Denise Levertov visited North Vietnam in 1972, and several of these
free-form poems were written there, recording her horror and
indignation and concretizing her anti-war activist perceptions of
human waste, mutilated flesh, devastated cityscape. She's angry,
murderously enraged at Kissinger, Nixon and their henchmen (pulling
no punches: "O to kill the killers!"), distressed at the bland,
milky ignorance of the POWs; she has no forgiveness for the
"smart," technologically advanced bomb-and-strafers, "homo faber of
laser beams." Her other, offerings - in praise of "love, lovers,
husband, child, land and ocean, struggle and solitude" - are weak
by contrast with the whirlwind force of her agitated conscience.
But since she is a most serious, thoroughgoing, fight-thinking
humanist, she also regards the calling of poet as a sacred trust
and duty. Notable among her writing on writing are "Growth of a
Poet," "The Poem Rising by Its Own Weight," and "Conversation in
Moscow," a poem which captures the rhythms of a dinner-party
discussion about the "mystery" of poetry, that old czarist
reactionary Dostoevsky, the nature of religion, and what it means
to Serve the People. A Soviet historian who was listening to
Levertov, then remarks tenderly: "How young! How pure!" Yes, that's
what she is. (Kirkus Reviews)
Sixty poems reflect the contemporary writer's personal sentiments
on the tragedy of war, the need to be free, and the meaning of
family relationships and friendships.
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