I've been holding back on a reading of my two chunky Collected Poems of A.R. Ammons, first of all to ensure I completed the equally chunky Ted Hughes volume, and then to complete the other books I seemed to have been reading forever and then to dedicate myself to some distinctly Islamic reading over the fasting month. And now is the time to begin.
Today I completed the first collection from the mid-fifties, Ommateum, and very uneven it proved to be with Ammons obviously finding his way. But the strange thing is, I felt comfortable with the work right away, as if it's something I somehow already knew. I was reminded of when I first started reading Ammons - with Garbage, I think. Instant recognition. My kind of writer.
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