The Orchards of Syon

by Geoffrey Hill

Book Overview

From "the finest British poet of our time" (John Hollander), a blank-verse meditation on the mystery of grace-and the capstone to a decade-long poetic project. "Hill is probably the best writer alive,... This description may be from another edition of this product.

• Format: Hardcover
• Language: English
• ISBN: 1582431663
• ISBN13: 9781582431666
• Release Date: February 2002
• Publisher: Counterpoint LLC
• Length: 96 Pages
• Weight: 0.55 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.5" x 5.6" x 8.6"

Customer Reviews

Latest installment from the maestro of contemporary verse

A meditation on immortality, memory, and poetry: all this should be familiar to readers of Geoffrey Hill's poetry. Orchards is the third book-long poem Hill has produced in the past five years, and, even more so than the first two, must be read in conjunction with his earlier work to be fully appreciated and understood. (First time readers of Hill would be better advised to turn to his "New and Collected Poems," or "The Triumph of Love" for a starting point).Once again (the other time was in "Speech! Speech!") Hill forgoes the sweeping lyricism of "The Triumph of Love" in favor of a focus on pitch rather than tone (think of Hopkins). At times, awkward, flailing about, reaching and overreaching, or falling short, "The Orchards of Syon" nevertheless achieves at moments a poignancy and precision that rewards close (very close) readings.Hill was born in 1932 in England, but now teaches at Boston University; his topics are 16th/17th c. English poetry, but also Hopkins and 20th century poetry, and he is "Professor of Religion and Literature". Unsurprisingly then, this poem delves into the question of Augustine vs Pelagius; Bradwardine vs Ockham, that is to say, divine will vs human "free" will.Beware, this is dense stuff, and will require time and effort to be unpacked, unravelled, understood. It is a poem to be read over years, not days or months. As Hill writes in section VIII: The curlew's pitch distracts us from her nest. But: end this for all in some shape other than vexed bafflement; each triangular wall-cope cladded with tight moss springy as a terrier's pelt, buttonhole emerald polypodae, sprung tremblers within the burring air of the fell?Amen to that, I say.