Proofs and Theories

Rating:
Summary: Education of the Prose Writer: Lessons from Louise Glück
Review: "The fundamental experience of the writer is helplessness," declares Louise Glück in the opening sentence of the first essay in _Proofs & Theories_. Although the type of helplessness Glück proceeds to describe differs from the sense of weakness with which a prose writer might attempt to review a book of poetry, the words nonetheless create a bridge between the poet-essayist and her reader. They ease the tension, the anxiety. The education begins.

Glück's essays remind the prose writer that all "reviews" may share certain features. Simple titles that target the subject ("On T.S. Eliot; "On Stanley Kunitz") work well; so, too, may titles that promise treatment of an elusive yet alluring theme: ("The Forbidden"; "Invitation and Exclusion"). On the whole, _Proofs & Theories_ also supports the notion that a review need not be long. Glück notes that most of her poet-contemporaries "are interested in length: they want to write long lines, long stanzas, long poems"; one might add that a number of literary reviewers are interested in writing long reviews, and such pieces are not always necessary. Finally, the essays convey a general impression that the _substance_ of a piece of literature is equally important (if not more so) than its _style_.

This last point is crucial for a prose writer approaching the task of reviewing poetry. Louise Glück's essays reveal preoccupations shared by prose writers--by this prose writer, anyway. Themes. Tone. Voice. It's perfectly all right, _Proofs & Theories_ tells the prose writer, to discuss poetry in these terms. One need not try to dazzle at first meeting with "metonymy" and "synecdoche," with "blank verse" and "internal rhyme." So don't be scared off.

It would, therefore, be acceptable to write an essay titled "On Louise Glück." To choose a theme from _Meadowlands_ or another of Glück's own works, to write about. Or to focus on the poet's voice in selected poems from one of her collections.

It might even be permissible to bring one's own experience of reading into the review. Thus Glück might learn of the moments when _she_ affected a reader, perhaps not to the extent that her own "encounter with [Wallace] Stevens was shattering." But she would see that her poet's presence as "human voice...a companion spirit" made a difference, in the moment of reading, and beyond.

And she would realize, if she doesn't already, that _Proofs & Theories_ provides an excellent education for anyone--prose writer or poet--seeking lessons into the craft of literary reviewing.

Rating:
Summary: Education of the Prose Writer: Lessons from Louise Glück
Review: "The fundamental experience of the writer is helplessness," declares Louise Glück in the opening sentence of the first essay in _Proofs & Theories_. Although the type of helplessness Glück proceeds to describe differs from the sense of weakness with which a prose writer might attempt to review a book of poetry, the words nonetheless create a bridge between the poet-essayist and her reader. They ease the tension, the anxiety. The education begins.

Glück's essays remind the prose writer that all "reviews" may share certain features. Simple titles that target the subject ("On T.S. Eliot; "On Stanley Kunitz") work well; so, too, may titles that promise treatment of an elusive yet alluring theme: ("The Forbidden"; "Invitation and Exclusion"). On the whole, _Proofs & Theories_ also supports the notion that a review need not be long. Glück notes that most of her poet-contemporaries "are interested in length: they want to write long lines, long stanzas, long poems"; one might add that a number of literary reviewers are interested in writing long reviews, and such pieces are not always necessary. Finally, the essays convey a general impression that the _substance_ of a piece of literature is equally important (if not more so) than its _style_.

This last point is crucial for a prose writer approaching the task of reviewing poetry. Louise Glück's essays reveal preoccupations shared by prose writers--by this prose writer, anyway. Themes. Tone. Voice. It's perfectly all right, _Proofs & Theories_ tells the prose writer, to discuss poetry in these terms. One need not try to dazzle at first meeting with "metonymy" and "synecdoche," with "blank verse" and "internal rhyme." So don't be scared off.

It would, therefore, be acceptable to write an essay titled "On Louise Glück." To choose a theme from _Meadowlands_ or another of Glück's own works, to write about. Or to focus on the poet's voice in selected poems from one of her collections.

It might even be permissible to bring one's own experience of reading into the review. Thus Glück might learn of the moments when _she_ affected a reader, perhaps not to the extent that her own "encounter with [Wallace] Stevens was shattering." But she would see that her poet's presence as "human voice...a companion spirit" made a difference, in the moment of reading, and beyond.

And she would realize, if she doesn't already, that _Proofs & Theories_ provides an excellent education for anyone--prose writer or poet--seeking lessons into the craft of literary reviewing.

Rating:
Summary: A book for writers
Review: Have you ever wanted to get into the mind of a writer? Find out what makes them tick outside of their art? Louise Gluck's Proofs and Theories: Essays on Poetry does just that. Having recently read the book for a class, I was immediately sucked in by the first essay, "Education of the Poet." There I found in Gluck's work an indomitable spirit, a certain fearlessnss and insistence like the determination of a newborn as it is being pushed out of the womb.

Gluck said early on she had "great resources of will and no self." This strength of will and lack of self almost led to her death. Since she often felt unheard, she took adolescent rebelliousness a few notches higher than most teens. Because her parents wanted her to eat, she willed herself to eschew hunger. As Gluck neared 75 pounds, she found she had to make some decisions. Eventually, she enrolled in The School of General Studies at Columbia and studied poetry under Leonie Adams and later, reknowned poet, Stanley Kunitz.

Any writer who has ever struggled with declaring his or her vocation in life can readily identify with Gluck's struggle in this first essay. "...And most writers spend much of their time in various kinds of torment: wanting to write, being unable to write; wanting to write differently, being unable to write differently."

Another favorite essay, "On Stanley Kunitz" may appeal to those who aspire to be teachers or who have ever worked with a dynamic and inspiring teacher or mentor. Gluck defines what is the essence of the teacher/student relationship in her work/apprenticeship with Stanley Kunitz: "For five years I overheard a splendid mind engaged with words, with what was the most crucial involvement in my life..."..."I felt much of the time, doomed and exhilarated, or, in practical terms, always very tired like a salmon swimming against the current."... "...in the most profound sense, Kunitz was the first human being by whom I felt entirely heard and this fact was a source of endless happiness." How perfect if all teachers could achieve this level of "heard-ness" with students, and if all students strived for this level of participation in their own education. The special bond between the two is tenderly and honestly rendered in this essay.

In another essay, "On George Oppen", Gluck discusses a poet whose style she reveres and one who may have also influenced her style. Gluck's own work uses an economy of words and therefore she admires that trait in others. She remarks that early on she knew what type of style she wanted to write and she gravitated toward those who could support that vision. "As a reader, consequently as a writer," Gluck writes, "I am partial to most forms of voluntary silence. I love what is implicit or present in outline, that which summons (as opposed to imposes) thought."

Gluck's essays are the quintessential writer's resource. A book that follows along the deep waters of a deeply gifted poet. Not a book for light reading, but one you would want to have a notebook handy for recording the especially profound statements.

Rating:
Summary: a masterly exposition of the craft of a poet
Review: Louis Gluck writes brilliant poems which meander around the serious issues of existence ,life ,love ,alienation ,separation,memories and dreams.This is a prose exposition of a collection of her essays which in a way talk of the methods of her craft and give her thoughts on tangible topics such as a critique of the works of T.S.Eliot and more abstract ideas such as the need for brevity in poetry.In another sense these prose meditations are in fact an adjunt to her poems and are meaningful in their own right.From apparently nowhere come profound ideas ,i quote"When you read anything worth remembering,you liberate a human voice;you release into the world again a companion spirit".Louise Gluck is herself a voice well worth listening to ,a contemporary philosopher who can address the important issues fearlessly and with clarity of thought .A gem of a book don't miss it.

Rating:
Summary: brilliant poet, brilliant brilliant essayist
Review: Louise Gluck is a fantastic unique thinker & these essays on poetry are always luminously brilliant. Her thoughts on poetry are great to read for anyone with serious interest in poetry & the experience of being a writer.

Rating:
Summary: brilliant poet, brilliant brilliant essayist
Review: Louise Gluck is a fantastic unique thinker & these essays on poetry are always luminously brilliant. Her thoughts on poetry are great to read for anyone with serious interest in poetry & the experience of being a writer.

Rating:
Summary: interesting
Review: Louise Gluck is a master poet, & it's great to be able to read such a straightforward explanation of her thoughts on some of the art.

Rating:
Summary: interesting
Review: Louise Gluck is a master poet, & it's great to be able to read such a straightforward explanation of her thoughts on some of the art.