This Great Unknowing: Last Poems

Denise Levertov, This Great Unknowing: Last Poems (New Directions, 1999) I am ashamed to admit that for many years, based on some of her very early writings, I have mindlessly lumped Denise Levertov in with the Beats, specifically a number of the Beats whom I've never been able to stomach (Diane Wakoski being chief among them, with Robert Creeley and that Kelly fellow who used to publish a book every two weeks or so on Black Sparrow running a close second). It took me reading Richard Jackson's fantastic The Dismantling of Time in Contemporary Poetry a year and a half ago, in which Levertov is one of the six poets he discusses in depth, for me to consider changing that idea; by association, he puts her on the same level as such giants as Robert Penn Warren, John Hollander, and the finest living poet working in America today, Charles Simic, among others. My mind shifts gears gradually, sometimes very gradually, and I am just now getting round to giving the late Ms. Levertov another try. I'm quite glad I did, and wish I'd read The Dismantling of Time in Contemporary Poetry when it first came out some twelve years ago. This Great Unknowing is, not surprisingly, a book overshadowed with the idea of death. Not an uncommon theme for a writer who's approaching the age of seventy-five and knows she probably isn't long for this world. The work herein is also possessed of a great maturity (something many seventy-five-year-old poets never acquire), a fine ear for tonality, and a decided calming of the radical spirit, though it has not gone away entirely. And when the radical spirit comes out, as with most poets, the work does suffer; Levertov, like almost all of her contemporaries, was never big on the art of subtlety. She has, however, over the years taken an increasing interest in letting the story tell itself, so once in a while the pokes at society do manage to find themselves enmeshed in a poem, rather than a political screed. Which puts her well ahead of most of the pack in that regard. Her work speaks with a quiet authority here, a need for sharing rather than for imparting, and that makes all the difference; "...In the crook of an old and tattered snag something gleams amid the stillness, drawing the gaze: some bit of heartwood so long exposed, weather and time have polished it, as centuries of awed lips, touching a hand of stone, rub it to somber gleaming." (--"A Cryptic Sign") or "...(Meanwhile, the April sun, cold though it is, has opened the small daisies, so many and so humble they get underfoot-- and don't care. Each one a form of laughter.)..." (--"Noblesse Oblige") The few places where it does degenerate into the non-poetry of political rhetoric do cause the book to suffer, but by no means should those few spots (limited to a few lines here and there, never a whole poem) stop you from seeking this book out at your earliest opportunity. Levertov is a fine poet, and this seems an excellent starting point. I know I'll be reading more of h

I miss Denise Levertov. I never knew her personally, but she spoke to me through her poetry in ways that few others have. I still remember how stunned I was to hear of her death--several months after the fact, in casual conversation with Deborah Larsen, a great-souled poet in her own right.I've been rereading during these bleak but beautiful winter months Levertov's posthumous poems. To my mind, they offer some of the best work she ever did. They continue her themes of yearning for something that can't quite be uttered, her love for the particular, her striving to reach a level of awareness before which the heart of being will be revealed, and her concerns for justice and for the environment. But now there's a poignancy, a nostalgia, an anticipation--and perhaps an acceptance--to her verse that suggest a woman awaiting the end. I read her words--her sighs, really--and my soul expands just a little bit more than it would've.One poem especially touches me--"Memory demands so much." Part of it is a fitting swansong for Levertov:Take me flying beforeyou vanish, leaf, beforeI have time to remember you,intent instead on beingin the midst of that flight, of those unforeseeable words.Farewell, Denise. And thanks.

Denise Levertove (1923-1997) was born in London and educated at home. She came to American in 1948 and was introduced to the reading public in "New British Poets", going on to publish more than thirty books of poetry, essays, and translations, as well as enjoying a career as a distinguished university professor. This Great Unknowing is a fitting memorial to her talent as poet and observer of the human condition.

This book was my first introduction to the poems of Denise Levertov. I heard about it in an essay written by Kathleen Norris in The Christian Century. The poems are strikingly beautiful and accessible to anyone. Levertov captures our imagination with the depth of her insights and the beauty of her words--not with the obscurity of her images. I have given copies of this to no less than four friends and each of them have bought other copies of her works for themselves. Highly recommended.