| R. Nemo Hill |
04-09-2014 07:19 PM |
Yes, a great essay. And that first paragraph is such a marvelous lead-in.
Robinson is so charming in his letters, it is easy to see how he made such a warm & friendly impression on so many people, despite his detached embrace of defeat.
This bit has always been one of my favorites:
"To Mrs. Louis V Ledoux, Peterborough, September 28, 1932
...I have been grinding at the mill all summer and have a sack of something or other to show for it. The grist this time is a little different—not so heavy, and not at all bitter. Of course I am never really bitter, or anything but cheerful and full of metaphysical joy and hope, but people don't seem to understand that and so call me all sorts of names which also they don't understand. So far as I can make out, most people are so afraid of life that when they see it coming their first impulse is to get behind a tree and shut their eyes. And for some odd reason they call that impulse optimism—which has always seemed funny to me.—This new poem is a sort of narrative comedy in blank verse, and will probably make Louis tear out handfuls of his hair. If these modern long things of mine survive their first hundred years, which are said to be the hardest, they may go on longer. Anyhow, I had to do them..."
These "modern long things" have had more trouble surviving than Robinson's short poems. As I am in the habit of repeating whenever EAR's name comes up, they are my favorites of all of his work, critically ignored though they most often are. Read back to back they are almost like a single patient poem whose theme is quietly approached from a variety of angles. I believe some have called them redundant, but to me they seem like a single faceted gem— a gem polished so calmly that it reflects no more light than is needed to read by—a light that compassionate detachment renders distant rather than dazzling. Defeat is the main character in all of them.
Nemo
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