Word: poet
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1950-1959
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...prize, and again in 1954, when Britain's Queen Elizabeth awarded him the Gold Medal for Poetry. Why Hodgson? In London last month came the best answer: a 96-page book entitled The Skylark and Other Poems. It was the second major book published by forgotten Poet Hodgson, 87, in a long life of deeper privacy than most poets ever dream of. Strangest part of his story: for 19 years Poet Hodgson has lived in the U.S. in a shabby farmhouse on the side of a hill near Minerva, Ohio...
...cumulative" poet interested in a flowing effect, Hodgson shuns brilliant images that grasp the eye. His life is the same way. Passersby are shocked at the disrepair of the farm that he has never worked, at the unruly weeds that he lets grow. An alert, clear-eyed man who looks 20 years younger than his age, Hodgson has no time for such practical things ("Time, you old gypsy man, / Will you not stay, / Put up your caravan / Just for one day?"). Says he in his musing, friendly tone: "What we have to consider is the brevity of life." His real...
Hidden Harmony. Poet Hodgson has spent most of his years tapped in on the hidden, coursing harmony of nature that hustling men seem bent on destroying...
...kind word for any other animal. To Hodgson, cruelty seems to be getting worse and worse in the hands of men ("I see such carnage in the future"). As for what may come to the world that he has broodingly watched from his lonely farmhouse for so many years, Poet Hodgson limits himself...
...Personality colours everything he writes," said the London Times Literary Supplement in a glowing front-page review of Hodgson's new book. "It is the most immediately noticeable thing about the book as a whole: a convincing voice." Most poets seem to agree. John Crowe Ransom calls Hodgson's Eve and The Bull "great, wonderful poems that will live forever." But the convincing voice itself speaks alone at the end of a muddy road, where few care to journey. Says the Minerva postmaster, summing up the town's spooky presentiment about its mysterious poet...