New Collected Poems: Sylvia Townsend Warner

New Collected Poems: Sylvia Townsend Warner Both Stimulating And Engaging, These Poems Display An Astonishing Capacity For Wit, Rich Observations, And The Cadences Of Poetic Language Documenting The Life Of Sylvia Townsend Warner, These Poems Emphasize Her Gift For Music While Exploring Life, Communist Sympathies, And Above All, The Anguish And Liberation Of Her Great Love Affair With Fellow Poet Valentine Ackland

Sylvia Townsend Warner was born at Harrow on the Hill, the only child of George Townsend Warner and his wife Eleanora Nora Hudleston Her father was a house master at Harrow School and was, for many years, associated with the prestigious Harrow History Prize which was renamed the Townsend Warner History Prize in his honor, after his death in 1916 As a child, Sylvia seemingly enjoyed an idyllic

❮Reading❯ ➳ New Collected Poems: Sylvia Townsend Warner ➬ Author Sylvia Townsend Warner –
  • Paperback
  • 320 pages
  • New Collected Poems: Sylvia Townsend Warner
  • Sylvia Townsend Warner
  • English
  • 02 November 2018
  • 9781857549478

10 thoughts on “New Collected Poems: Sylvia Townsend Warner

  1. says:

    I m not surprised that I didn t get as much enjoyment from reading this collection of Sylvia s poems as I did and do from her prose I m just not a poetry kinda guy It takes a remarkable coincidence of interest and talent on the poet s part, not mine for me to want to read poetry you ll note the size of my poetry shelf In the past, I ve relied upon significant others Plath, Dickinson or Fate Baudelaire, Gardner, Meredith to guide my poetic adventures.That said, it goes without saying that I would recommend this woman s grocery lists if anyone published them so if you have the opportunity, please go out and get this book.This volume is a compilation of several previous collections and a number of unpublished poems with almost no annotation In fact, if this book fails at any level it s in not giving much in the way of context for the poems Most of the endnotes consist of little than, e.g., p 281 Black Out Dorset, 1940 While I give the book overall only 3 stars, there are many poems here that I would give 4 or 5 to and I m going to reproduce a few here to give the interested a taste of Sylvia s style.The first poem snared me right out of the gate Quiet Neighbors Sitting alone at nightCareless of time,From the house next doorI hear the clock chime.Ten, eleven, twelve One, two, three It is all the same to the clock,And much the same to me.But no night than sense heard it I opened my eyes wideTo look at the wall and wonderWhat lay on the other side.They are quiet peopleThat live next door I never hear them scrapeTheir chairs along the floor,They do not laugh loud, or sing,Or scratch in the grate,I have never seen a taxiDrawn up at their gate And though their back gardenIs always neat and trimIt has a humbled look,And no one walks therein.So did not their chiming clockImply some hand to wind it,I might doubt if the wall between usHad any life behind it.London neighbours are suchThat I may never know Than this of the peopleWho live next door.While they for their partShould they hazard a guessAt me on my side of the wallWill know as little, or less For my life has grown quiet,As quiet as theirs And the clock has been silent on my chimney pieceFor years and years.Other poems would warm the cockles of a PETA member A Song About a Lamb O, God, the Sure DefenceOf Jacob s race,Lover of innocenceAnd a smooth face,Accept my sacrifice A little lamb, bought at the market price With fleece so soft and cleanAnd horns not yetA bud, the creature s beenThe children s pet.And sore they wept to seeTheir snub nosed friend come trotting after me God heard the lightnings brakeForth in his honour But by some slight mistakeConsumed the donor.The lamb fell in a muse But soon took heart, and leaped among the pews.There are many poems that deal with the theme of Nature unsullied by human interference Her epic pastoral Opus 7 is an example of this and here I ll quote one stanza from Peeping Tom There is no beauty like the beauty of the wild,That blossoms suddenly out of the bare hillside.It is the barren woman that goes with child,It is the clenched knot of necessity untied,Eternity waylaid, and labouring creationInto forgetfulness and laughter beguiled A relenting, a reconciliation, a glimpse of the bride,Nature, hidden under her dark veils of Time and Space and Causation.Another poem The Patriarchs is in the same vein as A Song About a Lamb It s written from the point of view of the ram sacrificed in Isaac s place It s a bit long to quote in full here She s also a cat lover Lines to a Cat in a London Suburb Quadruped on a bough,Cat absolute, Cat behindAll cat shows of your kind,I see and salute you now Massive, tenacious, bland,Sardonically surefooted,Pacing along the sootyAspen branch, and fannedBy all the obsequious SpringTo ear fine furred and strongSquat nose conveys of songOr scent wave offering As pace in stealthy hopeThrough incense cloud and TuEs Petrus hullabalooCardinals into Pope.But compactly wise,More serpentine in sin My than Mazarin Your commerce with the skies While vacant and sereneYour eyes look down on me,In all the wavering treeThe one unshaken green.And X from the Boxwood collection The fire the cushion, and the toy,The curtained roomAnd my sweet milk to come All mine by right feline Is this not joy The wind, the dangerous dark, the swayOf bough to ride,The midnight world so wide All mine by right feline Is that not joy And she wrote love poetry or poems about relationships, at any rate I, so wary of traps I, so wary of traps,So skilful to outwitSpringes and pitfalls setAm caught now, perhaps.Though capture, while I am laidSo still in hold, is butThe limb s long sigh to admitHow heavy freedom weighed.And Though you are not so far Though you are not so farBut that I could come to youBy walking a mile or two,You may stay as you are.You will not hear me stepping lightTo your door tonight, or any other night.Though we are not so estranged But, did I like to woo,I could easily undoWhat s blunted or deranged,You need not fear I ll venture this,Or abjure the sloth which our accomplice is.For since loves have their dateWhy should we seek to renewOurs for a year or twoThat must die soon or late,When we, my dear, of all the manyConclusions now choose the best and kindest of any I think our relationship has reached the point where Sylvia wouldn t mind my familiar use of her Christian name

  2. says:

    flowers in their jaws

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