{"id":96328,"date":"2016-03-31T12:32:03","date_gmt":"2016-03-31T16:32:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=96328"},"modified":"2016-03-31T13:07:36","modified_gmt":"2016-03-31T17:07:36","slug":"a-major-poet-of-quiet","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/03\/31\/a-major-poet-of-quiet\/","title":{"rendered":"A Major Poet of Quiet"},"content":{"rendered":"

On Keith Waldrop.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

Keith and Rosemarie Waldrop. Photo: Walt Odets.<\/p><\/div>\n

Keith Waldrop is a quiet major poet, a major poet of quiet. His accomplishment is difficult to describe because his work refuses, in Bartleby-like fashion, the twin traps of impassivity and affectation: \u201cOn my one hand, \/ stasis \u2013 on the \/ other, striving for effect.\u201d In one of his very few interviews, Waldrop says: \u201cI think the worst fault a poem can have is striving for effect.\u201d Waldrop never strives; instead, he haunts\u2014his presence is all the more powerful for barely being there, like a ghost you discover in a familiar photograph. There are plenty of direct statements, moments of humor and pathos, but we come to know Waldrop most through his subtle, exquisite compositional decisions: the way he breaks a line or collages found language. I think here of the perfectly balanced epigrammatic poem \u201cProposition II\u201d:<\/p>\n

\n

Each grain of sand has its architecture, but
a desert displays the structure of the wind.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

<\/p>\n

I read the poem as a tiny ars poetica: Waldrop has composed two lines of eleven syllables each\u2014syllables of sound\/sand whose arrangement displays the structure of Waldrop\u2019s thinking just as a drift makes visible the activity of the wind. We intuit the author from the architecture, from the traces he has left.<\/p>\n

Ghosts are everywhere in Waldrop\u2019s work, but they\u2019re not supernatural occurrences: a ghost for Waldrop is more a felt absence than a felt presence. As he wrote in his brilliant autobiographical novel, Light While There Is Light<\/a><\/em>\u2014recently reissued by Dalkey Archive\u2014\u201cmy ghosts merely disappear. I never see them. They haunt me by not being there, by the table where no one eats, the empty window that lets the sun in without a shadow.\u201d In his first published book of poems, A Windmill Near Calvary<\/a><\/em>, Waldrop echoes this sentiment: \u201cThe terrible thing about \/ ghosts is that we know they are not there.\u201d That\u2019s a fine shorthand for Waldrop\u2019s gentle but rigorous skepticism: his poems explore the desire for something beyond the visible, and confront the nothing that is there. But that\u2019s not just a journey of despair; it\u2019s also a recovery of wonder before the actual world\u2014each grain of sand, and the relations between grains.<\/p>\n

In a poem in Windfall Losses<\/em>\u2014only now do I see the \u201cstructure of the wind\u201d in Waldrop\u2019s titles\u2014he calls for a \u201cphenomenology of ignorance,\u201d and in part that\u2019s what this volume is: a beautiful, delicate, and various exploration of the endless (and so objectless) activities of thinking and feeling, the truth always just out of reach. Activity over stasis, but ignorance over false effects. It\u2019s rather surprising that Waldrop\u2014perhaps the most erudite writer I know\u2014should so often avow his ignorance, but that position of unknowing has allowed him to see and sound what would escape the perception of the more egotistical poet. Sometimes reading Waldrop I feel like I\u2019m attending a s\u00e9ance. No ghosts appear, but the mundane objects\u2014both the things words are and the things words describe\u2014start to stir a little, start to glow. \u201cLoved houses are haunted,\u201d ends the poem from A Windmill Near Calvary<\/em> I quoted above. \u201cAnd I have \/ no explanation.\u201d<\/p>\n

This essay appears as the afterword in Keith Waldrop\u2019s\u00a0<\/em>Selected Poems<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Ben Lerner\u2019s most recent book is\u00a0<\/em>10:04.\u00a0He received the 2014 Terry Southern Prize for Humor and is a 2015 MacArthur Fellow.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

On Keith Waldrop. Keith Waldrop is a quiet major poet, a major poet of quiet. His accomplishment is difficult to describe because his work refuses, in Bartleby-like fashion, the twin traps of impassivity and affectation: \u201cOn my one hand, \/ stasis \u2013 on the \/ other, striving for effect.\u201d In one of his very few […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":911,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2157],"tags":[21750,3817,21747,7221,165,21749,21748],"class_list":["post-96328","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-on-poetry","tag-ars-poetica","tag-dalkey-archive","tag-keith-waldrop","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-proposition-ii","tag-selected-poems"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n\u201cA Major Poet of Quiet\u201d: Ben Lerner on Keith Waldrop<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"March 31, 2016 \u2013 On Keith Waldrop.Keith Waldrop is a quiet major poet, a major poet of quiet. 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