By Allen Tate
One of many early-twentieth century Southern intellectuals and artists of the early 20th century often called the Agrarians, Allen Tate wrote poetry that was once rooted strongly in that region's past—in the land, the folk, and the traditions of the yank South in addition to within the varieties and matters of the vintage poets. In "Ode to the accomplice Dead"— often famous as his maximum poem—he delineates either the horror of the sight of rows of tombstones at a accomplice cemetery and the glory that such sacrifice embodies, leading to "a masterpiece which could now not be transcended" (William Pratt).
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Additional info for Collected Poems, 1919-1976
The stereotypical repetition of the word never in my good-bye letter completes the hysterical content that I accord to the idea of fatality and inexistence. " (Note taken down at the time) 58 If it is true, as the errors claim, that a#er death man continues a phantomatic existence, I will let you know. If you do not hear from me for one month, you will know that death is no different than the putrefaction of an onion, a chair, a hat. I commit suicide out of disgust. 5 S. Letter left on the table during the fifth suicide attempt.
Any attempt to save myself from the ruins by grabbing onto a beam or the foot of one of the wounded would be fatal. The ruination of the ruins offered me the means of traversing the ruins unscathed and only the perpetual dynamiting of the tumbling edifice had the force to assure my escape from the ferocious teeth of negation, not as a cripple, happy to have at least escaped with his life, but as an infinitely causal conclusion of it, confirming anew the validity of a theory and the concrete nature of revolution.
I would make love with these five objects of love, I would set on fire these flames, I would take them on a rowboat junket, I would smell them and paint my hair and arms green. In truth it is necessary, after contemplating them, to make an enormous effort of imagination in order not to murder this woman. To murder the author of the five objects seems to me the supreme homage I could bestow upon her, impaling her thorax of black marble with a knife in order to snatch her heart in my teeth for the rest of her life.
Collected Poems, 1919-1976 by Allen Tate