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On Kenneth Rexroth (стр. 2 из 2)

Is opposed to community.

As Capitalism and the

State become identical,

All existence assumes the

Character of a vast

Conspiracy to quantify

The Individual. . .[? 1950]

Some might weary of the sweeping, ex cathedra

character of passages like this, or feel that it comes close to being prose. However, it

is definitely verse in its subtly crafted syllabic meter. What, moreover, might have

seemed outlandishly left-wing or hysterical as a critique of American society in the late

l940s seems today like powerfully relevant, sanely Anarchist jeremiads against the

concentrated American power structures emerging out of the war. Further, Rexroth

alternates such passages with nature and love lyrics as sensuously compelling and forceful

as his best lyrics elsewhere in his work:

Bright petals of evening

Shatter, fall, drift over Florence,

And flush your cheeks a redder

Rose and gleam like fiery flakes

In your eyes. . .

. . .Your moist, quivering

Lips are like the wet scarlet wings

Of a reborn butterfly who

Trembles on the rose petal as

Life floods his strange body.

Turn to me. Part your

lips. My dear,

Some day we will be

dead.

This counterpointing of abstract, ideological

passages and sensuous lyrics lends Dragon form, as does its travel itinerary and

its consistent tone of worldliness, erudition and heterodoxical authority. Though a few

passages of misogyny and homophobia mar the book, they are more than compensated for by

Rexroth’s intellectual audacity, bright responsiveness to what he sees, and his

ideological anger and compassion. This compassion is exemplified by one of the highlights

of Dragon which Rexroth movingly contrasts an Age of Gold in the medieval culture

of Southern France with one of Iron. The latter was comprised of the Papacy and

imperialist England and Northern France which annihilated the Provence of the olive and

the vine, with its flourishing culture of love and literature, a booming economy and

heretical Catharism.

Opinionated, occasionally arrogant and savage, Dragon

is nevertheless an extraordinary work not only as poetry, wisdom, left-wing jeremiad,

historical reminiscence, ideological inspiration and travel experience, but as a prescient

revelation of the massive nihilism and corruption released in societies by World War II,

the Atom Bomb and the genocidal bent of sheer profit-oriented, large-corporation-driven

economies. Dragon is unquestionably one of Rexroth’s major works, and a

major American poem in its own right.

In poems like "The Signature of All

Things" or "Yugao" or "Lyell’s Hypothesis Again" or the

"Andree-Rexroth" elegies, Rexroth’s work does not even seem like poetry in

the sense of being a "verbal construct" or a convention of artful words and

syntactic and rhythmic strategies–rather, his poems seem like an exalted experience

undergone through words which have been rendered so clear, so "artless" and

"right" as to take on a kind of numinous transparency revealing the heart of the

poem’s essential life itself. This intense limpidity, when it occurs in Rexoth’s

verse, can make his poems distinctly crystalline, a mystical image and quality he himself

frequently invoked.

The words "crystal" and

"crystalline" provide a link to the last aspect of Rexroth’s verse there is

space to discuss: contemplation. Rexroth ends one of his finest poems, "Time Is the

Mercy of Eternity," with these words:

Suspended

In absolutely transparent time, I

Take on a kind of crystalline

Being. In this translucent

Immense here and now, if ever,

The form of the person should be

Visible, its geometry,

Its crystallography, and

Its astronomy. The good

And evil of my history

Go by. I can see them and

Weigh them. They go first, with all

The other personal facts,

And sensations, and desires.

At last there is nothing left

But knowledge, itself a vast

Crystal encompassing the

Limitless crystal of air

And rock and water. And the

Two crystals are perfectly

Silent. There is nothing to

Say about them. Nothing at all. [? 1956]

The word "crystal" is mentioned in one

form or another five times in these last 23 lines. This pivotal word and image relate to a

few of Rexroth’s ideas about contemplation, and inform us too about the purpose of

contemplation in Rexroth’s verse generally. For a poet to urge, as Rexroth does, that

poetry (and thus art) as contemplation constitutes the webbing that keeps society from

disintegrating or from destroying itself is a forceful claim. By dramatizing in "Time

Is the Mercy of Eternity" the contemplative, mystical process through imagery of the

crystal which by its very nature reduces physical reality to its basic structure (thus

accentuating the "mystical" qualities of transparency, clarity, heightened

visibility), one provides a kind of direct, phenomenal authority for words asserting the

primacy of contemplation as vision. Vision is intensified, even exalted, seeing. But

contemplation and vision go beyond that, for, as in "Time" or in a slighter,

monistic poem by Rexroth called "The Heart of Herakles" (from

"The-Lights-in-the-Sky-Are-Stars" series (1956)), one crosses the traditional

and arbitrary line between subject (the "I") and object (the "it,"

Other, World) and, becoming part of one’s surroundings, transcends their and

one’s own partialness towards an exalted clarity ("I take on a kind of

crystalline being"). What follows resembles the Buddhist transcendence of all worldly

ties and associations represented as Nirvana (the good and evil of one’s history

going by, as well as "personal facts, sensations, desires"). One is left in this

mystical denudation in a state of mind–again, crystalline–that Rexroth mentions

frequently and which can be summed up in lines from his long l967 poem The

Heart’s Garden, the Garden’s Heart: "He who lives without

grasping/Lives always in the experience/Of the immediate as the Ultimate."

What Rexroth is doing with his crystal figure, so

symbolically climactic to his entire poem and, considering the definition from Heart’s

Garden, to his work itself, is imagizing or symbolizing the contemplative state.

There is no absolute in the traditional religious sense even in "Time"’s

two crystals of self and world, unless one wishes to say that they are

"absolutely" real or reside at the center of reality. But one need not decide on

this absoluteness, need not even say and thus think anything about them. Perhaps that

constitutes some of the meaning of the last three-and-a-half lines of the poem: "And

the/Two crystals are perfectly/Silent. There is nothing to/Say about them. Nothing at

all." The silence beyond words and thoughts (let alone "facts, sensations, and

desires") is conceivably a mystical aural facet of the crystalline vision climaxing

"Time," and as such offers a summit of tranquillity from which to contemplate

newly how time is the mercy of eternity.

When James Wright wrote in l980 that "Over

the years I have learned that I am far from being alone in being so grateful to Rexroth,

and I believe he has saved many poets from imaginative death," he was in part

alluding to Rexroth’s essays and translations, but even more to Rexroth’s love

verse. But I would guess that what poets like Wright and many others–poets and

non-poets–essentially prized about Rexroth’s work was that he seemed to have a great

knack for clearing away the rant, pretensions and chicanery in society concealing reality.

When he turned his keen sense of the real away from organized society, which he described

as held together by the Social Lie, and focused on love, political/philosophical and

nature subjects, a particular lucidity, vividness and intensity emerged in his verse that

one could call the natural supernatural. Speaking of D. H. Lawrence’s Look! We

Have Come Through!, Rexroth says "Reality is totally valued. . . ..The clarity

of purposively realize objectivity is the most supernatural of all visions."

This applies perfectly to Rexroth’s own poetry as well, and is another way of

indicating that numinous glow on and within the natural and the ordinary that his best

work gives off-the holiness of the real.

Donald K. Gutierrez

Copyright ? 1999