[New-Poetry] Snodgrass

[jforjames at aol.com]

Snodgrass is a very interesting case when it comes to the question of 'fame' and its fickle nature. 
Nemerov I don't think ever had the 'moment' Snodgrass had. I confess that I have to go back now and read
more poems. At a certain point I wasn't paying attention. But I think that was as much because the 
vagaries of critical attention fell off.
Finnegan

-----Original Message-----
From: David Graham <grahamd at ripon.edu>
To: new-poetry at wiz.cath.vt.edu &amp; Views <new-poetry at wiz.cath.vt.edu>
Sent: Wed, 14 Jan 2009 12:57 pm
Subject: [New-Poetry] Snodgrass







At a poetry reading last night we were talking about W. D. Snodgrass, naturally.  Someone compared him to Howard Nemerov, not in terms of style but in terms of his interesting position as an inside/outsider, depending on viewing angle.  And as someone whose reputation seemed, by the end, unfairly dimmed.




Certainly in his later years Snodgrass never matched his early fame or influence, and the "confessional" label (which he rightly detested) clung to him doggedly, despite the vast amount of his work not fitting the category.   He quite graciously declined to write an essay for Kate Sontag's and my anthology *After Confession*, not wanting to go anywhere near the term "confession."  




I remember what a hit his reputation took when he embarked on his big project of poems about the Nazi inner circle.  Yet to the end he went on publishing and going his own way.  His best work is unsettlingly honest.  I alwa
ys admired his independent spirit, and his prose book *In Radical Pursuit* was highly important to me when I was starting out.  




I never knew Snodgrass personally, though he once performed a real kindness for me, sending me a consolatory letter after I did not win a contest he was judging.  We had a tiny little correspondence after that, and I'll always remember his generosity.  







Sitting Outside              

 

These lawn chairs and the chaise lounge 

of bulky redwood were purchased for my father 

twenty years ago, then plumped down in the yard 

where he seldom went when he could still work 

and never had stayed long. His left arm 

in a sling, then lopped off, he smoked there or slept 

while the weather lasted, watched what cars passed, 

read stock reports, counted pills, 

then dozed again. I didn’t go there 

in those last weeks, sick of the delusions 

they still maintained, their talk of plans 

for some boat tour or a trip to the Bahamas 

once he’d recovered. Under our willows, 

this old set’s done well: we’ve sat with company, 

read or taken notes—although the arm rests 

get dry and splintery or wheels drop off 

so the whole frame’s weakened if it’s hauled 

across rough ground.  Of course the trees, 

too, may not last: leaves storm down, 

branches crack off, the riddled bark 

separates, t
hen gets shed. I have a son, myself, 

with things to be looked after. I sometimes think 

since I’ve retired, sitting in the shade here 

and feeling the winds shift, I must have been filled 

with a child dread you could catch somebody’s dying

if you got too close. And you can’t be too sure.

 

--W. D. Snodgrass. Not for Specialists: New and Selected Poems.  BOA Editions, 2006. 

 







========================================

David Graham

grahamd at ripon.edu




Home Page:

http://web.mac.com/drjazz




Poetry Library:

http://web.mac.com/drjazz/iWeb/Site/DGPoLibrary.html

==========================================








= 


_______________________________________________
ew-Poetry mailing list
ew-Poetry at wiz.cath.vt.edu
ttp://wiz.cath.vt.edu/mailman/listinfo/new-poetry

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: http://wiz.cath.vt.edu/pipermail/new-poetry/attachments/20090114/6202ef32/attachment.html