A collection spanning the whole of Derek Walcott's celebrated, inimitable, essential career
"He gives us more than himself or 'a world'; he gives us a sense of infinity embodied in the language." Alongside Joseph Brodsky's words of praise one might mention the more concrete honors that the renowned poet Derek Walcott has received: a MacArthur Foundation Fellowship; the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry; the Nobel Prize in Literature.
The Poetry of Derek Walcott 1948-2013 draws from every stage of the poet's storied career. Here are examples of his very earliest work, like "In My Eighteenth Year," published when the poet himself was still a teenager; his first widely celebrated verse, like "A Far Cry from Africa," which speaks of violence, of loyalties divided in one's very blood; his mature work, like "The Schooner Flight" from The Star-Apple Kingdom; and his late masterpieces, like the tender "Sixty Years After," from the 2010 collection White Egrets.
Across sixty-five years, Walcott grapples with the themes that have defined his work as they have defined his life: the unsolvable riddle of identity; the painful legacy of colonialism on his native Caribbean island of St. Lucia; the mysteries of faith and love and the natural world; the Western canon, celebrated and problematic; the trauma of growing old, of losing friends, family, one's own memory. This collection, selected by Walcott's friend the English poet Glyn Maxwell, will prove as enduring as the questions, the passions, that have driven Walcott to write for more than half a century.
About the Author
Derek Walcott (1930-2017) was born in St. Lucia, the West Indies, in 1930. His Collected Poems: 1948-1984 was published in 1986, and his subsequent works include a book-length poem, Omeros (1990); a collection of verse, The Bounty (1997); and, in an edition illustrated with his own paintings, the long poem Tiepolo's Hound (2000). His numerous plays include The Haitian Trilogy (2001) and Walker and The Ghost Dance (2002). Walcott received the Queen's Medal for Poetry in 1988 and the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1992. Glyn Maxwell was born in Welwyn Garden City, England. He is the author of several collections of poems, has staged several plays in London and New York, and was the poetry editor of The New Republic from 2001 to 2007. He lives in London.
Praise for The Poetry of Derek Walcott 1948-2013:“Derek Walcott is a natural poet. Walcott, who turned 84 this year, began writing young. His first poem appeared in a local paper when he was 14, and his first volume, 25 Poems, was self-published when he was 18. ‘Everyone wants a prodigy to fail,’ Rita Dove wrote. ‘It makes our mediocrity more bearable.’ Walcott did not fail . . . Walcott pays indefatigable attention to the look of things, and writes with a spendthrift approach to the word-hoard . . . He [brings] the patient and accretive sensibility of a realist painter to his poems. They are great piles of intoxicating description, always alert to the demands of meter and form, often employing rhyme or slant rhyme, great layers of adjectives firming up the noun underpainting . . . The writing leaves mere lyricism far behind and rises to the level of prophetic speech, as in the extraordinary poem ‘The Season of Phantasmal Peace.’ One inescapable conclusion from reading hundreds of pages of Walcott at once is the feeling that this is the lifework of an ecstatic . . . Walcott has few equals in the use of metaphor. In his imagination, each thing seems to be linked to another by a special bond, unapparent until he points it out, permanently fresh once he does. Most of these metaphors he uses just once, brilliantly, discarding them in the onrush of description . . . The reader imagines Walcott, as he sets these striking images down, mentally shuttling between the fact of the world and the fact of the poem. Often, he is evoking the sea’s activity, or the sky’s, and making analogies with his own practice of describing it. And so it is that on the last poem on the last page of this largehearted and essential book, the two realities finally merge. The natural poet dissolves, astonished, into nature, ‘as a cloud slowly covers the page and it goes / white again and the book comes to a close.’” —Teju Cole, The New York Times Book Review“The Poetry of Derek Walcott . . . [is] a rich and beautiful new selection of [Walcott’s] life’s work, edited by Glyn Maxwell . . . Language becomes a means of mastering his surroundings, enabling him to gain an almost magical power over the elements; language is more real to him than reality itself . . . These magician’s powers are rare enough in twentieth-century poetry. But what is even rarer than the ability is the desire to write, as Walcott does, with such abundance and felicity . . . Perhaps no poet since Tennyson has created the kind of rapt verbal spell that Walcott can produce . . . Yet Walcott’s style . . . is also unmistakably of twentieth-century vintage . . . Its modernity lies in the extraordinary freedom of Walcott’s images, which go beyond mixed metaphor to achieve a kind of synesthesia . . . The associative freedom of Walcott’s style goes hand in hand with its visual logic. Walcott is an accomplished painter—like several of his books, the cover of The Poetry of Derek Walcott bears one of his landscapes . . . Walcott . . . [gives] us not merely what is seen but the rhythm of seeing itself . . . By combining the grammar of vision with the freedom of metaphor, Walcott produces a beautiful style that is also a philosophical style . . . He remains a poet of astonishing inventiveness . . . Perhaps the greatest proof of his achievement is that, after a lifetime of remaking the world in language, Walcott can force even death to submit to the power of his metaphors.” —Adam Kirsch, The New Yorker“One important element of Walcott’s poetry is that it’s a political poetry of the anti-repressive variety. He turns what might have been natural contempt for the European marauder into exotic kind of inclusiveness. As a Caribbean man, Walcott’s self-awareness—that is to say, his use of traditional poetic meters inherited from English models—helps him, over time, to produce an art that is absolute and unassailable . . . When asking the question what does using ‘European poetic form’ gain for an Antillean poet, one answer comes from V. S. Naipaul. In reply to a patronizing British culture, Walcott’s entire body of poetry echoes what V. S. Naipaul once wrote home to his father from England, ‘I want to come top of my group. I have got to show these people that I can beat them at their own language.’ . . . Walcott’s lushness first reveals and then neatly undercuts the Caribbean’s perverse mixture of, for instance, colonial landed estates exploiting native workers and servants. Walcott’s ‘love of description’ is in service of exposing the discrepancy between blooming flowers and sparkling waters with island economies built on a violent history of sugar plantations, slavery, and forced labor . . . Walcott’s use of British poetic forms is both dutiful and insurgent. Prettiness in poetry, or painterliness, isn’t the object for Derek Walcott. Instead, he’s fashioning images that assert, claim, reclaim, defy, and identify a bold idea about there is freedom in blending two linguistic consciousnesses. Walcott’s use of British forms and poetic stances to frame his poetry of daring beauty has the intensity and toughness of, shall one say, one island speaking back to another island in their shared meters . . . [Walcott] elegantly and masterfully uses those old, unoriginal, conventional, timeworn European poetic forms because he has been interested in mastering an art of self-limitation, reconstruction, and redefinition . . . Derek Walcott’s poems are preeminent in our language for the way they consistently represent the mingled heritage of fractured lives and the fractured languages of the Caribbean. More, they define the peculiar mix of grandeur and imprisonment. He mastered the colonizer’s language to make an un-colonized utterance. His poems illustrate a useful, necessary, and yes, original foundational trust in elementary European poetic forms. And, finally, they represent an elegant murmur against history’s violent narrative of bondage—an expression that favors writing honestly in a shared world language about the struggles of the men and women of the Antilles and beyond.” —David Biespiel, The Rumpus“From his earliest poems—such as ‘In My Eighteenth Year,’ written when he was that age — Walcott's voice is unornamented but carries a profound moral authority. His style is a synthesis of the influences that made the island: equal parts Shakespeare and slang. Walcott speaks ever as an outsider; the closest he gets to belonging is when he speaks for a country that is no one country . . . There is a lot here, and no wonder. Walcott, now 84, has written a rich and varied body of work, surveying the whole literary tradition. The Poetry of Derek Walcott is the most thorough single-volume selection of the poet’s work to date . . . Maxwell—now a well-known writer in his own right, but also Walcott’s former student and friend—has assembled an enlightening selection . . . There is nothing equal to this body of work anywhere else in literature: a chronicle of the effects of colonialism so torn that its love and hate for its origins must be expressed in equal measure. As Shabine, the speaker of Walcott’s mini-epic ‘The Schooner Flight’ says, ‘either I’m nobody, or I’m a nation.’” —Craig Morgan Teicher, NPR“[Walcott’s] is an associative, rich and elemental view of the world; with each new book, he stakes an ever-wider claim to authority. He remains a literary joy to savor, one of our true global treasures. Now, in his 84th year, comes The Poetry of Derek Walcott 1948-2013, an exemplary compilation of a lifetime’s best poems . . . Altogether, Walcott’s body of work stands as a seasoned sentinel of the 20th century. In love with the bounty of language, his poetry soars beyond the blandness of blank verse. He excels at rhetorical flourishes, from expansive, epic stanzas to taut, rhymed quatrains . . . It is hard to imagine this giant of letters not writing again. The world would be a much poorer place. A light would go out in our collective soul.” —Arlice Davenport, The Wichita Eagle
Praise for Derek Walcott:
“No poet rivals Mr. Walcott in humor, emotional depth, lavish inventiveness in language or in the ability to express the thoughts of his characters and compel the reader to follow the swift mutations of ideas and images in their minds . . . [His poetry] makes us realize that history, all of it, belongs to us.” —The New York Times Book Review