It is difficult for me decide exactly how I feel about imagist poetry. In class we talked about how it is supposed to capture one concrete moment or image, and how it is not supposed to be about any certain concept or emotion. And, on the one hand, I can really appreciate this attempt at simplicity. Some poems are so weighed down with concepts and heavy language that they are difficult to read, but imagist poetry is much simpler than that. However, when I was reading Hilda Doolittle’s imagist poetry, I found that her brief “sketches” left me wanting more. It’s as if I felt a strange mixture of appreciation and dissatisfaction while reading her poetry, leaving me a little bit confused as to how exactly I feel about imagist poetry.

One particular poem where this occurred for me was while reading “Oread.” Being a bit of a nature lover, I really like H.D’s description of the trees and ocean. Perhaps my favorite line is the final one, which reads: “Cover us with your pools of fir.” I really like the imagery here, and can almost smell the sea-salt air mixed with the fragrant pines that Doolittle portrays in this poem. Therefore, in respect to her imagery, I really appreciate this poem. I think it does an excellent job of capturing one concrete moment in time. It’s almost as if we’re given a brief snapshot of time. Yet, for as much as I appreciate this little “snapshot,” I find myself wishing for more. I would like to know more about this landscape Doolittle has created, but the imagist genre does not allow for this. Therefore, I must be satisfied with the disappointingly small description “Oread” gives me.

It is this conflict between really liking what I read but still wanting more that leads to my confusion about imagist poetry. I think imagist poetry is an excellent way in which to poignantly capture a brief moment of time or beauty; yet, the moment is so brief that, if other readers are anything like me, we end up dissatisfied and wishing for more. I guess I just have a love/hate relationship with this type of poetry. I love the simplicity these poems’ briefness provides them, but at the same time I hate their brevity. Confusing? I know. But I guess it’s just something I’ll have to deal with as we read through the rest of H.D.’s poetry.