily. I was never sure about what he was saying though - whether it
was religious, or sacrilegious... I know he converted to Catholicism, and then
left the Catholic church, but I'm not sure when all of that happened.
The book was great. The
book was beautiful. I'm surprised so few on here have read it. It's definitely
worth looking into.
That and Lowell's life
seems pretty intense. Manic depressive on lithium? Imprisoned for being a
conscientious objector during WWII? Constantly changing his views on God...
As we begin the new year and
anticipate those activities that lie ahead in 2013, I also would like to take a
moment for a brief look backward with the introduction of an early poem by
Robert Lowell, appropriately titled “New Year’s Day” from his second book, Lord
Weary’s Castle. Although most readers know Lowell as the “confessional” poet
whose somewhat relaxed and straight-forward style amazingly helped reshape
American poetry in the last half of the twentieth century, a reminder of
Lowell’s roots as a more formal and lyrically elaborate poet might at times be
needed as well.
Indeed, this year will mark
the fifty-four years since Lowell’s Life Studies (1959) signaled his
shift in writing style and thoroughly transformed the literary landscape. When Life
Studies won the National Book Award in 1960, Lowell stated: “Two poetries
are now competing, a cooked and a raw. The cooked, marvelously expert, often
seems laboriously concocted to be tasted and digested by a graduate seminar.
The raw, huge blood-dripping gobbets of unseasoned experience are dished up for
midnight listeners. There is a poetry that can only be studied, and a poetry
that can only be declaimed, a poetry of pedantry, and a poetry of scandal.”
“New Year’s Day” stands among
the “cooked” poems published in Lord Weary’s Castle, Robert Lowell’s collection
that won the Pulitzer Prize in 1947 and first established Lowell as a dominant
figure in American poetry when the younger poet still might be regarded as a
New Criticism formalist. The works in his first few volumes seem to demonstrate
his initial influences (T.S. Eliot, Allen Tate, Robert Penn Warren, and John
Crowe Ransom, among others), as well as his interest in sixteenth- and
seventeenth-century metaphysical poets. As I have written in a previous post, “Robert Lowell’s Legacy: Life Studies,” on the occasion of Lowell’s
birthday last March:
Clearly, Robert Lowell’s
first couple of poetry collections, Land of Unlikeness (1944) along with
the subsequent volume titled Lord Weary’s Castle (1946), display
characteristics developed under the direction of those formidable figures who
helped shape his early writing. As Frank Bidart explains in his introduction to
Robert Lowell’s Collected Poems: “What most people think of as his first
book, Lord Weary’s Castle, is not a ‘revision’ of Land of Unlikeness—less
than a quarter of it transforms material from the earlier book—but it is, I
think, the book that Land of Unlikeness wanted to be.” Lord Weary’s
Castle quickly achieved critical praise and proved a successful
introduction into the literary world for Robert Lowell when that volume was
awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1947.
The young poet was lauded for
his precisely wrought formal poems, heavily metrical lines with meaty language
often presented in a tightly wound syntax that seemed knotted by metaphors or
similes. Already, some critics began to view Lowell as an ascending star,
perhaps a major poet whose style would solidify an approach to poetry they
appreciated. However, when his follow-up book of poetry, The Mills of the
Kavanaughs, appeared in 1951 to a mixed reception by critics, some of whom
had held higher expectations for the new work, Lowell’s disappointment may have
caused him to pause for reconsideration of his writing style. Indeed, for
various reasons, eight years would pass before Lowell’s next collection, Life
Studies, was published in 1959.
One wonders what directions
Robert Lowell’s poetic style, as well as the eventual progression of American
poetry, might have followed had Lowell not received such disappointing
reactions to The Mills of the Kavanaughs and had he not been prompted by
personal experiences or public observations to reexamine his whole approach to
composing poetry, presenting a vastly different style of writing, one he wasn’t
sure was “a death-rope or a life-line,” as he once stated. David Perkins
suggests in his book, A History of Modern Poetry (Harvard University
Press, 1987): in his first decade of publishing poetry, “Lowell’s verses had
frequent spondees and caesuras yet were strongly enjambed, with an effect of
energy blocking itself and then suddenly exploding. His images were violent, telescoped,
and bristling with ambivalent implications; transitions between them were
difficult and sometimes impenetrable; yet in the clotted awkwardness there was
intellectual strength.”
As accomplished and polished
as pieces, such as “New Year’s Day,” written by Robert Lowell for those first
three books appear to be to close readers of poetry, they also now seem more
like relics of modernism and Lowell’s fervor for religious allusion or
symbolism—glimpsed today perhaps as odd historical artifacts from an earlier
time period—than clear evidence of a new voice about to alter the course of
American literature. Patrick Cosgrave characterizes the closing stanza of
Lowell’s “New Year’s Day” in his volume of criticism, The Public Poetry of
Robert Lowell (Taplinger Publishing, 1972), as typical of that stage of the
poet’s career, containing heightened rhetoric “intensified by a highly
alliterative iambic line and heavy rhyming, while the sense escapes
understanding, though a desperate effort is clearly being made to reach truth”:
NEW YEAR’S DAY
Again and then again . . .
the year is born
To ice and death, and it will
never do
To skulk behind storm-windows
by the stove
To hear the postgirl sounding
her French horn
When the thin tidal ice is
wearing through.
Here is the understanding not
to love
Our neighbor, or tomorrow
that will sieve
Our resolutions. While we
live, we live
To snuff the smoke of
victims. In the snow
The kitten heaved its
hindlegs, as if fouled,
And died. We bent it in a
Christmas box
And scattered blazing weeds
to scare the crow
For alms outside the church
whose double locks
Wait for St. Peter, the
distorted key.
Under St. Peter's bell the
parish sea
Swells with its smelt into
the burlap shack
Where Joseph plucks his
hand-lines like a harp,
And hears the fearful Puer
natus est
Of Circumcision, and relives
the wrack
And howls of Jesus whom he
holds. How sharp
The burden of the Law before
the beast:
Time and the grindstone and
the knife of God.
The Child is born in blood, O
child of blood.
—Robert Lowell
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