 |
 |
Sweet poem, Robin. Formally tight and all that. But a freshness. Stephen V http://stephenvincent.net/blog/ >> I've always associated the Southern Agrarians with the New Formalists: >> both >> groups reify form & write from an ideologically privileged position -- not >> only write from it, but write to defend it. The difference is that the >> Agrarians, especially Ransom, wrote several nearly perfect poems. Can't >> say >> the same for the New Formalists. >> >> jd > > My sense is that the New Formalists do their best to pretend Ransom > especially doesn't exist -- he would call into question the tight cosy > little world of metrical constriction that they persist in locating > somewhere in the less interesting work of W.H.Auden. > > (Hm -- I've been in trouble elsewhere for naively pointing out the occasions > where we find what might be called straight lifts from Auden in Dana Gioia.) > > The dipodic element in Ransom (more marked in "Captain Carpenter" than in > "Piazza Piece") doesn't fit with the remit they lay down. But don't start > me ... > > Incidentally, is it worth drawing a distinction between the Fugitive > movement and the Agrarians? Mostly the same suspects, but the former was > the earlier. I have the sense (but amn't well enough read in the area to > defend this) that it was the second incarnation that was most limitedly > Southern, a running out of steam. > > The link between the Fugitives, particularly Ransom, and that other New, the > New Criticism, is neat -- did they practice what they preached or preach > what they practiced? > > To finish (I've been meaning to inflict this on the list ever since the > topic came up), a poem I wrote ages ago as a homage/allusion to "Piazza > Piece". [Currently in print in _Pacts and Conjurations_ (Arrowhead Press, > 2005), page 43.] > > MEETING WITH THE BLUE GIRL > > Strange to meet the blue girl, so suddenly, incredibly there, > Perched on the corner of the stair, a fine disturbance of the way. > She drew two lines with a pencil on the palm of her hand -- > Parallels, crosses, image of nothing happening. > > We ran along the tramways of our fear, no possible > Mingling of gauges on those tracks, the grooves of change > Which fix us. Destinations were events to encounter, pain > The abstraction of a smile, bird fallen from a nest of moments. > Born into the countries of our time, each living our > Difficult lies: tragedy, we may say, is a certain colour > Seen sometimes from the corner of the eye, in the air > > Brightness falls from it, from her, scattering from the blue girl, > She there in her green time, I here in my grey, > Waiting, both, at different corners of the stair. > > > Robin