Born in 1927, Galway Kinnell shares with most poets of his generation -James Wright and W. S. Merwin were born in the same year, Philip Levine in 1928-two significant patterns: an early mastery and rejection of strict poetic forms, and a growing tendency to direct the imagination inward, linking a vision of the world to an understanding of the self. In The Poetics of the Physical World (1971), Kinnell defends the first pattern: Fixed form, in our time anyway, seems to bring you to a place where someone has been before. In a poem, you wish to reach a new place. And this requires pure wandering-that rare condition when you have no external guides at all, only your own, inner impulse to go, or to turn, or to stand still. A second essay, Poetry, Personality, and Death (1971), offers Kinnell's version of the other pattern: for poetry to avoid the selfabsorbed, closed ego of our time, the poet must seek to get beyond his personality by going through it. He proposes that we move toward a poetry in which the poet seeks an inner liberation by going so deeply into himself-into the worst of himself as well as the best-that he suddenly finds he is everyone. In the conversation that follows, Song of Myself is a constant Kinnell touchstone, and it is Whitman's embrace of the world around him which powers Kinnell's poetry as well. Both are poets of empathy; both insist, with ringing conviction, I am the man, I suffered, I was there. Kinnell's first volume, What a Kingdom It Was (1960), is capped by an extended poetic sequence which reaches out to the persons and things of New York's Avenue C. As in Whitman's catalogues, The Avenue Bearing the Initial of Christ into the New
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