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Selected Poems of Charles Olson
"I have assumed a great deal in the selection of the poems from such a large and various number, making them a discourse unavoidably my own as well as any Olson himself might have chosen to offer. I had finally no advice but the long held habit of our using one another, during his life, to act as a measure, a bearing, an unabashed response to what either might write or say."—Robert Creeley
A seminal figure in post-World War II literature, Charles Olson has helped define the postmodern sensibility. His poetry embraces themes of empowering love, political responsibility, the wisdom of dreams, the intellect as a unit of energy, the restoration of the archaic, and the transformation of consciousness—all carried in a voice both intimate and grand, American and timeless, impassioned and coolly demanding.
In this selection of some 70 poems, Robert Creeley has sought to present a personal reading of Charles Olson's decisive and inimitable work—"unequivocal instances of his genius"—over the many years of their friendship.
A seminal figure in post-World War II literature, Charles Olson has helped define the postmodern sensibility. His poetry embraces themes of empowering love, political responsibility, the wisdom of dreams, the intellect as a unit of energy, the restoration of the archaic, and the transformation of consciousness—all carried in a voice both intimate and grand, American and timeless, impassioned and coolly demanding.
In this selection of some 70 poems, Robert Creeley has sought to present a personal reading of Charles Olson's decisive and inimitable work—"unequivocal instances of his genius"—over the many years of their friendship.
246 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1993
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About the author
Charles Olson
175 books80 followersCharles Olson was a second generation American modernist poet who was a link between earlier figures such as Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams and the New American poets, which includes the New York School, the Black Mountain School, the Beat poets, and the San Francisco Renaissance. Consequently, many postmodern groups, such as the poets of the Language School, include Olson as a primary and precedent figure. He described himself not so much as a poet or writer but as "an archeologist of morning."
Olson's first book was Call Me Ishmael (1947), a study of Herman Melville's novel Moby Dick which was a continuation of his M.A. thesis from Wesleyan University.[5] In Projective Verse (1950), Olson called for a poetic meter based on the breath of the poet and an open construction based on sound and the linking of perceptions rather than syntax and logic. The poem "The Kingfishers", first published in 1949 and collected in his first book of poetry, In Cold Hell, in Thicket (1953), is an application of the manifesto.
His second collection, The Distances, was published in 1960. Olson served as rector of the Black Mountain College from 1951 to 1956. During this period, the college supported work by John Cage, Robert Creeley, Allen Ginsberg, Robert Duncan, Fielding Dawson, Cy Twombly, Jonathan Williams, Ed Dorn, Stan Brakhage and many other members of the 1950s American avant garde. Olson is listed as an influence on artists including Carolee Schneemann and James Tenney.[6]
Olson's reputation rests in the main on his complex, sometimes difficult poems such as "The Kingfishers", "In Cold Hell, in Thicket", and The Maximus Poems, work that tends to explore social, historical, and political concerns. His shorter verse, poems such as "Only The Red Fox, Only The Crow", "Other Than", "An Ode on Nativity", "Love", and "The Ring Of", manifest a sincere, original, accessible, emotionally powerful voice. "Letter 27 [withheld]" from The Maximus Poems weds Olson's lyric, historic, and aesthetic concerns. Olson coined the term postmodern in a letter of August 1951 to his friend and fellow poet, Robert Creeley.
In 1950, inspired by the example of Pound's Cantos (though Olson denied any direct relation between the two epics), Olson began writing The Maximus Poems, a project that was to remain unfinished at the time of his death. An exploration of American history in the broadest sense, Maximus is also an epic of place, Massachusetts and specifically the city of Gloucester where Olson had settled. Dogtown, the wild, rock-strewn centre of Cape Ann, next to Gloucester, is an important place in The Maximus Poems. (Olson used to write outside on a tree stump in Dogtown.) The whole work is also mediated through the voice of Maximus, based partly on Maximus of Tyre, an itinerant Greek philosopher, and partly on Olson himself. The final, unfinished volume imagines an ideal Gloucester in which communal values have replaced commercial ones.
Olson's first book was Call Me Ishmael (1947), a study of Herman Melville's novel Moby Dick which was a continuation of his M.A. thesis from Wesleyan University.[5] In Projective Verse (1950), Olson called for a poetic meter based on the breath of the poet and an open construction based on sound and the linking of perceptions rather than syntax and logic. The poem "The Kingfishers", first published in 1949 and collected in his first book of poetry, In Cold Hell, in Thicket (1953), is an application of the manifesto.
His second collection, The Distances, was published in 1960. Olson served as rector of the Black Mountain College from 1951 to 1956. During this period, the college supported work by John Cage, Robert Creeley, Allen Ginsberg, Robert Duncan, Fielding Dawson, Cy Twombly, Jonathan Williams, Ed Dorn, Stan Brakhage and many other members of the 1950s American avant garde. Olson is listed as an influence on artists including Carolee Schneemann and James Tenney.[6]
Olson's reputation rests in the main on his complex, sometimes difficult poems such as "The Kingfishers", "In Cold Hell, in Thicket", and The Maximus Poems, work that tends to explore social, historical, and political concerns. His shorter verse, poems such as "Only The Red Fox, Only The Crow", "Other Than", "An Ode on Nativity", "Love", and "The Ring Of", manifest a sincere, original, accessible, emotionally powerful voice. "Letter 27 [withheld]" from The Maximus Poems weds Olson's lyric, historic, and aesthetic concerns. Olson coined the term postmodern in a letter of August 1951 to his friend and fellow poet, Robert Creeley.
In 1950, inspired by the example of Pound's Cantos (though Olson denied any direct relation between the two epics), Olson began writing The Maximus Poems, a project that was to remain unfinished at the time of his death. An exploration of American history in the broadest sense, Maximus is also an epic of place, Massachusetts and specifically the city of Gloucester where Olson had settled. Dogtown, the wild, rock-strewn centre of Cape Ann, next to Gloucester, is an important place in The Maximus Poems. (Olson used to write outside on a tree stump in Dogtown.) The whole work is also mediated through the voice of Maximus, based partly on Maximus of Tyre, an itinerant Greek philosopher, and partly on Olson himself. The final, unfinished volume imagines an ideal Gloucester in which communal values have replaced commercial ones.
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Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
June 25, 2017
When I picked it out at a used-bookstore, the clerk commented, "Ah, Olson, the most difficult poet in America."
Of course, that cemented the deal!
I would never pretend to begin to understand, but I've acquired a taste for stuff that I don't understand, but which somehow implies that I might someday start to understand.
I also can't claim to have got very far in it. Such stuff is only good in small doses.
1. Still, I discovered I really liked some parts of " The Kingfishers." Intrigued, I Googled, and found this essay on the poem:
Burton Hatlen's "Kinesis and Meaning: Charles Olson's "The Kingfishers" and the Critics"
Contemporary Literature
Vol. 30, No. 4 (Winter, 1989), pp. 546-572
https://www.jstor.org/stable/1208615?...
I like it because Hatlen presents other critics' responses/interpretations, which are very contradictory, then posits that perhaps Olson's work is precisely a sort which prompts wildly differing interpretations and that's okay.
2. Later, looking into the poets' colony of Bolinas, I stumbled across another Olson curiosity. A bunch of poets in his circle carried out after his death a multi-author work he'd inspired:
"A Curriculum of the Soul"
https://entropymag.org/a-curriculum-o...
(Strangely, Robert Creeley,—who corresponded extensively with Olson and selected the poems in this volume—did not participate, and I suspect there were poetical politics involved, unfortunately. )
3. Just this week, I decided to explore the amazing PennSound archives on my long drives hither and thither across LA. In the Olson section, I found this:
http://www.writing.upenn.edu/pennsoun...
On Olson's centenary, a bunch of folks shared stories. One of them Charles Stein, describes his process of writing a study of Olson, during which he explored how Olson's curiosity about Jung influenced his writing. A couple of the speakers in the Woodberry recordings refer to Jung as a focus a Black Mountain. Olson had tried to get Jung to visit, but he was too old so Marie Von Franz came in his stead.
Stein's book on Olson and Jung is "The Secret of the Black Chrysanthemum". I'm going to add it here.
Of course, that cemented the deal!
I would never pretend to begin to understand, but I've acquired a taste for stuff that I don't understand, but which somehow implies that I might someday start to understand.
I also can't claim to have got very far in it. Such stuff is only good in small doses.
1. Still, I discovered I really liked some parts of " The Kingfishers." Intrigued, I Googled, and found this essay on the poem:
Burton Hatlen's "Kinesis and Meaning: Charles Olson's "The Kingfishers" and the Critics"
Contemporary Literature
Vol. 30, No. 4 (Winter, 1989), pp. 546-572
https://www.jstor.org/stable/1208615?...
I like it because Hatlen presents other critics' responses/interpretations, which are very contradictory, then posits that perhaps Olson's work is precisely a sort which prompts wildly differing interpretations and that's okay.
2. Later, looking into the poets' colony of Bolinas, I stumbled across another Olson curiosity. A bunch of poets in his circle carried out after his death a multi-author work he'd inspired:
"A Curriculum of the Soul"
https://entropymag.org/a-curriculum-o...
(Strangely, Robert Creeley,—who corresponded extensively with Olson and selected the poems in this volume—did not participate, and I suspect there were poetical politics involved, unfortunately. )
3. Just this week, I decided to explore the amazing PennSound archives on my long drives hither and thither across LA. In the Olson section, I found this:
http://www.writing.upenn.edu/pennsoun...
On Olson's centenary, a bunch of folks shared stories. One of them Charles Stein, describes his process of writing a study of Olson, during which he explored how Olson's curiosity about Jung influenced his writing. A couple of the speakers in the Woodberry recordings refer to Jung as a focus a Black Mountain. Olson had tried to get Jung to visit, but he was too old so Marie Von Franz came in his stead.
Stein's book on Olson and Jung is "The Secret of the Black Chrysanthemum". I'm going to add it here.
March 10, 2015
Charles Olson is an important bridge poet. He is post-modern, following in the spirit of Ezra Pound, and is an acclaimed forerunner of the beat poets like Ginsburg. He has a foot in both worlds, and is the very definition of a poet’s poet.
In terms of primary themes, Olson focuses on size and scale as a recurring theme. “Come into the world” and “Take a big bite” so that one does not become those who “can take no risk that matters, the risk of beauty least of all.” He says that space is a “first fact” of our existence, we “are the last first people.” (xiii) These types of themes recur throughout multiple poems.
At times, there are fascinating introductions. The beginning of “The Kingfishers” is a true masterpiece, and frankly, I can’t read it without hearing these words sung in the voice of Bob Dylan:
What does not change / is the will to change
He woke, fully clothed, in his bed. He
remembered only one thing, the birds, how
when he came in, he had gone around the rooms
and got them back in their cage, the green one first,
she with the bad leg, and then the blue,
the one they had hoped was a male” (5)
The pinnacle of the collection are the Maximus poems. “Maximus, to himself” is my favorite poem of the collection starts as follows:
I have had to learn the simplest things
last. Which made for difficulties.
Even at sea I was slow, to get the hand out, or to cross
a wet deck.
The sea was not, finally, my trade.
but even my trade, at it, I stood estranged
from that which was most familiar. Was delayed,
and not content with the man’s argument
that such postponement
is now the nature of
obedience,
that we are all late
in a slow time,
that we grow up many
and the single is not easily known
All in all, this is a worthy collection. I do not feel like I am knowledgeable enough, however, to appreciate Olson’s poems with as much reverence as is shown by true exports of the field.
See my other reviews here!
In terms of primary themes, Olson focuses on size and scale as a recurring theme. “Come into the world” and “Take a big bite” so that one does not become those who “can take no risk that matters, the risk of beauty least of all.” He says that space is a “first fact” of our existence, we “are the last first people.” (xiii) These types of themes recur throughout multiple poems.
At times, there are fascinating introductions. The beginning of “The Kingfishers” is a true masterpiece, and frankly, I can’t read it without hearing these words sung in the voice of Bob Dylan:
What does not change / is the will to change
He woke, fully clothed, in his bed. He
remembered only one thing, the birds, how
when he came in, he had gone around the rooms
and got them back in their cage, the green one first,
she with the bad leg, and then the blue,
the one they had hoped was a male” (5)
The pinnacle of the collection are the Maximus poems. “Maximus, to himself” is my favorite poem of the collection starts as follows:
I have had to learn the simplest things
last. Which made for difficulties.
Even at sea I was slow, to get the hand out, or to cross
a wet deck.
The sea was not, finally, my trade.
but even my trade, at it, I stood estranged
from that which was most familiar. Was delayed,
and not content with the man’s argument
that such postponement
is now the nature of
obedience,
that we are all late
in a slow time,
that we grow up many
and the single is not easily known
All in all, this is a worthy collection. I do not feel like I am knowledgeable enough, however, to appreciate Olson’s poems with as much reverence as is shown by true exports of the field.
See my other reviews here!
January 20, 2022
Move Over
Merchants. of the sea and of finance
(Smash the plate glass window)
The dead face is the true face
of Washington, New York a misery, but north and east
the carpenter obeyed
topography
As a hand addresses itself to the care of plants
and a sense of proportion, the house
is put to the earth
Tho peopled with hants, New England
Move over the let the death-blow in,
the unmanned or the transvest, drest
in beard and will, the capillary
Seven years with the wrong man,
7 yrs of tristus and vibullation.
And I looked up to see a toad. And the boy sd:
"I crushed one, and its blood is green"
Green, is the colour of my true love's green
despite
New England is
despite her merchants and her morals
* * *
The Kingfishers
* * *
At Yorktown
1
At Yorktown the church
at Yorktown the dead
at Yorktown the grass
are live
piles itself in shallows,
declares itself, like water,
by pools and mounds
2
At Yorktown the dead
are soil
at Yorktown the church
is marl
at Yorktown the swallows
dive where it is greenest,
are eyes are flowers, the heather,
equally accurate, is hands
dawdle, like history,
in the sun
3
at Yorktown the earthworks
braw
at Yorktown the mortars
of brass, weathered green, of mermaids
for handles, of Latin
for texts, scream
without noise
like a gull
4
At Yorktown the long dead
loosen the earth, heels
sink in, over an abatis
a bird wheels
and time is a shine caught blue
from a martin's
back
* * *
The Moon Is the Number 18
is a monstrance,
the blue dogs bay,
and the son sits,
grieving
is a grinning god, is
the mouth of, is
the dripping moon
while in the tower the cat
preens
and all motion
is a crab
and there is nothing he can do but what they do, watch
the face of waters, and fire
Birth is an instance as is a host, namely, death
The moon has no air
* * *
The Ring of
it was the west wind caught her up, as
she rose
from the genital
wave, and bore her from the delicate
foam, home
to her isle
and those lovers
of the difficult, the hours
of the golden day welcomed her, clad her, were
as though they had made her, were wild
to bring this new thing born
of the ring of the sea pink
& naked, this girl, brought her
to the face of the gods, violets
in her hair
Beauty, and she
said no to zeus & them all, all were not or
was it she chose the ugliest
to bed with, or was it straight
and to expiate the nature of beauty, was it?
knowing hours, anyway,
she did not stay long, or the lame
was only one part, & the handsome
mars had her And the child
had that name, the arrow of
as flight of, the move of
his mother who adorneth
with myrtle the dolphin and words
they rise, they do who
are born of like
elements
* * *
As the Dead Prey Upon Us
* * *
Variations Done for Gerald Van De Wiele
* * *
The Librarian
* * *
Moonset, Glouchester, December 1, 1957, 1:58 AM
Goodbye red moon
In that colour you set
west of the Cut I should imagine
forever Mother
After 47 years this month
a Monday at 9 AM
you set I rise I hope
a free thing as probably
what you more were Not
the suffering one you sold
sowed me on Rise
Mother from off me
God damn you God damn me my
misunderstanding of you
I can die now I just begun to live
* * *
The Song
more than the sennet of the solstice pipe,
lovely though a hautboy is, now that the season
is indoors
Now that we are driven
and all outdoors
is indoors
Now that we are driven
and all outdoors
is no good
and the season
nor the hautboy
cover the tune,
we talk, pell-mell.
And when, for a moment,
nothing is said,
in this season still (and so forth
And it is
indoors)
And small as the group. Then,
more than the sennet of the solstice pipe,
lovely though the piping is,
and the season
still is cold
* * *
Cross-Legged, the Spider and the Web
with his body worship her
if necessary arrange
to sit before her parts
and if she object as she might
ask her for your sake to cover
her head but stare to blindness
better than the sun look until
you know look look keep looking until
you do know you do know
* * *
The Lamp
you can hurry the pictures toward you but
there is that point that the whole thing itself
may be a passage, and that your own ability
may be a factor in time, in fact that
only if there is a coincidence of yourself
& the universe is there then in fact
an event. Otherwise - and surely here the cinema
is large - the auditorium can be showing
all the time. But the question is
how you yourself are doing, if you in fact
are equal, in the sense that as a like power
you also are there when the lights
go on. This wld seem to be a
matter of creation, not simply
the obvious matter, creation
itself. Who in fact is any of us
to be there at all? That's what
swings the matter, also -
the beam hanging from
* * *
Maximus, to himself
* * *
COLE'S ISLAND
Merchants. of the sea and of finance
(Smash the plate glass window)
The dead face is the true face
of Washington, New York a misery, but north and east
the carpenter obeyed
topography
As a hand addresses itself to the care of plants
and a sense of proportion, the house
is put to the earth
Tho peopled with hants, New England
Move over the let the death-blow in,
the unmanned or the transvest, drest
in beard and will, the capillary
Seven years with the wrong man,
7 yrs of tristus and vibullation.
And I looked up to see a toad. And the boy sd:
"I crushed one, and its blood is green"
Green, is the colour of my true love's green
despite
New England is
despite her merchants and her morals
* * *
The Kingfishers
* * *
At Yorktown
1
At Yorktown the church
at Yorktown the dead
at Yorktown the grass
are live
at York-town the earth
piles itself in shallows,
declares itself, like water,
by pools and mounds
2
At Yorktown the dead
are soil
at Yorktown the church
is marl
at Yorktown the swallows
dive where it is greenest,
the hollows,
are eyes are flowers, the heather,
equally accurate, is hands
at York-town only the flies
dawdle, like history,
in the sun
3
at Yorktown the earthworks
braw
at Yorktown the mortars
of brass, weathered green, of mermaids
for handles, of Latin
for texts, scream
without noise
like a gull
4
At Yorktown the long dead
loosen the earth, heels
sink in, over an abatis
a bird wheels
and time is a shine caught blue
from a martin's
back
* * *
The Moon Is the Number 18
is a monstrance,
the blue dogs bay,
and the son sits,
grieving
is a grinning god, is
the mouth of, is
the dripping moon
while in the tower the cat
preens
and all motion
is a crab
and there is nothing he can do but what they do, watch
the face of waters, and fire
The blue dogs paw,
lick the droppings, dew
or blood, whatever
results are. And night,
the crab, rays round
attentive as the cat to catch
human sound
The blue dogs rue,
as he does, as he would howl, confronting
the wind which rocks what was her, while prayers
striate the snow, words blow
as questions cross fast, fast
as flames, as flames form, melt
along any darkness
Birth is an instance as is a host, namely, death
The moon has no air
In the red tower
In that tower where she also sat
in that particular tower where watching & moving are,
there,
there where what triumph there is, is: there
is all substance, all creature
all there is against the dirty moon, against
number, image, sortilege -
alone with cat & crab,
and sound is, is, his
conjecture
* * *
The Ring of
it was the west wind caught her up, as
she rose
from the genital
wave, and bore her from the delicate
foam, home
to her isle
and those lovers
of the difficult, the hours
of the golden day welcomed her, clad her, were
as though they had made her, were wild
to bring this new thing born
of the ring of the sea pink
& naked, this girl, brought her
to the face of the gods, violets
in her hair
Beauty, and she
said no to zeus & them all, all were not or
was it she chose the ugliest
to bed with, or was it straight
and to expiate the nature of beauty, was it?
knowing hours, anyway,
she did not stay long, or the lame
was only one part, & the handsome
mars had her And the child
had that name, the arrow of
as flight of, the move of
his mother who adorneth
with myrtle the dolphin and words
they rise, they do who
are born of like
elements
* * *
As the Dead Prey Upon Us
* * *
Variations Done for Gerald Van De Wiele
* * *
The Librarian
* * *
Moonset, Glouchester, December 1, 1957, 1:58 AM
Goodbye red moon
In that colour you set
west of the Cut I should imagine
forever Mother
After 47 years this month
a Monday at 9 AM
you set I rise I hope
a free thing as probably
what you more were Not
the suffering one you sold
sowed me on Rise
Mother from off me
God damn you God damn me my
misunderstanding of you
I can die now I just begun to live
* * *
The Song
more than the sennet of the solstice pipe,
lovely though a hautboy is, now that the season
is indoors
Now that we are driven
and all outdoors
is indoors
Now that we are driven
and all outdoors
is no good
and the season
nor the hautboy
cover the tune,
we talk, pell-mell.
And when, for a moment,
nothing is said,
in this season still (and so forth
And it is
indoors)
And small as the group. Then,
more than the sennet of the solstice pipe,
lovely though the piping is,
and the season
still is cold
* * *
Cross-Legged, the Spider and the Web
with his body worship her
if necessary arrange
to sit before her parts
and if she object as she might
ask her for your sake to cover
her head but stare to blindness
better than the sun look until
you know look look keep looking until
you do know you do know
* * *
The Lamp
you can hurry the pictures toward you but
there is that point that the whole thing itself
may be a passage, and that your own ability
may be a factor in time, in fact that
only if there is a coincidence of yourself
& the universe is there then in fact
an event. Otherwise - and surely here the cinema
is large - the auditorium can be showing
all the time. But the question is
how you yourself are doing, if you in fact
are equal, in the sense that as a like power
you also are there when the lights
go on. This wld seem to be a
matter of creation, not simply
the obvious matter, creation
itself. Who in fact is any of us
to be there at all? That's what
swings the matter, also -
the beam hanging from
* * *
Maximus, to himself
* * *
COLE'S ISLAND
April 22, 2024
The Selected Poems of Charles Olsen highlights Charles Olson’s best works and poems throughout his life. This collection, in particular, covers a wide range of topics such as politics, death, time, betrayal, love, and many more. When I first began reading through this collection, I was often taken aback by his lack of organization and system in his writing style. However, as I continued reading, I became fond of his style. Not only do his words convey powerful meaning, but also the font, position, and missing aspects of his poems. Not often do I have to spend serious time thinking and pondering what the author truly meant; it is even more uncommon that I enjoy it. My previous belief was that authors should communicate their messages clearly and concisely; however, in reading Olson’s works, I can truly say I enjoyed the journeys of enlightenment. I would recommend this book to anyone willing to open up and put effort into new ideas, as I found it a 5-out-of-5 book.
Read
October 23, 2019Even in the selection there's a fair amount of rambling, which is hard to avoid with a poet who could only really build at scale.
January 15, 2021
"I pose your question: shall you uncover honey
where maggots are?
I hunt among stones."
where maggots are?
I hunt among stones."
May 13, 2021
მაქსიმუსის წერილები ვერ გამისწორდა, დანარჩენი ძალიან კარგები იყო. ლოცვასავით იკითხებოდა თითოეული ლექსი და პოეზია მომაჯადოვებელი!
October 11, 2012
I love Olson, though I hate him, too.
I'm fascinated by the Maximus Poems, which carry the book for me. With the exception of a few of his non-Maximus pieces--"The Kingfishers" and "In Cold Hell, In Thicket," for example--I feel like he really came into his own poetics with the Maximus project.
Something about any epic project, or life-long work--like Maximus, or Pound's Cantos, Williams' Paterson--automatically grabs my attention. I think, like a life, certain things go well and others don't, yet all remains part of the whole--the life, the project. And I think that's certainly true of Olson's work--seen as an entire project, it holds its own. But to examine each and every poem as independent? It's hard to do.
I'm fascinated by the Maximus Poems, which carry the book for me. With the exception of a few of his non-Maximus pieces--"The Kingfishers" and "In Cold Hell, In Thicket," for example--I feel like he really came into his own poetics with the Maximus project.
Something about any epic project, or life-long work--like Maximus, or Pound's Cantos, Williams' Paterson--automatically grabs my attention. I think, like a life, certain things go well and others don't, yet all remains part of the whole--the life, the project. And I think that's certainly true of Olson's work--seen as an entire project, it holds its own. But to examine each and every poem as independent? It's hard to do.
July 6, 2007
As much the father of Language Poetry as the bellwether of Black Mountain Poets and other champions of American PoMo and projective verse, Charles Olson continues to ring out inspiration to many. Certainly a figure to be reckoned with in 20th Century poetics, Olson's Maximus Poems [here included] are a must-read for any lover of American literature.
September 26, 2014
3.5 stars. Olson isn't exactly "sensible" enough--a scattershot, non-linear sort of poet--for me, but there are beautiful images, often beautiful emotion, and an avoidance of both "New Criticism" poetry of the '40s and '50s (which can be very good but also overly conceptual) and chatty, ultimately tedious Beat/New York School ramblings which claim Olson as a source.
March 23, 2007
read "The Moon Is the Number 18"
-"For the problem is one of focus, of the field as well as the
point of
vision: you will solve your prblem best
without displacement"
-"For the problem is one of focus, of the field as well as the
point of
vision: you will solve your prblem best
without displacement"
April 21, 2017
Charles Olson is another one of those poets that are only known about by other poets.To me he should be required reading for High School students and children as well as college poetry programs.
A great look at the father of projective verse
A great look at the father of projective verse
November 30, 2007
a really, really, really good selected.
May 7, 2009
"A new world is only a new mind, and the poem and the mind are all apiece."-WCW
Want to read
September 20, 2007Thanks for the tip, ofitmaybe.blogspot.com!
Read
September 4, 2015811.54 O524s 1997
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