[Michael F]

Ross, you make me want to read the book. Or a book by you along those lines.

Your comment reminds me a bit of the philosophy of Nikolai Berdyaev, which I dug into at the suggestion of Norman Ball here on these boards. I found Berdyaev very compelling, excellent reading.

[ross hamilton hill]

Michael Ferris
It's a pity Graves' didn't spend more time rewriting The White Goddess, it was written in a rush of inspiriation and then published. Such a scholarly work needed more thought and research. Many have questioned it's scholarship and therefore it's conclusions.
I still think it is unique in it's approach, how many books on poetry deal with the inspiration behind poetry as opposed to the usual academic explanations about what poetry/a poem means.
Personally I think any artist connects to the divine when they create, (that is, if they are a truly creative artist). So the more you understand the divine in terms of religions, myths and rituals that have inspired people who came before you, the more you understand how creativity functions The great danger is when creativity deserts one, which it can do at any time, if you have the resources to see the wider context then you can see that being 'creative' is not the only aspect of the divine that can be accessed.
Many live their life simply trying to be holy, quietly meditating and praying and getting on with the business of living, such people may never create anything artistically and yet may well be experiencing the divine in ways that are very wonderful.

[Norman Ball]

I'm late to this thread and confess I haven't read it in its entirely. So apologies if I cover old ground. However I see the ramping up of Fall poems across the way, so it got me thunkin'...

It's an interesting (though perhaps ill--fated) poetic challenge to re-imagine Fall without recourse to leaves, amber, crunching sounds or rakes. Can it be done, or has the season itself been permanently consigned to certain obligatory touchstones?

Graves (notoriously stingy over the appellation of 'poet') suggests that poetry is inseparable from the rhythms of moon (and menstrual) cycles, crop yields, fallow and pregnant fields, etc. Thus poetry itself is a celebration of the seasonal ebb and flow of fertility. Surely the modern, urban (urbane?) poet might take exception to this very narrow furrow.

Does Fall have residual meaning beyond fertility in abeyance, in which case the onslaught of falling leaves may become well-nigh unavoidable?

[Andrew Mandelbaum]

Norm! Make a list of all the touchstones forbidden by the Arlington Manifesto and then let's have a challenge to write a piece to Autumn without them. If they all suck, we will know.

[Norman Ball]

"Make a list of all the touchstones forbidden by the Arlington Manifesto and then let's have a challenge to write a piece to Autumn without them."

Let me gallantly bat it back and ask, what does Fall mean to you?

I'm thinking...

A prisoner of rote imagery. A cul de sac curbed on three sides by convention. An cognitive strait jacket: When someone says 'don't think of Fall', your mind has little recourse but to picture carpets of orange leaves.

Fall is a prisoner. Poetry is its captor.

[Julie Steiner]

I've started a thread over at Drills and Amusements. Sounds like fun!