Then the dam burst: beginning with Canaan in 1996, Hill published seven volumes of poetry in the next 15 years. Finally, in Broken Hierarchies, another eight titles appeared, mostly for the first time, last year: Pindarics, Ludo and all six of the Daybooks. It is a bumper harvest later and richer than anybody dared hope for.
What, though, does Hill mean by a poetry of ideas? Unlike philosophy, poetry deals in concrete rather than abstract concepts; unlike history, poetry is not limited to reconstructing what we know about the past, but can allow the imagination free rein. Ideas fit into Hill's poetry, but they are never free-floating ideas: they always belong in a human setting. Ideas, for Hill, bear the imprint of the personality who created them. The ideas that drive us to action and shape our lives are such stuff as dreams are made on.
To illustrate what I mean, let us consider a poem by Hill's contemporary Derek Walcott (born 1930). Walcott, a Nobel laureate, was a candidate for the Oxford chair in 2009, but withdrew after allegations that he was a womaniser who preyed on his students. A year later he published a new collection, White Egrets, the title poem of which is a riposte to his critics. In what was widely seen as a gesture of solidarity by his fellow poets, the book was awarded the T.S. Eliot Prize. One passage reads thus:
Compare this with Hill's valediction in one of his Daybooks:
Clearly these are not only different voices, but addressed to different recipients: Walcott's to his ageing self; Hill's to an unnamed beloved. The references are in even greater contrast. Walcott evokes a specific place, an island near his native St Lucia. Hill invokes mathematical, historical and literary images of constancy: the Fibonacci sequence (with, by implication, the Golden Ratio) and Stonehenge; then, teasingly, Ovid's Metamorphoses, in which a narrative sequence on the mutability of mortals and immortals ends in the apotheosis of Julius Caesar. Walcott's ostensible theme is renunciation, but his metaphor of the egrets implies that he is still potent, for his "torn poems" will outlive him; the underlying emotion is one of defiance, both of his critics and of old age. Hill speaks softly to his beloved, all passion spent, in a tone of acceptance and gratitude. Walcott's egret metaphor is vivid and its appeal obvious. Hill's glimpse of the past — the may-tree, the meadow and the girl — is more subtle. The ideas of the first stanza are transfigured in the vision of bliss in the second. Its evanescent flashback culminates in the last line, memorable in its simplicity and reminiscent of Eliot's Four Quartets. Walcott's poem is what Hill calls a "selfie": it speaks to himself about himself. Hill's is a poem of ideas: it speaks to us all, sub specie aeternitatis, in the individual persona of the poet's "old love".
What, though, does Hill mean by a poetry of ideas? Unlike philosophy, poetry deals in concrete rather than abstract concepts; unlike history, poetry is not limited to reconstructing what we know about the past, but can allow the imagination free rein. Ideas fit into Hill's poetry, but they are never free-floating ideas: they always belong in a human setting. Ideas, for Hill, bear the imprint of the personality who created them. The ideas that drive us to action and shape our lives are such stuff as dreams are made on.
To illustrate what I mean, let us consider a poem by Hill's contemporary Derek Walcott (born 1930). Walcott, a Nobel laureate, was a candidate for the Oxford chair in 2009, but withdrew after allegations that he was a womaniser who preyed on his students. A year later he published a new collection, White Egrets, the title poem of which is a riposte to his critics. In what was widely seen as a gesture of solidarity by his fellow poets, the book was awarded the T.S. Eliot Prize. One passage reads thus:
[. . .] so walk to the cliff's edge and soar above it,
the jealousy, the spite, the nastiness with the grace
of a frigate over Barrel of Beef, its rock;
be grateful that you wrote well in this place,
let the torn poems sail from you like a flock
of white egrets to a long last sigh of release.
Compare this with Hill's valediction in one of his Daybooks:
What I have so invoked for us is true
As invocation. The Fibonacci range
Of numbers is a constant, like Stonehenge.
Like Ovid's book of changes to construe.
I can see someone walking there, a girl,
And she is you, old love. Edging the meadow
The may-tree is all light and all shadow.
Coming and going are the things eternal.
Clearly these are not only different voices, but addressed to different recipients: Walcott's to his ageing self; Hill's to an unnamed beloved. The references are in even greater contrast. Walcott evokes a specific place, an island near his native St Lucia. Hill invokes mathematical, historical and literary images of constancy: the Fibonacci sequence (with, by implication, the Golden Ratio) and Stonehenge; then, teasingly, Ovid's Metamorphoses, in which a narrative sequence on the mutability of mortals and immortals ends in the apotheosis of Julius Caesar. Walcott's ostensible theme is renunciation, but his metaphor of the egrets implies that he is still potent, for his "torn poems" will outlive him; the underlying emotion is one of defiance, both of his critics and of old age. Hill speaks softly to his beloved, all passion spent, in a tone of acceptance and gratitude. Walcott's egret metaphor is vivid and its appeal obvious. Hill's glimpse of the past — the may-tree, the meadow and the girl — is more subtle. The ideas of the first stanza are transfigured in the vision of bliss in the second. Its evanescent flashback culminates in the last line, memorable in its simplicity and reminiscent of Eliot's Four Quartets. Walcott's poem is what Hill calls a "selfie": it speaks to himself about himself. Hill's is a poem of ideas: it speaks to us all, sub specie aeternitatis, in the individual persona of the poet's "old love".
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