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Diane DiPrima

Guest Reviewer Jack Foley

The she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus (the legendary founders of Rome) is an image of fierce maternal care that reappears in the folklore of India. It may account for the many stories of wolves as ancestors—of Genghis Khan for one. Kemal Ataturk was called "the Grey Wolf." Turkic wolf symbolism is positive enough to suggest that it was a totemic animal in central Asia. In Mexico and Native America the wolf was a dancer symbol, associated like the dog with ghosts and the guidance of spirits in the afterlife.
—Jack Tresidder, Dictionary of Symbols

...this two-fold wounding...first gives rise to love, whose striving it is to reunite what has been separated....
—Erich Neumann, Amor and Psyche

Par la pensee analogique et symbolique, par l'illumination lointaine de l'image mediatrice, et par le jeu de ses correspondances, sur milles chaines de reactions et d'associations etrangeres.... [By means of analogical and symbolic thinking, by means of the far-reaching light of the mediating image and its play of correspondences, by way of a thousand chains of reactions and unusual associations....]
—St. John Perse, Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech (1960)


Loba (the word is Spanish for "she-wolf") is a long, multifoliate poem Diane di Prima has been writing since 1971. Book One (Parts I-VIII) appeared from Wingbow Press in 1978. Now, Penguin Poets is republishing a slightly revised version of Book One along with Book Two (Parts IX-XVI). It's not the whole thing, but what we have is extraordinary.

Loba[ Click to Order DiPrima's Loba (1998 - soft $) ]     Early on in the sequence di Prima writes, "The flesh / knows better than the spirit what the soul / has eyes for." Those three terms, "flesh," "soul," and "spirit," are central to the book. If Book One concentrates on flesh, Book Two concentrates on soul. Book Three, which has not yet appeared, will concentrate on spirit. The poem as it now stands is less "a poem including history," as Ezra Pound described his epic journey in The Cantos, than it is a poem wishing to transform history, even to free us from history. In one of di Prima's satirical moments, an anonymous "reviewer" asks,

Where is the history in this, & how
does geometry of the sacred mountain give strength
to the metaphor

wd she have us believe
that passion & shifting flesh enhance
proportion

where are the dates, street names
precise equations?


("THE CRITIC REVIEWS LOBA")

Like many reviewers, he (one assumes he; perhaps she?) denigrates precisely the poem's strengths. Loba is a deep confrontation with myth—not myth in the sense of something false (an escape from selfhood), but myth as the revealer of selfhood. The poem's central directive appears in Book One's quotation from the Gnostic Gospel of Eve: "I have come to know myself / and have gathered myself from everywhere." Book Two has a similar assertion:

The Memory of far things
is the continuous presence
in which I discover my Self.

This discovery of Selfhood is also a discovery of the possibility of the numinous, so that Loba is, in addition, an inquiry into the nature of the holy. (Section XV, "Kali-Ma," is made up of versions of devotional songs by the nineteenth-century Bengali yogi, Ramprasad.) In Book One di Prima asks explicitly, "HOW DO THE GODS MANIFEST, WHERE DO THEY / HOME AGAIN?" The structure of her poem is in part an attempt to answer that question.

The mythical figure Persephone/Kore appears in both Books. In Book One she is an erotic figure ("My love is there [underground]. / Not on this softened earth."). In Book Two she is something quite different. Writing as an "Imaginary Jungian Scholar"—and echoing Erich Neumann's Amor and Psyche—di Prima observes that "The myth of mother and daugher is not a myth of overthrowing (as in myths of the son & the father)...but one of loss & recovery":

For there are realms & realms, in which the daughter rises to self- knowing, to
equal status with the mother—& in the feminine universe, while some of the
realms may be distant—"removed"—none is out of bounds.

In mythic space one's entire life opens: some (not all) modes of time vanish. The poet is "a double of myself / my own mirror image." She is "simultaneously / mother & daughter," Demeter and Kore:

there is no knife can sever me from her
where I go down to bleed, to birth, to die

Such identification is to some degree a defeat of time. But di Prima also acknowledges time. One of the strongest moments in the book is the poet's recognition of herself in "POINT OF RIPENING: / THE LOBA AT TURNING" as an "older, ample woman." "There is no myth / for what I am living now," she writes:



                    is there a myth for a female
middle-aged
               Hermes
                              large breasts   not
quick-footed
                   but
                              winged   

At a distance from the sexual striving of Book One, she suddenly feels a sense of release. Here, time is "rich":


                    That rich time when the harvest
is not for yourself

You no longer need
to claim it.


The line-break at "need" ("You no longer need") is as important as the prose sense of the entire passage. Everything exists in mythic simultaneity, yet growth—even "rich" growth—remains possible. One is reminded of Robert Duncan's "There was / did she say? an esthetic / stronger than sex?" ("Dream Data") or of his "Now truly the sexual Eros will have / left me and gone on his way" ("HOMECOMING"). But di Prima also writes, "I am in chains for her delight / love's body":


						The power
of Amor.         Eros.
                               The Rose

It is in the paradox of such contradictory perceptions that Loba finds its way. Indeed, its intention is probably to reach beyond "paradox"—with its contradictions—into the realm of "multiplicity."

Loba opens with "Ave," an invocation to the poet's "lost moon sisters":

crescent in hair, sea underfoot do you wander
in blue veil, in green leaf, in tattered shawl do you wander
with goldleaf skin, with flaming hair do you wander
on Avenue A, on Bleecker Street do you wander
on Rampart Street, on Fillmore Street do you wander...

shadows you are, that fall on the crossroads, highways

"Ave" ends in a powerful, mournful cry, more passionate sound than sense:


                ay-a
        ay-a ah
        ay-a
        ay-a ah ah
        maya ma maya ma
        om star mother ma om
        maya ma ah....

The feminine myth of "loss & recovery" begins here. The "wandering," ghostly prostitutes di Prima sees are like split-off aspects of a powerful selfhood which can be reached only by a process of merging, an act of radical compassion:



          I am you
and I must become you
I have been you
and I must become you
I am always you
I must become you

The search for the self is thus also the search for others: again, "I have come to know myself / and have gathered myself from everywhere." (Hunting and being hunted are primary themes in Loba.) In his collection of essays and poems, The Alchemical Tradition in the Late Twentieth Century, Richard Grossinger points out that the phrase "gather what is cheap, despised, and common" is "an alchemical motto." In her essay in that book, "Paracelsus: An Appreciation," di Prima writes,

Today we stand again at the brink of a new age. Science has failed us, as the Church failed the man of Paracelsus' day...To be born again, to make the world anew, will be no easy task. We shall have increasingly to have recourse to the wisdom of other times, to the philosophies of the East, to the mystics and masters of the "occult," to those adepts for whom there was no dualism, for whom spirit and matter, man and cosmos, were one...[Alchemy] deals with the question, which is still the question, the real millennial question: how to make paradise on earth. How to transform the matter universe so that the spirit, which has fallen into matter finally, like yeast in bread, fills everything.

That transformative vision is also at the heart of Loba:


                    Who stands in the sun?
who was meant
for these firestorms?

Address the blatant image of the world
Imago Mundi
where the sky vaults like a cathedral
not here.

           Charred pieces of her robe
fly by    on the fiery winds.
("IMAGO MUNDI")

In keeping with its vision of metamorphosis, the poem ranges widely. There are love poems, philosophical poems, hermetic poems, poems of description, funny poems, lyrical poems. I mentioned the section of Bengali devotional songs—beautiful pieces unlike anything else in the book. Another section deals with the "seven joys" of the Virgin Mary. The extraordinary "Nativity" of that section is a kind of Gnostic birth poem. From the point of view of Gnosticism, birth—the fall into matter—is a disaster, whereas death is a release. "Every child here," writes di Prima, "princeling, is shackled & numbered. We breathe / in our rags to keep each other warm."

The "Lilith" section, di Prima told me, came all at once; the poems were "like, sex without love." In this section she cries out to Lilith, "Aint yr woman...aint: I got yr / barb in my flesh, but I'll take it / with me, to somewhere else." The brilliant "SONG OF HELOISE" deliberately plays against Pound's "Canto 91." "APPARUIT" not only evokes Pound's poem in sapphics (see Personae) but the passage from Dante's Vita Nuova which Pound is evoking too: "Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra," translated by Rossetti as "Your blessedness has now been made manifest to you." "THE LOBA RECOVERS / THE MEMORY OF A MARE" conjures up Allen Ginsberg's "Howl," a poem of considerable importance to the young di Prima. Here she is writing like Ginsberg: "who walked across America behind gaunt violent yogis / & died o-d'ing in methadone jail / scarfing the evidence." One short poem—"The horned lady / stands on lions. / She is winged & / flanked by owls"—seems to arise out of a passage in Ean Begg's The Cult of the Black Virgin. Various passages in Loba find parallels in Robert Graves' The White Goddess. It's a good idea to have a book of Indian mythology handy while reading the poem. It helps to know who the Cathars were and what occurred at Montsegur in 1244, as it helps to have at least a grasp of the concept of "kundalini." Indeed, in Book Two, bear mythology becomes almost as important as wolf mythology. (Remember that "Ursa Major" is a woman.) And there is much else besides.

How is this ragbag of things held together?

In her appreciation of Paracelsus, di Prima writes,

This doctrine of the correspondence, indeed the identity, of the outer and inner worlds, of the events in the life of man and the changes of the seasons, or the motions of the stars, the axiom that man, in his most basic sense must be in harmony with the universe, reaches its highest expression in I Ching, The Book of Changes of ancient China. It is the theory of what Jung calls "synchronicity," presupposing "a peculiar inter-dependence of objective events among themselves as well as with the subjective state of the observer" at any given moment. It is, of course, the axiom on which astrology, as well as alchemy in this higher sense—and all magic—is predicated. It seems to be a world view that was at one time common to all men.

In this passage di Prima is presenting "synchronicity" as a psychological strategy—just as Jung does. In Loba, synchronicity is presented as an esthetic strategy. The "doctrine of...correspondence" not only points to magical practices but is at the very heart of the poem's method. Discussing synchronicity in "The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche," Jung writes, "With us [in the West] details are important for their own sakes; for the Oriental mind they always complete a total picture. In this totality, as in primitive or our own medieval, pre-scientific psychology (still very much alive!) are included things which seem to be connected with one another only Œby chance,' by a coincidence whose meaningfulness appears altogether arbitrary. This is where the theory of correspondentia comes in, which was propounded by the natural philosophers of the Middle Ages, and particularly the classical idea of the sympathy of all things. Hippocrates says: ŒThere is one common flow, one common breathing, all things are in sympathy.'"

It is this thrust towards "sympathy," towards "one common breathing" that constitutes di Prima's esthetic method. Reading her poem, we are constantly "gathering"—making connections between isolated, fragmented elements.

In saying this I don't want to overemphasize the "learning" involved in Loba. Loba is "accessible" enough—certainly more accessible than The Cantos—and it is possible to read the poem without looking everything up. Yet, reading it in that way, one misses a good deal of one of the poem's most interesting aspects. In its hermetic mode, Loba insists upon an audience of activereaders, readers who are willing to go out and make the deep connections the poem calls upon them to make. In doing this, these readers will discover things not only about di Prima but about the modes of mythological thinking out of which such poetry arises—which is to say that they will discover things about themselves. Loba is certainly concerned with the poet's "self- expression," but it is not only concerned with self-expression. It is also a religious poem, and in our time, religion manifests as "mythology," as "la pensee analogique et symbolique." It is in this sense, I think, that Loba addresses "healing." The poem is an active, "alchemical" attempt to create consciousness, an attempt to transform not only di Prima but the readers of her poem. The motto, "I have come to know myself / and have gathered myself from everywhere" applies as much to the person who picks up the poem to read it as it does to the author. Indeed, the author is quoting those lines, and she is quoting no less a person than "Eve," the "mother" of mankind. Who is "I" in that passage?

In a talk on "Light / And Keats," delivered in 1975 (Talking Poetics From Naropa Institute), di Prima says,

What we are is nothing but a physical instrument, not much different from a musical instrument in some ways, and the effect that we produce—or perceive—of light or any other really high energy—meditative high—comes only out of changes in this physical instrument.

And so, there is a way, to me, that the most high aim of poetry is to create that sense of light...

This light—of which Body is the ground—do you see how Keats insists on our physicality?...This light, of which in the open space of poetry or meditation, Body is the ground—is the light that comes through the poem, and, with enough skill, is created (or evoked—drawn forth) in the reader by the poem.

Di Prima begins her talk with the assertion that "It seems to me more and more as I get more and more deeply into poetry that the actual stuff that poetry is made out of is light." It is this condition of "light" that Loba attempts to create (or evoke, draw forth); and it is in such terms that the poem has to be both experienced and judged. It is an attempt, as Rilke said, to "change your life." As such it takes its place with other life-challenging, life-changing works of the twentieth century: Pound's Cantos, Olson's Maximus, Stein's "Cubist" prose. "It is from myths, fairy-lore, and imaginative poetry," writes Kathleen Raine in Defending Ancient Springs, "that we normally learn of those supernatural persons, actions, and events which inform our own interior worlds; and through these symbolic embodiments learn to know ourselves. The hunger of childhood for that world is natural...." It is of course also relevant to point out that di Prima's poem is full of passages of the most gorgeous and poignant language, that it is "brilliant" in that sense too.

With di Prima's selected poems, Pieces of a Song still in print (City Lights) and now with Loba and other books to follow from Viking Penguin, we have a chance to examine the powerful gifts this deeply imaginative poet has to offer us:



                        These years are the windings
of Light
        our flesh flickers & changes
like flame.
        Like flame, it holds us fast.

                                ("THE SECOND DAUGHTER: LI (BRIGHTNESS)")

*

                    the black stone shines tho its
color / clarity     we cannot
do not    name        & the door
swings soundless           hingeless as the
panel in his skull
                         who enclosed
claimed the war goddess
                                     she who was
Owel in Africk        before      
Zeus came out of the ground...

She who heals                thru darkness.
("PARTHENOS")



Also by DiPrima:

Pieces of Song[ Click to Order DiPrima's Pieces of a Song: Selected Poems (soft $) ]

Jack Foley's reviews appear weekly in The Alsop Review

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