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The Autobiography of William Carlos Williams (A New Directions paperbook)

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I once lent my copy of Ariel (Sylvia Plath) to a poet that I knew. He defaced it by copying out "so much depends" in the front of the book. "Yes," he wrote, "to Plath, but..."

It irritated me then, and it irritates me now, looking back. As though there were a hierarchy and as though that damned red wheelbarrow meant more than anything else someone could choose to write about.

Even still, I came to really admire Williams as a poet. I had actually started to write "love Williams as a poet", but I realize that this isn't true. I admire his work much more than I love it. It seems to me that admiration would have been what he preferred.

Actually, I have to kind of figure that Williams might have preferred I have no opinion at all. I am even more certain, reading his autobiography, that he would have heartily disliked me. I certainly didn't find myself warming to him as a person.

But still. Worth reading. Well worth reading. If you're in the mood for something lighter, it is probably worth reading just for the gossip about other famous folks from the period. If you want to think hard about his ideas about Objectivism, you certainly can find food for thought here. He has a great talent for both observation and introspection. It isn't made less delightful by his apparent total lack of self-doubt.

I've read most of his poetry, but based on this I plan to pick up at least one of his novels. Recommended for anyone with an interest in poetry. Particularly recommended for anyone with an interest in American poetry. Never mind the white chickens, anyhow.

This autobiography will be recognised 100 years from now as the key to understanding the genius of Williams. He is the preeminent figure in 20th Century American Literature and will inevitably be recognized as such.