By Denise Levertov
Through the years, Denise Levertov's poetry has moved ever extra deeply into the world of meditation, whereas but conversing with the frequent voice of "the poet within the world."
Oblique Prayers is prepared in 4 thematic sections that, taken jointly, paintings towards a mature philosophy in equivalent concord with public activism and personal mirrored image. a private temper hyperlinks the poems of “Decipherings.” In “Prisoners," the poet addresses the continued horrors of our darkish time: genocide, imperialism, drawing close nuclear holocaust––human degradation in brutal political guise. Levertov is an entire translator. With "Fourteen Poems via Jean Joubert," she introduces English-speaking readers to a latest French poet whose paintings is remarkably comparable to her personal. "Of God and of the Gods," the ultimate element of the ebook, is knowledgeable through a transcendent lyricism which can equate in a breath "a day of spring, a needle's eye."
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Extra info for Oblique Prayers
35 If I suffered from the necessity of producing a systematic interpretation of these objects, I would never take the direction of any of the classical methods of exploring the unconscious, whose reducibility to Oedipus I would, in the best case scenario, presuppose, and would be much more tempted to resort to the somnambulistic method of Objectanalysis as I defined and utilized it in Two Invisible Women Knock on My Door, a Dying Woman Offers Them an Envelope on my Behalf (manuscript, 1944). But my lyrical-subjective and amorousobjective position before the five received objects necessarily prevents me from systematizing the voluptuous vertigo I experience in merely contemplating them and what necessarily is being suggested to me is to maintain and aggravate my vertigo to the fainting point, to allow myself to be passionately drawn towards all the lascivious and chaotic traps which are being set for me.
I am moved to tears by my metallic gaze and the corpse's sneer I sport upon my lips. I am calm and more certain of myself than if I had swallowed a lactating cow. I stroll about with a step of marble, listen with an ear of drums, I scrutinize with an eyeball shooting out of the middle of my forehead like a tree that would tint its leaves its own favorite hue. I challenge myself to a game of marbles, which I extract from my pockets and I am always the winner. Chance is on my side incessantly. It is fruitless to calculate probabilities in matters of chance, chance is nothing if not auspicious.
In light of these atrocious and sudden strikes, veritable alarm signals, the genial embraces that double them suddenly seem suspect to me, and my most urgent necessity alike, projecting the theoretical void that unravels me and paralyzes all of my mental activities, to create around me a corresponding void which, despite its suffocating and unendurable aspect, eliminates the cloying admixture of good and evil furnished to me by the exterior world and which for me is the image of the Oedipal double and the most sinister mask of error.