Did P find, In H.D. & other Female "poets", ringgs and nets and forces only God (s, esses) "can tell the meshes of..."?

[alice wellintown]

Sometimes after reading Eliot, I get the urge to burn all my Norton
anthologies, drink cool coconut water, and dance down the winds and
rains, sweep up the leaves clogging the drains down 14th Street, and
swing on the monekybars with the kids, kept home from school by the
biggest flood anybody has ever seen outside a Dylan's Song bout New
Orleans.



No Rule of Procedure:
H.D. and Open Poetics


(excerpted from a talk by Alicia Ostriker presented at the E.D. / H.D.
Conference, San Jose State University, 1987)


An essential characteristic of the versification in Trilogy is its
lightness. If you hold one of the great monuments of
meditative/visionary poetry in English up to your mind's eye
--Paradise Lost or The Prelude, say-- what do you see? Solid blocks,
pillars of language, weighty-looking, mighty-looking; one might even
say intimidating. If you hold them to the mind's ear, what do you
hear? Blank verse paragraphs. Organ tones. Sententious sentences. A
strong, energetic, relentless flow of verse in the long line, the
pentameter line, which since the late 16th century has been the
standard vehicle for public poetry; the line in which tragedy, weighty
narrative, and moral discourse of all sorts take place; the line, in
sum, of poetic authority. If we look and listen to H.D.'s male cohorts
the visual solidity has broken up but the sound of power and authority
remain, the sea-surge modulating into the didact in Pound, the
liturgical, magisterial tones of Eliot.



http://www.asu.edu/pipercwcenter/how2journal/archive/print_archive/alerts1089.html