First printing. "First edition" appears on the title page with no indication of a later printing. The pages are clean and unmarked. The binding/spine is tight and straight. The corners are sharp/unbumped. Unfortunately age or production paste deterioration have caused the spine and the board edges near it to appear stained or foxed. Similar discoloration appears along the near-spine edges of the pastedowns and front endpapers. The top text block is foxed. The jacket is in "good" condition. The bends are age discolored. There are some small abrasions along the spine, and there are three tears along the bottom edge, the longest two of which are about an inch long. There is light residue from a price sticker that was removed from the front flap where the original price of $3.50 appears.
George Oppen (April 24, 1908 – July 7, 1984) was an American poet, best known as one of the members of the Objectivist group of poets. He abandoned poetry in the 1930s for political activism, and later moved to Mexico to avoid the attentions of the House Un-American Activities Committee. He returned to poetry—and to the United States—in 1958, and received the Pulitzer Prize in 1969.
I emailed one of my favorite musicians asking for advice on a poem I wrote listening to one of his songs. He told me to read this book. I aspire to oppens attentiveness to the material, his stark efficiency, the lushness that he holds in one-word lines. I want to write in a way that shelters
“From the winds
The winds that lie In the mind, The ruinous winds
‘Powerless to affect The intensity of what is’” (Giovanni’s rape of the Sabine women at wildensteins),
I want to remember that which is
“Crumbling at the edges Which is terror, the unsightly
Silting sand of events” (The Mayan ground),
I want to feel the
“Islands To the north
In polar mist In the rather shallow sea— Nothing more
There are some incredible poems here, among many good ones and a bit of filler. Oppen asks some big questions in an impressive variety of ways, but always maintains a connection to his ground (a ground both literal and figurative). These poems challenge intellectually and emotionally, rewarding but close and initial readings. Fragments from one poem tend to echo in several others, providing resonance (and, in some cases, dissonance) which ensures another go-through of the whole thing.
If concrete imagery and minute description is your thing, you'll probably want to go elsewhere. Otherwise, there's a delicious relationship being worked out between the life of the eyes and ears, and the life of the mind, which more than rewards patience and attention.
Not quite five stars, but better than four, I'd give this collection an 8.5/10.
Hello G. I oppenned your book yesterday and what did I find? I find you in united states of telling us about it. I fancy you view the street scene and see yourself in there and then fasten your beliefs to a folding chair. Hold on to your hats. This will be a very bold statement... At it categorically is. I do like you G. I like the arrangement of poems. I like anything about machines. I like the one in which and one where and how I see Steve Orlen probably liking you. Me and Steve Orlen. Imagine that.
Three Oppen books -- The Materials, This In Which, and Of Being Numerous -- are peaks of post-War American poetry. Along with his wife Mary's memoir, Meaning A Life, and Rachel Blau Du Plessis' edition of Oppen's letters, they are foundational for poetry.