Thursday, April 15, 2010

George Oppen

George Oppen is an American poet who lived a very adventurous life that directly impacted his poetry. He was raised in an affluent family in New York in the early 1900s. His family moved across country to San Francisco after his mother tragically committed suicide. George was a reckless young adult. He was expelled from school which provoked the start of his traveling. He traveled through England and Scotland to attend lectures on philosophy. He returned to the United States in 1926, which is when he started attending college. He met Mary Colby at Oregon State Agricultural College. Mary got expelled from the college and George was suspended. They decided to leave Oregon together and hitchhike and sail from the West Coast back to his home state of New York. Along the way they got married.

Once back in New York, Oppen became an important member of the Objectivist poets. Louis Zukofsky, another founding member of the Objectivists, said the group's goals for modern poetry were "to treat the poem as an object, and to emphasize sincerity, intelligence, and the poet's ability to look clearly at the world." They were highly influenced by William Carlos Williams and Ezra Pound. Oppen later published both legendary poets through his short-lived publishing company To Publishers.

George and his wife Mary became very involved as social activists during the Great Depression. His poems were published throughout his time as an activist. Soon after, though, he stopped writing entirely for two decades. Overwhelmed with political enthusiasm, Oppen eventually became affiliated with the Communist Party. After about ten years, he left his job as campaign manager and became involved with the military in an effort to fight fascism. He went on to fight in World War II. After he returned, he faced scrutiny from the House of Un-American Activities Committee. He fled to Mexico in 1950 and worked on a carpentry business.

He returned to the United States once again in 1958 with Mary. They found their way to New York once again where he reawakened his interest in poetics. From then on, he published numerous books of poetry and won the Pulitzer Prize. He was able to complete his final work, even though he suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, with the help of his wife. He died from complications with Alzheimer’s and pneumonia in 1984.

Robert Creeley wrote an introduction to a book of Oppen's poems (in 2003) that sums up Oppen's "Poetics" nicely:
"However different they were later to find their lives... all worked from the premise that poetry is a function of perception, 'of the act of perception'... Oppen's complex 'thinking with his poems' is a consistent and major factor in all his surviving work...much becomes clear, in fact, if one recognizes that George Oppen is trying all his life to think the world, not only to find or to enter it, or to gain a place in it but to realize it, to figure it, to have it literally in mind.”

Here are two examples of his poetry. They are both examples of ars poetica because he references the poem itself within the poem. Not all of his poetry is like this, but these are two examples that blend "America" with the individual with the poem with the world with the word, etc. He has perfected succinct and short lines. Some poems are entirely made up of couplets. His use of white space, caesura, and lacunae are well placed.

If It All Went Up in Smoke

that smoke
would remain
 
the forever
savage country poem's light borrowed
 
light of the landscape and one's footprints praise
 
from distance
in the close
crowd all
 
that is strange the sources
 
the wells the poem begins
 
neither in word
nor meaning but the small
selves haunting
 
us in the stones and is less
 
always than that help me I am
of that people the grass
 
blades touch
 
and touch in their small
 
distances the poem
begins

Who Shall Doubt

consciousness
 
        in itself
 
of itself carrying
 
    'the principle
        of the actual' being
 
actual
 
itself ((but maybe this is a love 
poem
 
Mary) ) nevertheless
 
        neither
 
the power
of the self nor the racing 
car nor the lilly
 
        is sweet but this