Lowell, Robert (Vol. 124)
Robert Lowell 1917–1977
American poet, dramatist, critic, and translator.
The following entry presents an overview of Lowell's career through 1997. See also Robert Lowell Criticism (Volume 1), and Volumes 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 11.
A foremost contributor to the development of "confessional" poetry, Robert Lowell is widely regarded as one of the most gifted and influential American poets of the postwar period. While his early verse in the Pulitzer Prize-winning volume Lord Weary's Castle (1946) is distinguished for its complex formalism and technical virtuosity, during the 1960s Lowell emerged as a leading innovator of the confessional mode. This highly charged, self-revelatory style of writing, heralded by his important collection Life Studies (1959), featured a new emphasis on intense, uninhibited discussion of personal, family, and psychological struggles. Though much of Lowell's poetry centers upon the autobiographic details of his New England upbringing, mental illness, and personal relationships, his erudition, mastery of conventional forms, and synthesis of private and public concerns separates him from other poets working in the confessional vein. Lowell's assiduous effort to discover new poetic forms through assimilation of traditional and modernist techniques is reflected in the impressive range and diversity of his work.
Born Robert Traill Spence Lowell, Jr., to parents of prominent Boston families, Lowell descended from a long line of distinguished New Englanders, including literary relatives James Russell Lowell and Amy Lowell. Lowell's turbulent childhood, dominated by incessant tensions between his father, a naval officer, and mother, left deep and lasting emotional scars. He attended preparatory school at St. Mark's School in Southborough, Massachusetts, where he was a student of poet Richard Eberhart, Lowell's first literary mentor. At St. Mark's, Lowell also earned the nickname "Cal," a dual reference to Shakespeare's Caliban and the infamous Roman emperor Caligula. Lowell began studies at Harvard University in 1935, though left abruptly in 1937 to travel with English novelist Ford Madox Ford to the Tennessee home of poet Allen Tate and his wife, novelist Caroline Gordon. After spending a summer with the Tate's, Lowell followed Tate to Kenyon College in Ohio, where he enrolled and studied under John Crowe Ransom. While at Kenyon, Lowell met lifelong friends poet Randall Jarrell and short story writer Peter Taylor. Lowell graduated summa cum laude with a degree in classics in 1940 and, during the same year, converted to Roman Catholicism and married novelist Jean Stafford. The next year, Lowell attended graduate courses at Louisiana State University, where he studied under Robert Penn Warren and Cleanth Brooks. After brief employment with the Catholic publishing house Sheed and Ward in New York, Lowell took up residence with the Tate's in the Tennessee mountains, where he continued to write. A conscientious objector to military service during the Second World War, Lowell was imprisoned for six months during 1943 and 1944. He then published his first collection of poetry, The Land of Unlikeness (1944), followed two years later by Lord Weary's Castle, for which he was awarded a Pulitzer Prize. He also received a National Institute of Arts and Letters Award and a Guggenheim fellowship in 1947. In the period before the publication of his next volume, The Mills of the Kavanaughs (1951), Lowell divorced Stafford, abandoned the Catholic Church, and suffered a severe bout of manic depression, a psychological disorder that afflicted him for the rest of his life. Lowell married writer Elizabeth Hardwick in 1949. During the 1950s, he taught at several universities, maintained a friendship with William Carlos Williams, and traveled to California, where he encountered Allen Ginsberg and other Beat generation writers. Lowell settled in New York in 1960 and, from 1963 to 1970, commuted to Boston to teach at Harvard. He won a National Book Award in 1960 for Life Studies and a Bollingen Prize for Imitations (1961), a collection of verse translations, in 1962. Lowell also published Phaedra, a verse translation of Jean Baptiste Racine's tragedy, in Phaedra and Figaro (1961). During the mid-1960s, Lowell produced For the Union Dead (1964) and The Old Glory (1965), a trilogy of plays including Endecott and the Red Cross and My Kinsman, Major Molineux, both adapted from short stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Benito Cereno, adapted from a novella by Herman Melville. Lowell also emerged as an outspoken critic of U.S. military involvement in Vietnam; he publicly declined an invitation by President Lyndon Johnson to attend the White House Festival of the Arts in 1965 and participated in the historic Pentagon march in 1967. His reaction to social and political upheaval during this time is the subject of Near the Ocean (1967) and Notebook, 1967–68 (1969). Lowell moved to England in 1970 and taught at the University of Essex and Kent University. After divorcing Hardwick and marrying his third wife, British author Caroline Blackwood, in 1972, Lowell produced three additional volumes of poetry in 1973—For Lizzie and Harriet, History, and The Dolphin, for which Lowell received a second Pulitzer Prize in 1974. His final collection, Day by Day (1977), winner of the National Book Critics Award in 1978, was published days before Lowell suffered a fatal heart attack in a New York taxi.
Lowell's early poetry is characterized by its Christian motifs and symbolism, historical reference, and intricate formalism, a trait cultivated by Lowell's early masters, the Southern New Critics Tate and Ransom. In Land of Unlikeness, introduced by Tate, Lowell responds to the chaos and brutality of the Second World War, his Catholic conversion, and renunciation of his Puritan heritage, often juxtaposing religious beatitude with the turmoil and vapidity of the modern secular world. The title of the collection, suggestive of Lowell's disillusionment, refers to Saint Bernard's idea that the human soul is unlike God and unknown to itself. Lowell incorporated many of these poems in his next volume, Lord Weary's Castle. Continuing the theme of rebellion, Lowell expresses his conflicted aversion to war, American imperialism, capitalism, and the legacy of New England Protestantism. In "The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket," the most famous poem from this volume, Lowell rails against the corruption and lost innocence of America in an elegy for his cousin, Warren Winslow, who drowned while serving in the Navy during the Second World War. His next collection, The Mills of the Kavanaughs, marked a spiritual and stylistic crisis for Lowell. Under the influence of Robert Frost and Robert Browning, this volume contains several dramatic monologues and verse translations that, while indicative of Lowell's search for new poetic forms, are weighted with obscure symbolism and affected rhetoric. Lowell's major artist breakthrough came with Life Studies, in which he abandoned the rigid formalism of his previous poetry and shifted his focus to personal aspects of his life and family history. The malleable free verse and colloquial tone of this volume reveals the influence of William Carlos Williams. In "Skunk Hour," one of the best known poems from this volume, Lowell discloses his inner turmoil along with descriptions of a coastal Maine town and foraging skunks. The prose memoir "91 Revere Street," which represents the core of Life Studies, recounts Lowell's troubled childhood, including unflattering portraits of his parents and home life. The new openness of Lowell's poetry is also reflected in Imitations, a collection of loosely translated works by Homer, Sappho, Rainer Maria Rilke, Francois Villon, and Charles-Pierre Baudelaire, among others. Lowell continued in the confessional mode in For the Union Dead, whose title poem, originally delivered at the Boston Arts Festival in 1960, is regarded as one of his best. Beginning as a private meditation on his childhood memory of the Boston Aquarium, "For the Union Dead" commemorates the sacrifice of Colonel Robert Shaw, a Union officer killed while leading a regiment of black troops during the Civil War. Shifting between the historic past and present, Lowell laments the erosion of heroic idealism in contemporary America and technological encroachment. In Near the Ocean, written at the height of antiwar protest, Lowell returned to the formal metrical patterns of his earlier work. The polemical poetry of this volume, including verse translations of works by Horace, Juvenal, and Dante, derides American militarism and political leadership, as in the popular poem "Waking Early Sunday Morning." Notebook 1967–68, which began as diary, is an epic cycle of unrhymed sonnets loosely structured around the four seasons of the year. An amalgam of journal entries, historical observations, correspondence, and private meditations, these poems reflect Lowell's effort to harmonize his personal and public concerns; Lowell significantly revised and rearranged many of these poems in Notebook (1970). Lowell continued to work with unrhymed sonnets in his next three volumes—For Lizzie and Harriet, History, and The Dolphin. For Lizzie and Harriet, which consists of revised poems from Notebook, deals with Lowell's relationship with Elizabeth Hardwick and their daughter. History, also containing reworked poems from Notebook as well as many new compositions, evokes the broad sweep of Western civilization in fragmentary episodes and verse portraits of diverse historical and literary figures such as Juvenal, Maximilien-François Robespierre, Martin Luther King, Jr., and John Berryman. The new poems of The Dolphin center upon Lowell's relocation to England, his marriage to Lady Caroline Blackwood, and the birth of their son. In his final volume, Day by Day, Lowell abandoned the sonnet form for free verse and returned to the scrupulous honesty and autobiographic subjects reminiscent of Life Studies. The posthumously published Collected Prose contains Lowell's essays on various major poets and literary works, unfinished autobiographic sketches, and several interviews.
Lowell is widely regarded as one of the most important American poets of the postwar era. Though famous for his role in the development of confessional poetry, his early verse in Lord Weary's Castle is highly regarded for its command of traditional forms and cerebral aesthetics. Lowell's preoccupation with religious themes in this volume and Land of Unlikeness also prompted some reviewers to classify him as a "Catholic poet." His transitional collection, The Mills of the Kavanaughs, is generally considered among his weakest, leading some reviewers to question the limitations of the New Criticism principles which Lowell inherited from his early teachers Tate, Ransom, Cleanth Brooks, and Robert Penn Warren. Life Studies, hailed as a major turning point in Lowell's career, is also considered a seminal work of contemporary American poetry. Through his example in this work, Lowell initiated the confessional genre and exerted a profound influence on subsequent American poets, including other first generation confessionalists such as Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. Lowell is also praised for his effective blend of autobiography and public history in the acclaimed poems "The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket" and "For the Union Dead." During the late 1960s, Lowell received negative criticism for Near the Ocean, dismissed by many reviewers for its overt political rhetoric and what some perceived to be calculated accessibility. His artistic integrity was also called into question with the publication of The Dolphin, in which he incorporated verbatim transcripts of private correspondence with Elizabeth Hardwick and others, considered an egregious violation of personal trust by many of Lowell's critics and friends. Despite the wide influence of his poetry, Lowell's inseparable connection to the rise of confessional poetry has also elicited disapproval among critics who dismiss such writing as narrowly self-absorbed. Though critical interest in Lowell's work has diminished somewhat over recent decades, he is still highly regarded as one of the most brilliant and diversely talented American poets of the twentieth century.
Land of Unlikeness (poetry) 1944
Lord Weary's Castle (poetry) 1946
Poems, 1938–1949 (poetry) 1950
The Mills of the Kavanaughs (poetry) 1951
Life Studies (poetry) 1959
Imitations [editor and translator] (poetry) 1961
Phaedra and Figaro [translator; with Jacques Barzun] (drama) 1961
For the Union Dead (poetry) 1964
The Old Glory (drama) 1965
Near the Ocean (poetry) 1967
Prometheus Bound [adaptor] (drama) 1967
The Voyage and Other Versions of Poems by Baudelaire [translator] (poetry) 1968
Notebook 1967–1968 [revised and republished as Notebook, 1970] (poetry) 1969
History (poetry) 1973
For Lizzie and Harriet (poetry) 1973
The Dolphin (poetry) 1973
Selected Poems (poetry) 1976
Day by Day (poetry) 1977
Collected Prose (prose) 1987
Collected Poems (poetry) 1997
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SOURCE: "Aspects of Robert Lowell," in Commonweal, December 9, 1977, pp. 783-8.
[In the following essay, Druska provides an overview of Lowell's literary career, artistic development, and major themes in his poetry.]
I. His Career
The speaker of Robert Lowell's "In the American Grain" (History) announces at the close of the poem
(') I am not William Carlos Williams. He
knew the germ on every flower, and saw
the snake is a petty, rather pathetic creature.'
Whether or not the speaker is Lowell—the poem is a direct quote, perhaps a letter to him—the sentiment is rarely his. Snakes, dragons, other biblical and/or allusive figures haunt Lowell's pages. In the early poems of Land of Unlikeness and Lord Weary's Castle he writes this most emblematic. "No ideas but in things," Williams proclaimed. Lowell's first works, for which he has lionized by much of the critical establishment, might well be saying, "Nothing but within my ideas of things":
… I fear
That only Armageddon will suffice
To turn the hero skating on thin ice
When Whore and Beast and Dragon rise for...
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SOURCE: "Robert Lowell: The Problems and Power of Allusion," in Dalhousie Review, Vol. 60, No. 4, Winter, 1980–81, pp. 697-702.
[In the following essay, Lane discusses Lowell's use of allusion and metaphorical reference in "Man and Wife," "Sailing Home from Rapollo," and "For the Union Dead."]
Allusions, like symbols, can be divided broadly into explicit and implicit: separated, as Harry Levin says, by an equatorial line past which we can sail on problematically into the conjectural and, finally, the inadmissible. At the same time allusion to some entity otherwise wholly outside the text must be distinguished from reference to a similar entity which is actually presumed present within the world of the text. King Ahab is not present in Moby Dick; Captain Ahab is. Neither is present in Robert Lowell's "The Quaker Graveyard at Nantucket," but both are alluded to: one explicitly, one implicitly. The allusions in Lowell's earlier, highly allusive poems such as "The Quaker Graveyard" have been glossed to the point where the reader's problem is not to reap but to winnow.
However, the referential content in Lowell's book, Life Studies, and in many subsequent poems, is so circumstantial and the style so direct that possible allusions are more likely to require discovery, juridical as well as analytic—witness Wilbur's, Nims's, and Berryman's well-known critiques of "Skunk Hour"...
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SOURCE: "Robert Lowell and Free Association," in Mosaic, Vol. XIX, No. 4, Fall, 1986, pp. 121-32.
[In the following essay, Wallingford examines free associational thinking as an important element of Lowell's creative process. Wallingford notes that free association, a technique derived from psychoanalysis, permits Lowell to both engage and reflect upon his own unconscious thoughts.]
In a letter he wrote in 1949 to George Santayana in Rome, Robert Lowell describes a process of thought which sounds remarkably like the psychoanalytic technique of free association:
Dear Mr. Santayana:
I was just nodding and I saw an image of a fat, yellowish dog receding down the center of a country road—the center was grass and the ruts clam-shells; so much for flux.
I had hoped to send you a book of my poems as a sort of Christmas present; but no. One thing written brings up another—somewhat as the dog-image. Should one shut these things out? It seems safer to let them come, take one's time, to be helpless….
Vocation is love, I think: for beauty, or the Muse, or what you wish…. Now at 31 it's just there—I can't send it away for long or find alternatives. There's the power side, the making side, the craft one learns. But now I am struck by the other, the powerless—powerless, when it does not come;...
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SOURCE: "Perfection of the Work," in The Nation, April 11, 1987, pp. 475-6, 478.
[In the following review, Bogen offers positive evaluation of Lowell's Collected Prose.]
Robert Lowell was probably the last American poet who might be described as formidable. His stylistic transformations—from dense formal elegies to free verse confessions, blank sonnets and diary-like musings—were news in a way that no poet's are today. Immersed in aesthetic debates and the controversies of public life, he held a commanding place in American culture even after his move to Britain in the late 1960s. That prominence has declined in the decade since his death. Lowell's choice of subject may be partly to blame here. A poet who writes a lot about his life is at the mercy of his biographer after his death, and Lowell was not served well by his. Ian Hamilton's Robert Lowell: A Biography is an exhausting compendium of letters, anecdotes and narration which presents, finally, a stock image of the poet as inspired madman: frenzied, often cruel, living life at superhuman intensity and, in the current version of the myth, a victim of his own aberrant brain chemistry. Lowell's Collected Prose should help correct that image. It reminds us that what matters is not how often the poet was in mental hospitals or how many affairs he had but what he wrote and thought.
Lowell seems to have struggled...
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SOURCE: "Art, Evil, and the Poet," in New York Times Book Review, July 12, 1987, pp. 22-3.
[In the following review, Davie offers favorable assessment of Lowell's Collected Prose.]
This may be Robert Lowell's most winning book. But Collected Prose should not be read straight through, nor taken in big gulps. Robert Giroux, faced with more than 40 pieces, nearly all short and scrappy, some incomplete, has sorted them by subject matter into three sections and an appendix. On balance this arrangement is probably the best possible. But it has disadvantages. If we want to know what Lowell thought of William Carlos Williams, we find him taking three bites at the cherry—in 1947, 1948, 1962; and whereas we are enlightened about how he changed his mind (the two bites at John Berryman, eight years apart, are very illuminating in this way), we are confused about how far his second thoughts canceled out his first. At any rate, it's only by sorting out the chronology that we can construct a narrative of Lowell's life in and out of, but mostly in, literature.
We can read several plots in a narrative thus reconstructed. One might be called the defection from the South. The outline is well known: here it's documented in the famous "Visiting the Tates," in a tribute in two parts to John Crowe Ransom (written 26 years apart) and in a piece on Ford Madox Ford, whose connections with the Old...
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SOURCE: "Robert Lowell's Breakdown," in Yale Review, Vol. 79, No. 2, Winter, 1990, pp. 172-87.
[In the following essay, Hammer examines Lowell's artistic break from the influence of Allen Tate and the significance of Lowell's nervous breakdown as a metaphor for this schism as evident in Life Studies. "Lowell's 'breakdown' is itself a literary construction," according to Hammer.]
In 1959, the year in which he published Life Studies, Robert Lowell remembered his first, unannounced arrival at the home of Allen Tate and Caroline Gordon as the beginning of his career: "My head was full of Miltonic, vaguely piratical ambitions. My only anchor was a suitcase, heavy with bad poetry. I was brought to earth by my bumper mashing the Tates' frail agrarian mailbox post. Getting out to disguise the damage, I turned my back on their peeling, pillared house. I had crashed the civilization of the South." And when we add that, before advancing any further on the Tates, Lowell stopped to mark the territory with a piss, we have recovered a ludicrous but instructive episode in the transmission of literary modernism. The young man carried with him "piratical ambitions," his juvenilia, and a car (no doubt manufactured in the North) that "mashes" the mailbox post of this Southern Agrarian household. Lowell's feeling, in retrospect, is of having conquered effortlessly and by accident. And yet the Southerners could...
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SOURCE: "Robert Lowell's Tokens of the Self," in American Literature, Vol. 63, No. 4, December, 1991, pp. 712-26.
[In the following essay, Witek examines Lowell's search for personal identity and Freudian themes relating to his parents in the poetry of Life Studies and his autobiographical prose writings.]
Robert Lowell sold a large collection of manuscript materials to the Houghton Library in 1973, work which is just beginning to be made public, notably in Ian Hamilton's biography and in the 1987 volume of Collected Prose. Among the most interesting of these papers are over two hundred pages of autobiographical prose, many of which are still unpublished. This material, begun while Lowell was recovering from a mental breakdown following the death of his mother in 1954, offers dramatic evidence of his tendency to psychologize both his life and his method, and to conflate the two chronically and emblematically.
Lowell tells many bleakly humorous stories about dealing with the Payne Whitney Clinic's occupational therapy requirement while he was recuperating from the latest of what were beginning to be recognized as recurrent bouts of acute mania. Set to various artistic tasks, he found himself unable to translate thought into concrete form, a failure highly symbolic to someone whose life work is translating experience into language. In one account, the embarrassment of not...
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SOURCE: "War and Redemption in Land of Unlikeness," in Southern Humanities Review, Vol. XXVIII, No. 1, Winter, 1994, pp. 1-14.
[In the following essay, Doreski explores Lowell's effort to reconcile his aesthetic attraction to warfare and moral objection to the Second World War in the poetry of Land of Unlikeness.]
In 1943, Robert Lowell, disturbed by the Allied bombing of German cities and facing induction, sent a "declaration of conscience" to President Roosevelt and the local draft board. Lowell declared himself unalterably opposed not to war itself but to the conduct of this war, particularly to the bombing of civilian populations and to the intransigence of the Allied requirement of unconditional surrender, which he felt would lead (as Versailles had) to an untenable post-war situation:
The war has entered on an unforeseen phase: one that can by no possible extension of the meaning of the words be called defensive. By demanding unconditional surrender we reveal our complete confidence in the outcome, and declare that we are prepared to wage a war without quarter or principles, to the permanent destruction of Germany and Japan. (Collected Prose)
Although a conscientious objector in a limited sense, Lowell was not a pacifist since he indicated his willingness to fight in a purely defensive situation. Moreover, the...
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SOURCE: "Damaged Grandeur: The Life of Robert Lowell," in Sewanee Review, Vol. CII, No. 1, Winter, 1994, pp. 121-31.
[In the following essay, Tillinghast provides an overview of Lowell's literary career, artistic development, and critical reception.]
A meteorologist of late twentieth-century American poetry, noting changes in the literary climate, tuning his awareness to the shifting winds of reputation and ideology, will be aware of at least one major cooling trend. I am speaking of the decline in estimation of Robert Lowell's poetry. He is still taught, his importance is acknowledged, but I wonder how many younger poets actually read him anymore? During his lifetime it was quite another story. Early in Lowell's career Peter Viereck had judged him "best qualified to restore to our literature its sense of the tragic and the lofty." When Life Studies appeared in 1959, John Thompson wrote in the Kenyon Review that "the great past, Revolutionary America, the Renaissance, Rome, is all contemporary to him. He moves among its great figures at ease with his peers…. This is why, perhaps alone of living poets, he can bear for us the role of the great poet, the man who on a very large scale sees more, feels more, and speaks more bravely about it than we ourselves can do."
Largeness of scale was part of Lowell's makeup. He came into the world with a sense of grandeur: "Like Henry...
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SOURCE: "'One Gallant Rush': The Writing of Robert Lowell's 'For the Union Dead,'" in New England Quarterly, Vol. LXVII, No. 1, March, 1994, pp. 30-45.
[In the following essay, Doreski traces the creative evolution of "For the Union Dead" and offers alternative interpretations. According to Doreski, the poem "centers not in its public language of history and heroism, as some critics would have it, but in its tropes of memory and psychological alienation."]
In 1969 Robert Lowell drafted a statement on his poem "For the Union Dead" to be included in an anthology edited by Whit Burnett and entitled This is My Best. Each poet was to select the most outstanding poem from his or her own work and then explain that choice. Though Lowell hedged on declaring "For the Union Dead" his best poem, in choosing it for the collection he confirmed what many of his readers had felt, that if not his "best," this was certainly one of his most attractive, compelling, and characteristic poems.
Lowell's statement touches on the composition and the thematic center of the poem. Those who have not read his account of its origins may find his assessment surprising. As originally drafted, Lowell's remarks read as follows:
If I knew my best poem, I think I would be too elated to reveal the secret; like some powerful chemical formula, this knowledge should be guarded and...
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SOURCE: "Robert Lowell's Day by Day: 'Until the Wristwatch is Taken From the Wrist,'" in New England Review, Vol. 16, No. 3, Summer, 1994, pp. 54-63.
[In the following essay, Tillinghast discusses Lowell's death and offers critical evaluation of Day by Day.]
To read Robert Lowell's last book, Day by Day, published shortly before his death in 1977, is to accompany the poet on a valedictory retrospective of his life and work. This is the most elegiac book of one of our great elegists. In poem after poem he says goodbye not only to old friends but to old ideas—the ruling ideas of the time in which he lived. He continues to feel ambivalent about the third of his troublesome marriages, wondering whether he had made a mistake in leaving his second wife Elizabeth Hardwick, to marry the Anglo-Irish novelist Lady Caroline Blackwood. Ambivalence was Lowell's characteristic stance—a stance that positioned him ideally to exemplify many of the conflicts of his period. When he died in a taxicab on the way to Hardwick's apartment in Manhattan after a flight from London, he was carrying, wrapped in brown paper, the famous portrait of Caroline Blackwood, Girl in Bed, which had been painted by her first husband, Lucian Freud. In an interview in the September, 1993, issue of Town and Country, Blackwood reveals that attendants at the hospital had to break Lowell's arms to remove the picture...
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SOURCE: "Surviving the Marketplace: Robert Lowell and the Sixties," in New England Review, Vol. LXVIII, No. 1, March, 1995, pp. 44-57.
[In the following essay, Flanzbaum discusses Lowell's literary fame, political protest, and critical reception during the 1960s. Flanzbaum contends that Lowell's public ambition "should not be understood as a venal thirst for fame but rather as a result of his yearning to find common ground with the large American audience."]
In the 1960s, Robert Lowell took his career in an unexpected direction. Having won the Pulitzer Prize and inspired the devotion of literary critics and fellow practitioners in the previous two decades, he had established himself as the leading poet of his generation. But in the sixties, more than being warmly appreciated by a small elite audience, Lowell became a sensation: an American celebrity and a figure of political influence. In a few short years, he joined a select group of American poets who had bridged the great divide between academic and popular culture. This extraordinary stage in Lowell's career deserves wider critical attention than it has yet received, for it sheds significant light not only on his personal poetics but on the workings of America's literary and cultural history.
Scion of a dynastic American family, Lowell had always garnered more public attention than other modern poets, who, as we know, spent much of...
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Axelrod, Steven G. "Robert Lowell and the New York Intellectuals." English Language Notes XI, No. 3 (March 1974): 206-9.
Discusses Lowell's response to critical attacks in his poem "The New York Intellectuals."
Bromwich, David. "Reading Robert Lowell." Commentary 52, No. 2 (August 1971): 78-83.
Provides an overview of Lowell's literary career, major works, and critical reception.
Brumleve, Eric Marie. "Permanence and Change in the Poetry of Robert Lowell." Texas Studies in Literature and Language X, No. 1 (Spring 1968); 143-53.
Examines Lowell's preoccupation with the "flux of experience" in his poetry, especially aspects of unity and multiplicity surrounding his presentation of time, death, and history.
Doherty, Paul C. "The Poet As Historian: 'For the Union Dead' by Robert Lowell." Concerning Poetry 1, No. 2 (Fall 1968): 37-41.
Examines Lowell's subjective response to the historical past in "For the Union Dead."
Eddins, Dwight. "Poet and State in the Verse of Robert Lowell." Texas Studies in Literature and Language XV, No. 2 (Summer 1973): 371-86.
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