What do you think?
Rate this book
Tesserae: Memories & Suppositions
Tesserae, the small individual pieces of glass or stone that make up a mosaic, is an apt title for this series of memoirs by Denise Levertov.
Rather than a completed autobiography, these collected memoirs are, for the author, fragments "composed from time to time between poems." Each of the twenty-seven pieces of Tesserae explores a memory vital to Levertov's life; each is complete in itself and set here chronologically. And, as in any good mosaic, every piece reflects light at different angles, giving this self-portrait its living complexity. Tesserae differs for the first time the unique memoirs or "a poet who may just be the finest writing in English today" (Kirkus Reviews).
Rather than a completed autobiography, these collected memoirs are, for the author, fragments "composed from time to time between poems." Each of the twenty-seven pieces of Tesserae explores a memory vital to Levertov's life; each is complete in itself and set here chronologically. And, as in any good mosaic, every piece reflects light at different angles, giving this self-portrait its living complexity. Tesserae differs for the first time the unique memoirs or "a poet who may just be the finest writing in English today" (Kirkus Reviews).
148 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1995
3 people are currently reading
62 people want to read
About the author
Denise Levertov
198 books170 followersAmerican poet Denise Levertov was born in Ilford, Essex, England. Her mother, Beatrice Spooner-Jones Levertoff, was Welsh. Her father, Paul Levertoff, from Germany migrated to England as a Russian Hassidic Jew, who, after converting to Christianity, became an Anglican parson. At the age of 12, she sent some of her poems to T. S. Eliot, who replied with a two-page letter of encouragement. In 1940, when she was 17, Levertov published her first poem.
During the Blitz, Levertov served in London as a civilian nurse. Her first book, The Double Image, was published six years later. In 1947 she married American writer Mitchell Goodman and moved with him to the United States in the following year. Although Levertov and Goodman would eventually divorce, they had a son, Nickolai, and lived mainly in New York City, summering in Maine. In 1955, she became a naturalized American citizen.
During the 1960s and 70s, Levertov became much more politically active in her life and work. As poetry editor for The Nation, she was able to support and publish the work of feminist and other leftist activist poets. The Vietnam War was an especially important focus of her poetry, which often tried to weave together the personal and political, as in her poem "The Sorrow Dance," which speaks of her sister's death. Also in response to the Vietnam War, Levertov joined the War Resister’s League.
Much of the latter part of Levertov’s life was spent in education. After moving to Massachusetts, Levertov taught at Brandeis University, MIT and Tufts University. On the West Coast, she had a part-time teaching stint at the University of Washington and for 11 years (1982-1993) held a full professorship at Stanford University. In 1984 she received a Litt. D. from Bates College. After retiring from teaching, she traveled for a year doing poetry readings in the U.S. and England.
In 1997, Denise Levertov died at the age of 74 from complications due to lymphoma. She was buried at Lake View Cemetery in Seattle, Washington.
Levertov wrote and published 20 books of poetry, criticism, translations. She also edited several anthologies. Among her many awards and honors, she received the Shelley Memorial Award, the Robert Frost Medal, the Lenore Marshall Prize, the Lannan Award, a grant from the National Institute of Arts and Letters, and a Guggenheim Fellowship.
During the Blitz, Levertov served in London as a civilian nurse. Her first book, The Double Image, was published six years later. In 1947 she married American writer Mitchell Goodman and moved with him to the United States in the following year. Although Levertov and Goodman would eventually divorce, they had a son, Nickolai, and lived mainly in New York City, summering in Maine. In 1955, she became a naturalized American citizen.
During the 1960s and 70s, Levertov became much more politically active in her life and work. As poetry editor for The Nation, she was able to support and publish the work of feminist and other leftist activist poets. The Vietnam War was an especially important focus of her poetry, which often tried to weave together the personal and political, as in her poem "The Sorrow Dance," which speaks of her sister's death. Also in response to the Vietnam War, Levertov joined the War Resister’s League.
Much of the latter part of Levertov’s life was spent in education. After moving to Massachusetts, Levertov taught at Brandeis University, MIT and Tufts University. On the West Coast, she had a part-time teaching stint at the University of Washington and for 11 years (1982-1993) held a full professorship at Stanford University. In 1984 she received a Litt. D. from Bates College. After retiring from teaching, she traveled for a year doing poetry readings in the U.S. and England.
In 1997, Denise Levertov died at the age of 74 from complications due to lymphoma. She was buried at Lake View Cemetery in Seattle, Washington.
Levertov wrote and published 20 books of poetry, criticism, translations. She also edited several anthologies. Among her many awards and honors, she received the Shelley Memorial Award, the Robert Frost Medal, the Lenore Marshall Prize, the Lannan Award, a grant from the National Institute of Arts and Letters, and a Guggenheim Fellowship.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
November 15, 2021
Tesserae is a collection of twenty-seven memoirs by poet Denise Levertov. Coming to these prose writings after reading her poetry, I had high expectations and I was not disappointed. These memoirs are as beautiful as her poetry.
Although published when Levertov was in her 70s, about half of these memoirs are scenes from her childhood. I like that. Childhood memories have a magic rarely present in adult memories.
My favorite is “By the Seaside.” Here she describes the beach at Clacton where she would walk along the dunes, which she imagined to be cliffs, and investigate the caves, which were probably just some enlarged rabbit holes:
“I considered them genuine and romantic caves, and planned to conceal some necessities of adventure in the deepest one: supplies, such as a tin of biscuits, my pocket compass, a treasure map; and to make it my own secret camp. The pleasure was to imagine myself sitting in it, scanning the ocean with a spyglass; it was not necessary to do it” (33).
This is the sort of memory, where the world of imagination and the real world meet, that I most enjoy reading, or rather—experiencing, for Levertov doesn’t just tell stories. She recreates her memories in the reader’s mind.
There are other examples of her vivid childhood imagination (she could transform the task of carrying freshly ironed handkerchiefs upstairs into a dangerous mission out of an Arabian Nights fantasy), but this one stands out because it is something she could actually do. Yet, she says, “it was not necessary to do it.” Imagining it was enough.
Perhaps a child’s imagination makes less distinctions between real and unreal, so that to do something and to imagine doing it are not all that different. Thus the act of pretending is a creative act. Perhaps imagining it was more pleasant, for had she actually set up her secret camp, she might have become bored quickly, whereas the scene in her imagination was always fresh and exciting.
Later in “By the Seaside,” she follows the lamplighter far from her lodging house. Night falls and she must hurry home along unfamiliar streets:
“It was probably not very long at all in clock time, although it seemed to me that I was returning from a far place. I had witnessed, in conscious solitude, that magical transformation, entre chien et loup, which Magritte has evoked in certain paintings. The lamplighter, invested with mythic power, had with his wand performed an alchemy upon both light and darkness” (37).
Perhaps “is” and “seems to be” are one and the same in the dreamlike state that children can still access while awake.
Other memoirs have scenes that display this quality of the child’s imagination. In “A Dance,” Levertov and her friend take turns dancing to a player piano. As she loses herself in her dance, she experiences a powerful rush of feeling, of sehnsucht. Later she recognizes this feeling when she sees the landscapes of Salvadore Rosa. In “Janus,” she has an epiphany as she and her friends steal a look at a secret garden and see its hidden beauty: a magnificent magnolia tree. It was, she says, an “ecstatic vision” (54-55).
Later memoirs describe adolescence and adulthood. Levertov continues to pursue painting and dance, but it is ultimately poetry that she discovers to be her calling. And so she is particularly qualified to answer the question she poses at the beginning of “Janus”:
“Moments of childhood lodge in one’s memory sometimes for reasons—their beauty, drama, or comedy; others equally tenacious are unaccountable: why that instant rather than a million others” (52)?
Poets may share some of the child’s uncanny ability to slip out of the real world into the world of imagination, and while poets, as adults, may never lose themselves so completely in fantasy as the child, they make up for it with the ability to translate what they see into language. And this is just what Levertov has done in this beautiful collection of memories.
Although published when Levertov was in her 70s, about half of these memoirs are scenes from her childhood. I like that. Childhood memories have a magic rarely present in adult memories.
My favorite is “By the Seaside.” Here she describes the beach at Clacton where she would walk along the dunes, which she imagined to be cliffs, and investigate the caves, which were probably just some enlarged rabbit holes:
“I considered them genuine and romantic caves, and planned to conceal some necessities of adventure in the deepest one: supplies, such as a tin of biscuits, my pocket compass, a treasure map; and to make it my own secret camp. The pleasure was to imagine myself sitting in it, scanning the ocean with a spyglass; it was not necessary to do it” (33).
This is the sort of memory, where the world of imagination and the real world meet, that I most enjoy reading, or rather—experiencing, for Levertov doesn’t just tell stories. She recreates her memories in the reader’s mind.
There are other examples of her vivid childhood imagination (she could transform the task of carrying freshly ironed handkerchiefs upstairs into a dangerous mission out of an Arabian Nights fantasy), but this one stands out because it is something she could actually do. Yet, she says, “it was not necessary to do it.” Imagining it was enough.
Perhaps a child’s imagination makes less distinctions between real and unreal, so that to do something and to imagine doing it are not all that different. Thus the act of pretending is a creative act. Perhaps imagining it was more pleasant, for had she actually set up her secret camp, she might have become bored quickly, whereas the scene in her imagination was always fresh and exciting.
Later in “By the Seaside,” she follows the lamplighter far from her lodging house. Night falls and she must hurry home along unfamiliar streets:
“It was probably not very long at all in clock time, although it seemed to me that I was returning from a far place. I had witnessed, in conscious solitude, that magical transformation, entre chien et loup, which Magritte has evoked in certain paintings. The lamplighter, invested with mythic power, had with his wand performed an alchemy upon both light and darkness” (37).
Perhaps “is” and “seems to be” are one and the same in the dreamlike state that children can still access while awake.
Other memoirs have scenes that display this quality of the child’s imagination. In “A Dance,” Levertov and her friend take turns dancing to a player piano. As she loses herself in her dance, she experiences a powerful rush of feeling, of sehnsucht. Later she recognizes this feeling when she sees the landscapes of Salvadore Rosa. In “Janus,” she has an epiphany as she and her friends steal a look at a secret garden and see its hidden beauty: a magnificent magnolia tree. It was, she says, an “ecstatic vision” (54-55).
Later memoirs describe adolescence and adulthood. Levertov continues to pursue painting and dance, but it is ultimately poetry that she discovers to be her calling. And so she is particularly qualified to answer the question she poses at the beginning of “Janus”:
“Moments of childhood lodge in one’s memory sometimes for reasons—their beauty, drama, or comedy; others equally tenacious are unaccountable: why that instant rather than a million others” (52)?
Poets may share some of the child’s uncanny ability to slip out of the real world into the world of imagination, and while poets, as adults, may never lose themselves so completely in fantasy as the child, they make up for it with the ability to translate what they see into language. And this is just what Levertov has done in this beautiful collection of memories.
September 16, 2013
I'd read a few books of Denise Levertov's poetry and have admired it. The details of her life were vague to me, mostly because her poetry doesn't narrate that and focuses on distinct subjects. Terrerae did much more than to increase my acquaintaceship with this major poet. She took vignettes from her life, each with events that told, odd events too, and they were fascinating. These extend from her childhood in Wales and London where her Jewish father was a Christian clergyman, converted, and where her Welsh mother figured a great deal. She thought herself a painter at first and has some remarkable memoirs about an attempted bohemian lifestyle and about her friendships. A nurse during the London bombings, she concentrates on individuals she knew then. This is all written with a poet's eye for images so that reading it, I felt the setting constantly. It was very enjoyable, especially her profiles of people that had an effect her life or were stuck in her memory.
July 29, 2017
This was an incredibly lovely little glimpse into the life of Denise Levertov. Each autobiographical vignette (tessera) felt poetic in its own way, and filled me with crisp English air. It was wonderful to be shown the world from which Levertov pulled some of my favorite poetry. Perfect light reading for a sunny day in the park.
December 8, 2015
This memoir is the fist writing I've read by Denise Levertov and I loved the flow of her words. She tells her personal story in a series of short essays, all of which I found interesting. Have ordered much of her many poetry books and look forward to reading them next.
July 3, 2008
Known as a 20th century poet, these essays also prove her to be an insightful, resourceful essayist.
August 18, 2020
This collection taught me to write short, taut sentences, and to parcel out images and glimpses from daily life. Unfortunately, these flash-nonfiction pieces are quiet pedestrian as compared with the wrought lyricism of her poetry.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews