I've spent a lot of time with Ashbery. I think he peaked in the volumes The Double Dream of Spring, Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror and Houseboat Days, where the play of language was excited and exciting, the new styles of conveying the texture of everyday experience were still fresh and exploratory, and the narrative continuity was a bit more evident than elsewhere. The other volumes seem more spotty (as most volumes of poetry are), and the last several books seem stale and repetitive. As William Logan suggested, in the last couple of decades Ashbery became a machine that mechanically produced competent, barely distinguishable Ashbery poems. But at his best he was something special. Now W.S. Merwin is all that's left of that remarkable generation.
Added note: Arrgh, what am I talking about? How could I forget about the great Richard Wilbur, the great but often overlooked Donald Hall, and the perpetual caricature of himself who still managed to write some outstanding poems, Robert Bly?
Last edited by Kyle Norwood; 09-06-2017 at 06:02 AM.
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