!Free Ebook ♴ The Opening of the Field ⚖ PDF or E-pub free

!Free Ebook ♸ The Opening of the Field ♗ Speaking Of His Own Work, Robert Duncan Said I Make Poetry As Other Men Make War Or Make Love Or Make States Or Revolutions To Exercise My Faculties At Large The Opening Of The Field, His First Major Collection, Was Originally Brought Out InIn It, Duncan Introduced His Structures Of Rime, The Open Series He Continued In His Subsequent Collections, Roots And BranchesAnd Bending The Bow, Ground Work Before The War, And Ground Work II In The DarkStructures Of Rime Affirms His Belief In The Universal Integrity Of The Poem Itself In The Living Process Of Language Thus In The Structure Of Rime I He Declares O Lasting Sentence, Sentence After Sentence I Make In Your Image In The Feet That Measure The Dance Of My Pages I Hear Cosmic Intoxications Of The Man I Will Be The classic poem, Often I Am Permitted to Return. is here, along with dozens of other rapt raps by this, most flamboyant of poets I love this book, and learned an enormous amount about myth how to include things in the poem from it Duncan is in conversation with all of his favorite poets living dead in these poems, from Dante to Pound to HD to Rimbaud back, as if such conversations were the most ordinary things in his life, and I suspect they were Recent complaints that he was pretentious absolutely was , or melodramatic always and precious often don t marr the excellence or the sheer brilliance of these poems Duncan is capable of great profundity when he is on, and he is always on in this book My copy is nearly in tatters Crucial. This was my very first experience reading Duncan and I was not disappointed.Overall, he is a very talented poet, I can tell, with a great command of rhythm and poetic momentum which builds and builds within each line and cadence These poems sound great read aloud too, like any good poetry.I was not a huge fan of his rhyming poetry in this collection some of it sounded a bit corny and obsolete but the imagery and organic connections between human language and earth, where our music comes from, are so resonant that they overweigh any shortcomings within You can strongly feel the mark inspiration of Dante and Chaucer whose canonic influence blow strong thru these poems Duncan stands out from his contemporaries the beats, the San Francisco Renaissance poets and his fellow Black Mountain poets, in that his poems exude an unmistakeable strain of classical lyricism, which is not to be gainsaid or mocked or undervalued against contemporary poetic style The only other poet I can think of around Duncan s time who also has such a strong classical feel within his poetry is Gregory Corso who I think would have dug Duncan s work very much Corso of course combines classical styles with surrealistic imagery though I look forward to reading Creeley and Olson and comparing some of their work against Duncan s I hope to read Roots and Branches sometime in the near future Thanks to my lovely wife for purchasing this as a Xmas gift. A truly seminal book by a truly great and too often neglected American poet, brought up in my birth town, Oakland, California So there IS a there there Often I am permitted to return to a meadow is the prologue poem par excellence that is also a credo and poetics of inspiration and the unseen aspect of our soul work The book contains many of Duncan s masterworks The reader works with him through the writing of his poems, and enters luxuriant worlds and passes through them into this one The everlasting omen of what is I m grateful for the audio PoemTalk 27, hosted by Kelly Writer s House Al Filries, accessible through the Poetry Foundation, where Bernstein, Robinson and Rothenberg discuss the poem and the book, and returned me to my shelf to take it out again and read.Duncan periodically floats through, dispensing his unique wisdom. I ll never get over this one FIVE STARS required reading from our last real Blakean theosophist mystic poet Duncan doesn t always succeed, for his vision is wild and uncontained If there s such a thing as the opposite of backyard flowerpot chirping chickadee poetry, this is it The poetry is far from random or messy though Duncan s knows what he s doing, but he s just tuned into an older kind of song and rhthymsarchaic than we accustomed to Was immersed in reading the immense and lovely correspondence btwn RD and Denise Levertov before the NYPL had to take the book away from me The letters and friendship is a model of cooperative, intense learning and searching, and deep sympathy and care for the other s vision and creations. If Walt Whitman s second cousin had dropped acid on a day when he wasn t particularly inspired, I think he would have written something as disjointed, pseudo profound, and needlessly obscure as this I trudged through The Opening of the Field as best I could, trying to tell myself it was worth the challenge, but after several pages of fumbling, vague, and frankly linguistically adolescent phrases like flamey threads of firstness go out from your touch which I only recall because it s on the very last page, but the book is full of them sprinkled with pointless archaisms, I lost interest.Reading poetry is like falling in love You need the energy of infatuation to get you over the threshold to know enough about the person to sustain a relationship This book without meaning to be sexist, here just trying to convey my frustration and disappointment is the mildly attractive woman with the PhD who has a reputation of being incredible in bed, but turns out to be a long winded boor with very little imagination and a large handful of off putting habits The book is revered by lots of poets, many of whom I admire, but I m left scratching my head as to why There are, I think, two poems that seemed to me worth delving into, promising some reward for the effort of untangling the metaphors and structure but for the most part, the poems were both near impossible to decipher and not interesting enough to inspire me to give a shit. Just read this one, which I ve had lying on a shelf for a long time after finding it used I realized I hadn t added any of his other books to my list, so I fixed that terrible omission The whole Duncan Olson Levertov Black Mountain Creeley cluster is one of my very favorite kinds of American poetry, the only set of people who really managed the post Ezra Pound long open poetic cycle as documentation of a process, and who did it personally and movingly and with often incredible language, plus a lack of horrifying Poundean political beliefs.As for Duncan, this is one collection earlier than my favorites of his, which really center on Bending the Bow His favored tactic for these long exploratory cycles is to have them just kind of overlap his various books Interspersed among individual works here, there are a couple dozen poems entitled The Structure of Rime 1 or 2, or 12 , each of which is a different symbol heavy take on his issues with prosody Continuations pop up through his next handful of books, even as OTHER long cycles with different titles start up as well, themselves continuing for multiple books Some even show up 20 years later.But this collection is where it all starts, and it certainly gets the ball rolling on Duncan as a writer with a sharp, interesting mind surrounded by a cloud of archetypes, trying to pin them down to the world He never quite succeeded what would it mean to have succeeded , but he failed better and better That s mid century modernism for you. as if it were a scene made up by the mind,that is not mine, but is a made place,that is mine, it is so near to the heart,an eternal pasture folded in all thoughtso that there is a hall thereinthat is a made place, created by lightwherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.Wherefrom fall all architecture I amI say are likenesses of the First Belovedwhose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.She it is Queen Under The Hillwhose hosts are a disturbance of words within wordsthat is a field folded.It is only a dream of the grass blowingeast against the source of the sunin an hour before the sun s going downwhose secret we see in a children s gameof rung a round of roses told.Often I am permitted to return to meadowas if it were a given property of the mindthat certain bounds hold against chaos,that is a place of first permission,everlasting omen of what is Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow, pg 7 remembering powers of love and of poetry,the Berkeley we believed grove of Arcady that there might be potencies in common things, princely manipulations of the real the hard electric lights, filaments exposedwe loved by or studied by, romantic,fused between glare and seraphic glow, old lamps of wisdom old lamps of sufferingbut that s not the way I saw Crossd,the sinister eye sees the near as clear fact, the farblurs the right eye fuses all that isimmediate to sight There first I knewthe companions name themselves and movein time of naming upward toward outwardforms of desire and enlightenment,but intoxicated, only by longingbelonging to that first companyof names stars that in heavencall attention to a tension in design, compelas the letters by which we spell words compel magic refinements and sought from tree and sun, from night and sea,old powers Dionysus in wrath, Apollo in rapture,Orpheus in song, and Eros secretlyfour that Christ crossd in one NaturePlato names the First Belovedthat now I seein all certain dear contributor to my beinghad given me house, ghost,image and colour, in whom I dwell past Arcady.For tho death is sweet and veriest imitator of ecstasyand there be a Great Lover, Salvator Mundi,whose kingdom hangs over me tho the lamps strung among shadowy foliage are there tho all earlier ravishings, rapture,happened, and sing melodies, moving thus when I touch them such sad lines they may have beenthat now thou hast lifted to gladness.Of all fearless happinessfrom which reaches my life I sing the years radiatingtoward the so calld first days,toward the so calld last days, inadequate boundariesof the heart you hold to A Poem Slow Beginning, pg 14 15 At the dance of the Hallows I will tell my love.There where the threshers move,the lewdness of women ripening the wheat,the men in outer room joking,how the Holy moves over them The Earth shakes Kore Kore forI was thinking of her Shewho shakes the stores of ancestral grain The Earth does not shake again Troubled,the heart recovers But is moved.At the dance of the Hallows I will tell my love.It moves to fill with song, with wine,the trouble, the quiet, the cup, that followsthe divine Threshers.Kore O visage as of sun glare, thunderous awakener, light treader will you not wake us again shake the earth under us At the dance of the Hallows I will tell my love.It is my song of the whole year I singrendering lovely the fall of Her feetand there where Her feet spring, evenat the dance of the Hallows I will tell my love,the melody from whose abundance leapsthe slow rounds of winter, pounds summer s heat.How the Holy moves over them I will tell my lovethat lies a grain among the living grain.Therefore I join them, dancing, dancing .a thresher among the Threshers Kore Kore for I was thinking of her when the quake came, of radiant desire underground Thou hast my heart, a grain, in the Earth s stone.At the dance of the Hallows I praise thee therefore, Earth mover, tender Thresher, Queen of our dance floor Evocation, pg 40 By stress and syllableby change rhyme and contourwe let the long line pace even awkward to its period.The short linewe refineand keep for candour.This we remember ember of the firecatches the word if we but hear We must understand what is happening and springs to desire,a bird right lightsound.This is the Yule log that warms December.This is new grass that springs from the ground Keeping the Rhyme, pg 51 Yes, as a look springs to its face,as earth, light and grass illustrate the meadow,there s a natural grace I hope forthat unknowing a poem may showhaving its life in a field of rapture,a book made full of days pages ,a ready effort full of all places thenthat may be because I have loved thempart song of companionsand of those unknown, alike in soul.For them may there be a special greenand flowering of life in these words eager to be read, taken, yielded to.Yes, though I contrive the mind s measureand wrest doctrine from old lore,it s to win particular hearts,to stir an abiding affection for this music,as if a host of readers will join the Belovedready to dance with me, it s for the unthinkingready thing I m writing these poems Yes, As a Look Springs to Its Face, pg 61 There are memories everywhere then Rememberd, we go out, as in the first poem, upon the sea at night to the drifting.Of my first lover there is a boat drifting The oars have been cast down into the shell As if this were no water but a wall, there is a repeated knock as of hollow against hollow, wood against wood Stopping to knock on wood against the traps of the night fishers, I hear before my knocking the sound of a knock drifting.It goes without will thru the perilous sound, a white sad wanderer where I no longer am It taps at the posts of the deserted wharf.Now from the last years of my life I hear forerunners of a branch creaking.All night a boat swings as if to sink Weight returning to weight in the cold water A hotel room returns from Wilmington into morning A boat sets out without boatmen into twenty years of snow returning The Structure of Rime, pg 73 As I came needing wonder as the new shoots need waterto the letter A that sounds its mystery in wave and in waine,trembling I bent as if there were a weight in wordslike that old man bends under his age towards Death But it is the sun that sounds Day from the first brink,it is the sea that in its dazzling holds my eye.How under the low roof of desolate graya language not of words lies waiting There s depth, weight, force at the horizonthat levels all images.Rabbi Aaron of Bagdad meditating upon the Word and the letter Yod and Hecame upon the Name of God and achieved a pure rapturein which a creature of his ecstasy that was once dumb clay, the Golem,danced and sang and had being.Reading of this devout jew I thoughtthere may be such power in a certain passage of a poemthat eternal joy may leap therefrom.But it was for a clearing of the sky,for a blue radiance, my thought criedSublime Turner who dying said to Ruskin, The Sun is God, my dear, knewthe actual language is written in rainbows The Natural Doctrine, pg 81 Not an entirely fair rating I borrowed this book and had to read it very quickly in order to give it back I think I would have enjoyed it muchon my second third read So much talk of gods and other allusions that I have no reference for kind of kept me from this poetry However, every once in a while I would find myself in a poem and would think Robert Duncan may be on to something here Will have to read again one day.