Early on, critics and colleagues alike detected an American idiom and style in her work, noting the influences of writers like , H. Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry. I just finished a novel called After Dark by Haruki Murakami which reminded me so much of Denise Levertov's The Secret. Remember, most were peasants; their life was in rice and bamboo. It was reported their singing resembled the flight of moths in moonlight. I love them for finding what I can't find, and for loving me for the line I wrote, and for forgetting it so that a thousand times, till death finds them, they may discover it again, in other lines in other happenings. A poem of gratitude and of love, for people she would never meet.
Levertov and her older sister, Olga, were educated by their Welsh mother, Beatrice Adelaide Spooner-Jones, until the age of thirteen. Never one to miss an opportunity for testing my ability to sit in silence, I began trying to sit in silence. It is the intense aliveness of an alert domestic love—the wedding of form and content. Entered a room, a cave? Problems insoluble and problems offering their own ignored solutions jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing their colored clothes; caps and bells. It contains a number of pieces about the poet's work as a teacher; it contains her beautiful impromptu obituary for William Carlos Williams, as well as reviews and appreciations of other writers. Her anti-Vietnam War poems, written in casual diary form, sound rather like a versified New York Review of Books. At least they're not gushing from my heart.
And the place is a wreck from all the spilled words. The bread, the salt, white meat and dark meat, still hungry. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door. This volume is a potpourri: assorted musings, subtle insights, tender memories of youth and strength, political passions, gentle but respectful accolades to other writers. Poetry editor, Nation, 1961-62, and Mother Jones, 1976-78.
And for wanting to know it, for assuming there is such a secret, yes, for that most of all. Relation to postmodernism: No complete definition on postmodernism, still yet to be defined. Stand up and face the east. The quena has a more penetrating, more haunting sound than the ordinary flute. She wants to throw the tribute away, dis- gusted, and can't, it goes on buzzing in her ear, it changes the pace of her walk, the torn posters in echoing corridors spell it out, it quakes and gnashes as the train comes in. If the reader can follow, he is welcomed along, but although the poetry is mindful of communication and expression, its primary concern is discovery.
There have been times the gods entered. Two girls discover The secret of life In a sudden line of Poetry. When bombs smashed those mirrors there was time only to scream. Her work embraces a wide variety of genres and themes, including nature lyrics, love poems, protest poetry, and poetry inspired by her faith in God. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. The war-shadowed poems are less clean and symmetrical but are moral and philosophical schooners of some size. And meanwhile the rain, all day, all evening, quiet steady sound.
And for wanting to know it, for assuming there is such a secret, yes, for that most of all. When we go, he goes with us to be your hands that never do violence, your eyes that wonder, your lives that daily praise life by living it, by laughter. No doubt by now, more than a week later, they have forgotten the secret, the line, the name of the poem. Her mother read aloud to the family the great works of nineteenth-century fiction, and she read poetry, especially the lyrics of Tennyson. The author goes on to tell us that, although she wrote the line in one of her poems, she does not know what the secret is, and the girls have no intention of telling her. What alchemy shines from under that shut door, spinning out gold from the hollow of the heart? They forget the secret because they did not think and dig deeper to fully understand the meaning of life It is more on how these girls discovered the secret, rather than what they discovered.
I love themfor finding whatI can't find,and for loving mefor the line I wrote,and for forgetting itso thata thousand times, till deathfinds them, they maydiscover it again, in otherlinesin otherhappenings. To Stay Alive is a historical document and does record and preserve the persons, conversations, and events of those years. Shadows of cats weave round the treetrunks, the exposed knotty roots. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. A poem about reading, about remembering what has been read, about entering into a conversation with it, via others, in an effort to somehow make it permanent, this winged and sacred moment. Where was I going I can't go to now, unless hurting? During the course of a prolific career, Denise Levertov created a highly regarded body of poetry that reflects her beliefs as an artist and a humanist. Academy of American Poets, n.
A feeling towards it, dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have until we begin to utter its metaphors, learning them as we speak. The quotidian reality we ignore or try to escape,. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. The entire complexion of the day altered, even as the man told me a third time he had no record of me, even as I allowed the silence of my non-existence to settle, my appointment still ahead of me, suddenly less alone. You give my life color, depth, dimension.
A poem about a poet loving her readers enough to admit that she is not in control of the meanings they make of her poem, her stumbling on this truth allowing her the freedom to claim they are similarly not in control. When she died he made a flute out of her bones. In the ensuing decades she spoke out against nuclear weaponry, American aid to El Salvador, and the Persian Gulf War. It's a word in grief-language, nothing to do with primitive, not an ur-language; language stricken, sickened, cast down in decrepitude. A few notes of The Sorrow Dance sound something like hysteria, and later poems move beyond desperation, through mild catatonia toward intransigent rebellion. And now here I was reading it, gulping it down, thinking Yes and Yes! Poem The Secret - Denise Levertov. Two girls discover the secret of life in a hidden line of poetry.
No doubt by now, more than a week later, they have forgotten the secret, the line, the name of the poem. Peace, not only the absence of war. Some critics maintain that her first American poetry collection, Here and Now, contains vestiges of the sentimentalism that characterized her first book, but for some, Here and Now displays Levertov's newly found American voice. The Secret — by Denise Levertov Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry. Also author of Lake, Mountain, Moon, 1990. I read there, silently, in secret.