Woods Etc, by Alice Oswald

A move from river to woods leaves this poet a little lost in the trees

Sean O'Brien
Monday 19 September 2005 19:00 EDT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

Woods etc (which is shortlisted for next month's Forward Poetry Prizes) is sometimes a disappointing successor. The Hughes influence is more clearly apparent, but here it's as much a matter of his vices as his virtues.

Thus "Story of a Man" recalls Hughes's portentous vignettes, and the sense that sometimes the particular poem mattered less than the habit of poetry.

It is unclear why Oswald's work has tended this way. She is clearly much more than anyone's imitator. There may be something in her subject matter - broadly speaking, natural history - which tempts writers towards prophecy and that slightly pious air of knowing better which tends to raise some readers' hackles.

Woods are at the heart of the book - walked through, stood in, listened to, oddly immune to disaster - and Oswald's world is almost wholly rural. Her observations are often satisfying, without the need to nudge them towards metaphysics. See, for example, the formation of a leaf: "the slow through-flow that feeds/ a form curled under, hour by hour/ the thick reissuing starlike shapes/ of cells and pores and water-rods".

Alongside this is an effort to address time, mortality and the way that consciousness itself seems to have rendered us homeless in the world. The most successful of the mythological pieces here is "Sisyphus": "unable to loiter, an unborn creature/ seeking a womb, saying Sisyphus Sisyphus". The problem is reformulated more tranquilly in the delightful "Psalm to Sing in a Canoe": "may we come to know that the length of water is not quite the same as the passing of time".

Equally interesting are Oswald's excursions into outer space, tracking Voyager 1 or visiting Mercury, a violently inhospitable planet where the winds "go on howling/ For gladness sheer gladness".

All this is worth the price of admission. As for the rest, if Woods etc seems unfinished, then perhaps greater editorial intervention would have helped. Why hurry the book? Alice Oswald is a poet for the long run, not for any passing fashion.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in