The Mid-Twentieth-Century American Poetic Speaker in the Works of Robert Lowell, Frank O’Hara, and George Oppen
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“THE OCCASION OF THESE RUSES”: THE MID-TWENTIETH-CENTURY AMERICAN POETIC SPEAKER IN THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOWELL, FRANK O’HARA, AND GEORGE OPPEN A dissertation submitted by Matthew C. Nelson In partial fulfillment for the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy In English TUFTS UNIVERSITY May 2016 ADVISER: VIRGINIA JACKSON Abstract This dissertation argues for a new history of mid-twentieth-century American poetry shaped by the emergence of the figure of the poetic speaker as a default mode of reading. Now a central fiction of lyric reading, the figure of the poetic speaker developed gradually and unevenly over the course of the twentieth century. While the field of historical poetics draws attention to alternative, non-lyric modes of address, this dissertation examines how three poets writing in this period adapted the normative fiction of the poetic speaker in order to explore new modes of address. By choosing three mid-century poets who are rarely studied beside one another, this dissertation resists the aesthetic factionalism that structures most historical models of this period. My first chapter, “Robert Lowell’s Crisis of Reading: The Confessional Subject as the Culmination of the Romantic Tradition of Poetry,” examines the origins of M.L. Rosenthal’s phrase “confessional poetry” and analyzes how that the autobiographical effect of Robert Lowell’s poetry emerges from a strange, collage-like construction of multiple texts and non- autobiographical subjects. My second chapter reads Frank O’Hara’s poetry as a form of intentionally averted communication that treats the act of writing as a surrogate for the poet’s true object of desire. Drawing on the antagonistic relationship between the affective structures of desire and the compromised possibilities of desiring subjects that Laruen Berlant describes in her book Cruel Optimism , my chapter resists confusing the intimacy of O’Hara’s poetry with the effect of the poet’s presence and points to locations where Frank O’Hara contrasts his own personal wellbeing with that of his poetic subjects. My final chapter examines the differences between George Oppen’s poetry before and after his twenty-five year departure from writing in 1934. While Oppen’s work strives to treat its objects in concrete and objective ways, the mid- century expectation of an abstract, singular poetic speaker conflicted with Oppen’s Marxist- inflected principles. My chapter argues that Oppen creates a new phenomenology of reading that attempts to ground the fiction of the poetic speaker by historicizing it as a genre-inflected mode of poetic address. Ultimately, this dissertation asks how these poets imagined themselves addressing and not addressing their actual reading publics. By doing so, I hope to outline the emergence of a modern poetic norm and uncover a version of literary history that has been hidden in plain sight behind that norm. Acknowledgements Sometime during seventh grade, I decided I wanted to become a teacher, a writer, and a scholar—in that order. I would like to thank my advisor, Virginia Jackson, for helping me achieve all of these goals. Thank you, Jennie. Thank you not only for teaching me, but also for showing me how to find joy again in the work that I do. I am luckier than most and I am grateful for my strong foundation of so many friends, mentors, and family members. I would like to thank the bi-monthly Barnes and Noble writing workshop that first introduced a seventh-grader to poetry—John Keats, nonetheless! From this group, I am tremendously grateful for the lifelong friendship of Lola De Maci, the single most inspirational person I have ever met. I would also like to thank each of my high school English teachers: Lucie Gonzalez, John Nath, Ann Palicki, and Joe Palicki. Wanda Courey, you never taught me literature, but your courses made me a better person. The amount of support I have is overwhelming, but in the best way possible—like a king- sized comforter on a twin-sized bed. Enza Barbato, thank you for making Boston feel like home. Emily Uva, thank you for your unending compassion and thank you for making Boston my actual home. Steven Elsesser, thank you for being my first real friend at Tufts and thank you for bringing me food when I had pneumonia—I never forgot that. Thank you Ken Barr, Michael Fenter, Peter Chronis, Michael Clark Wonson, Thomas Drury, Patrick Sheehan, Travis Roe, Chris Rhodes, Jay Thornton, Devin Poor, John Haga, and all of my other “Sisters” for teaching me the value of community. Thank you to my fellow “gaymers”— you know who you are! Thank you Jim Morgrage and everyone with Harbor to the Bay for showing me how to give back to others. A special thank you to Joseph Richard for keeping me sane while I finished this project. I was privileged to have been part of Jennie’s “Medford School”: Erin Kappeler, Caroline Gelmi, Mareike Stanitzke, Nino Testa, Jacob Crane, Leif Eckstrom, Jackie O’Dell, and Seth Studer each provided invaluable insight into the early stages of this project. I could have never completed this work without the wonderful friendship and intellectual generosity of Barbara Jean Orton. Tufts would not be the same without Modhumita Roy, Radiclani Clytus, Christina Sharpe, Carl Beckman, Carol Wilkinson, Tim Atherton, Stephan Pennington, and Natalya Baldyga and all of their cheerleading. I am especially grateful to Wendy Medeiros, Douglas Riggs, Chantal Hardy, and Noah Barrientos for cheerfully navigating me through otherwise mind-boggling administrative nightmares. I am thankful to the Tufts Graduate School of Arts and Sciences for their financial support and I am grateful to the Mandeville Special Collections Library at the University of California, San Diego for my time working with George Oppen’s manuscripts. My sincerest gratitude goes out to my committee members: John Lurz, Ichiro Takayoshi, and Steven Gould Axelrod. Steve, thank you for your many years of encouragement and mentorship. A special thank you to Aaron Steppe—and not just for your last-minute help. I am lucky for your continued friendship, kindness, and cunning intellect. To Jimmy Giddings: I have no better friend. You were my backbone for most of this project. Above all, I am blessed to have an extraordinary family. To Auntie K.K., Auntie Silky, Uncle Johnny, Auntie Sharon, Auntie Anna, and all the rest of my extended family: thank you for your unconditional love. To my sister, Amanda Alfieri: thank you for sneaking me out to The Rocky Horror Picture Show so many times and making me feel “cool,” even when I was not. You gave me the confidence to be who I am and you championed me when I was afraid no one else would. Above all, thank you Mandy and thank you Tony for Gibson and Geneva, who both give me so much joy. This dissertation is dedicated to my parents, who drove that seventh-grade boy to those writing workshops twice a month. Everything about me I love—I have because of you. Table of Contents Introduction: The Semi-Dramatic History of the 1 Mid-Twentieth-Century Poetic Speaker 1. Robert Lowell’s Crisis of Reading: The Confessional 45 Subject as the Culmination of the Romantic Tradition of Poetry 2. “The Quietness with a Man in It”: Frank O’Hara and the Act 85 of Writing 3. “A Man of the Thirties”: Collectivism and the Problem of the Poetic 121 Subject in George Oppen’s Discrete Series and Of Being Numerous Notes 166 Bibliography 193 Clarity In the sense of transparence I don’t mean that much can be explained. Clarity in the sense of silence 1 Introduction The Semi-Dramatic History of the Mid-Twentieth-Century Poetic Speaker “It is to be feared that critical formulas, even the best, are responsible for more bad judgment than good, because it is far easier to forget their subtle sense and apply them crudely than to remember it and apply them finely.” I.A. Richards 1 In the twentieth century, the language of poetry criticism underwent a curious shift. At the start of the century, academic discourse rarely employed the figure of a poetic speaker, but by the mid-century the speaker seemed an almost intrinsic property of poetic reading. The axiomatic ease with which contemporary scholarly works still use the term “poetic speaker” as a default mode of reading gestures not only to the persistent popularity of this reading mode, but also to its thorough integration into literary studies. Clara Clairborne Park comments on these changes in her autobiographical essay “Talking Back to the Speaker” in the Spring 1989 edition of the Hudson Review, using her absence from academia between completing her M.A. in English at the University of Michigan in 1949 and accepting her position as a lecturer at Williams College in 1975 as a unique perspective to document these shifts in discourse. According to Park, literature classrooms in the mid-century quickly seemed to adopt the figure of the dramatic poetic speaker without significant comment or opposition: It happened that between the forties and the sixties I was out of the academic world, and when I got back into it, the tradition was in place. My colleagues taught My Last Duchess and Channel Firing ; they said “the speaker”; they talked about voice and tone. One likes 1 to do the done thing; soon I was doing it too. I do it to this day, off and on, at least when I’m teaching Introduction to Literature. But because I didn’t grow up with it, because I encountered the ideas not as an exciting corrective but as a fact accomplished, I still view it as an outsider.” 2 Much of Park’s essay documents the emergence of the figure of “the speaker” and the slippage between the figures of “the speaker” and “the poet” in major critical publications throughout the 20 th century, noting that despite the supposed dogma of the speaker, even its most adamant followers—including Reuben Brower, Cleanth Brooks, Robert Penn Warren, and M.H.