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94 chapter 5 5 “Staying Alive” 1968-1971 There is despite my age something green & undeveloped about me. Denise Levertov, Diary, 19691 As “poet in the world,” Denise Levertov’s writing reflected the great social upheaval in American society in the late 1960s. But that upheaval, focused as it was on the Vietnam War, does not explain her sense of personal anxiety. Overwrought, fretful, and needy, she contemplated an accidental suicide.2 In a letter to Duncan she described her battered state: Well, I am in pain and sometimes don’t know where to turn, as if all salt had lost its savor, but perhaps indeed my life has deepened as it has darkened. I want to say Pray for me, but to whom. I don’t know what god has afflicted me. Is it Eros? I thought so but now I’m not even sure.3 Her pain was exacerbated by the fact that she did not know its source or how to cure it. Now in her midforties, she had come to the surprising realization that there was something “green & undeveloped” in her. She wanted to be whole, to integrate her inner and outer life, but she had to deal not only with persons and circumstances that were beyond her control but with her own past. Her “undevelopment” impeded her ability to respond maturely to her situation, yet it was precisely this “greenness” that was the wellspring of her childlike wonder at life, the source of her poetic insight. “Greenness” was the legacy of her protracted childhood. Solitude and protection from social intercourse allowed her imagination to flourish and her communion with the natural world to deepen. But this extended childhood was followed by an abbreviated adolescence. The usual maturation of young adulthood was foreshortened for her. By her own admission she was forced to grow up quickly. But in some ways her adolescence was also prolonged . Now well into middle age, she faced a series of difficult problems: “Staying Alive” 95 a war that raged on with no end in sight, a marriage in which she had no “encounter,” a mentor who would shortly reject her poetry and warn her against the consequence of her political engagement, and a reputation that would be tarnished by what was called her “protest” poetry. Her flickering self-insight offered no solace or way through. During the four years between 1968 and 1971, Levertov was forced to grow in new ways. It was the nadir of her life. What she needed most was to “stay alive.” As 1968 began, Levertov had no inkling of what might transpire over the next year. Of course, she was anxious about Mitch’s indictment, but other pressures were minimal. She had no teaching responsibilities or book deadline that year. A second grant from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and extensive poetry readings—she gave seventeen in a seven-month period—provided adequate financial support. And there would be a return visit to Puerto Rico and, after a hiatus of three years, a visit with her mother in Mexico. There would also be cause for celebration. She would have Mitch’s little book of poems, Light from under a Bushel, printed privately, and Nik, who was studying at the Rhode Island School of Design, would make it through his first year, although he would lose his scholarship because of poor academic performance. Nonetheless the year turned out to be one of the worst in her life. In the midst of strife and concerned over losing her poetic vision, Levertov continued to write.4 The most haunting of her several poems published that year was “A Tree Telling of Orpheus,” which was illustrated with four of her own pen-and-pencil drawings. Narrated in the voice of a tree, this compelling poem tells of the coming of the Thracian poet, Orpheus, and the transformation he wrought.5 The tree recounts how the sound of the poet’s voice penetrates its roots and shoots, telling of dreams and making it “deeply alert.” “[I]n terror” “but not in doubt,” the tree understands Orpheus’s song. In response to his music, it wrenches itself from the soil, and with its brother trees follows the sound of the poet, who soon is gone. The trees wait, sure only that they have lived. Having seen and felt more, they are incapable now of returning to their former selves. What is rendered in this poem is the story of transformation...

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