Denise Levertov (1923–1997), the English-born, American writer was a remarkably prolific poet, essayist and literary critic. She wrote on a vast number of topics - social, economic, political, metaphysical and religious themes, which included intimate allusions to  the natural world. There is a certain quality in Levertov’s writings  that is hard to pin down - it is at once cerebral, playful and mystical. Her literary domain is a sensually alive and intricate world, where humans, animals, plants and inanimate objects mingle and overlap with each other, so that none of their separate identities is retained but become a seamless web of interactive relationships (for a short biography, see link).  

Below, I have chosen three poems that illustrate her ability to render the natural world in such an artistically original manner  (for a selection of Levertov’s poems, see link):      

From Below

I move among the ankles
of forest Elders, tread
their moist rugs of moss,
duff of their soft brown carpets.
Far above, their arms are held
open wide to each other, or waving—

what they know, what
perplexities and wisdoms they exchange,
unknown to me as were the thoughts
of grownups when in infancy I wandered
into a roofed clearing amidst
human feet and legs and the massive
carved legs of the table,

the minds of people, the minds of trees
equally remote, my attention then
filled with sensations, my attention now
caught by leaf and bark at eye level
and by thoughts of my own, but sometimes
drawn up to gazing—up and up: to wonder
about what rises
so far above me into the light.

Aware 

When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
whispers.
My presence made them
hush their green breath,
embarrassed, the way
humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,
acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if
the conversation had ended
just before you arrived.
I liked
the glimpse I had, though,
of their obscure
gestures. I liked the sound
of such private voices. Next time
I’ll move like cautious sunlight, open
the door by fractions, eavesdrop
peacefully.

Settling 

l was welcomed here—clear gold
of late summer, of opening autumn,
the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,
the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow
tinted apricot as she looked west,
Tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun
forever rising and setting.
Now I am given
a taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,
a grey both heavy and chill.
I’ve boasted I would not care,
I’m London-born.
And I won’t. I’ll dig in,
into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.
Grey is the price
of neighboring with eagles, of knowing
a mountain’s vast presence, seen or unseen.
  

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