This manages nicely the 500+ pp. McGraw Hill edition of Rukeyser's poems Rukeyser herself assembled just two years before she died in 1980. There has since been a subsequent Collected Poems (from Pittsburgh), as well as a new short version of her work brought out by Library of America. A biography is needed. I had assumed the editor of this present volume, Kate Daniels, was to write it, but now I'm not sure.
I read Rukeyser for her moral authority and intellectual curiosity, plain and simple. Before anyone, perhaps, she had absorbed William Carlos Williams' historiographical take on the documentary history movement, and in U.S. 1 (1938), with its central poem, "The Book of the Dead," showed herself fluent in it a full year and a half ahead of Agee and Evans' Let Us Now Praise Famous Men (1940). Later she proved wildly adept at appropriating literary modes like the ballad (a great poem from the late Sixties is called "Ballad of Orange and Grape") to her journalism, but in the late Thirties we have her at her best in her "coverage" of Rinehart-Dennis Company's negligence in providing safety measures to the (mostly negro) workers digging out the New River tunnel flowing underneath the mountain called Hawk's Nest, in southern West Virginia. The New River was damned at Gawley's Bridge, and in the "dries" there, engineers found the mountain rock consisted of anywhere from 90% to 98% silica, a pure mineral that could be alloyed by Union Carbide's metallurgic plants just down river in Alloy (formerly Boncar -- a coinage from Carbon), West Virginia. The silicosis that resulted from this 1927-1933 mining operation ended in some score of deaths by the time the twenty-three year old Rukeyser arrived on the scene in 1936, though because the miner population of Gawley Bridge (the company town) was migrant negroes from the South, the resultant-death toll among returning workers may have been in the hundreds -- at any rate, Union Carbide paid off a few of them, and Giles Mead sold his share in the company shortly before he died in 1937.
Here is Rukeyser's great al fresca poem, "Alloy," from "The Book of the Dead": When Rukeyser describes this landscape as "most audacious," we should remind ourselves that in the hills north of Knoxville, TN, the Oak Ridge National Laboratory supercomputers (funded by Union Carbide) sit on that landscape, as well as the continent's most impressive cave system:
This is the most audacious landscape. The gangster's
stance with his gun smoking and out is not so
vicious as this commercial field, its hill of glass.
Sloping as gracefully as thighs, the foothills
narrow to this, clouds over every town
finally indicate the stored destruction.
Crystalline hill: a blinded field of white
murdering snow, seamed by convergent tracks;
the traveling cranes reach for the silica.
And down the track, the overhead conveyor
slides on its cable to the feet of chimneys.
Smoke rises, not white enough, not so barbaric.
Here the severe flame speaks from the brick throat,
electric furnaces produce this precious, this clean,
annealing the crystals, fusing at last alloys.
Hottest for siicon, blast furnaces raise flames,
spill fire, spill steel, quench the new shape to freeze
tempering it to perfected metal.
Forced through this crucible, a million men.
Above this pasture, the highway passes those
who curse the air, breathing their fear again.
The roaring flowers of the chimney stacks
less poison, at their lips in fire, than this
dust that is blown from off this field of glass;
blows and will blow, rising over the mills,
crystallized and beyond the fierce corrosion
disintegrated angel on these hills.