" Glare is a high-energy, relentlessly self-aware collision with the whole of life."―Albert Mobilio, Salon A superb long poem by the contemporary master of the form, Glare comprises two sections, "Strip" and "Scat Scan." The poem demonstrates, yet again, why A. R. Ammons's poetic voice is a national treasure: by turns cosmic, self-inflating, self-deflating, eloquent, intimate, bawdy, comic, precise―and always unmistakably his own.
Archie Randolph Ammons was born outside Whiteville, North Carolina, on February 18, 1926. He started writing poetry aboard a U. S. Navy destroyer escort in the South Pacific. After completing service in World War II, he attended Wake Forest University and the University of California at Berkeley.
His honors included the Academy's Wallace Stevens Award, the Poetry Society of America's Robert Frost Medal, the Ruth Lilly Prize, and fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the MacArthur Foundation, and the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
He lived in Ithaca, New York, where he was Goldwin Smith Professor of Poetry at Cornell University until his retirement in 1998. Ammons died on February 25, 2001.
Slippery masterful use both of language sounds and of transformative word associations. He uses this sometimes to intense focusing effect; other times just flippantly. The juxtaposition of an underlying humorous tone with serious or profound moments throws me often. He definitely plays with the reader; definitely presents himself as a somewhat repulsive old man, world-weary in a seen-it-all, chauvinistic kind of way... And then the mood turns again, to remind that the latter is just one persona. I think the poem is probably longer than it needs to be--effusion can become effluvium at a certain point. But very likely, that is what he wants.
Hard to say why I like and dislike Ammons. His style inspires me, though I can't always say that his poems are successful. There's excitement in his work, yet it doesn't really stay with me. Maybe it doesn't have to.
It's about 200 pages too long. One critic described the ticker-taped couplets as mechanically produced "sausages." Ammons, then, has produced a mountain of mystery meat which I wonder if anyone has ever bothered to digest fully