Francis Ponge (1899–1988)

in which Francis Ponge, being French, labors over the phenomenological atoms of rivers and plains, coming up with a meadow on which theoretical swords are crossed and yet one is felled in practice. Mr. Ponge, you killed me on the Pre, but this is a very interesting read. Bonus: lots of words vehemently crossed out.

Perhaps more interesting for dedicated poets than for readers of poetry; Ponge's notebooks are pretty much replicated here, which is fine if you're interested in the process of writing something, but if you're looking for something that has been written, I'd go elsewhere. I regret, Ponge seems to have little of interest to say about his table. There's tiresome etymology. There's a real crying need for editorial intervention. There's a general feeling that more Ponge should be in print in show more English, but that this is a very odd place to start. show less

Although the author disclaims the the notion that the subject of the book is the creative process, the way that Ponge displays his re-thinking of the object and the image of the object is a new inspiration for me to write in a new way. Ponge illuminates the nature of poetry and nature, the poet and nature, the poet in nature. The book is also quite beautiful..

So poetic - Hail to the Snail!