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Robert Lowell


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Full Name and Common Aliases


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Robert Traill Spence Lowell Jr., commonly known as Robert Lowell, was an American poet.

Birth and Death Dates


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Born: March 1, 1917, in Boston, Massachusetts.
Died: September 12, 1977, at his home in New York City.

Nationality and Profession(s)


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Lowell's nationality is American, and he was a poet by profession. He was also known for his work as an essayist and translator.

Early Life and Background


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Robert Lowell grew up in a family with a long history of writers. His father, Robert Traill Spence Lowell Sr., was a lawyer and a distant relative of James Russell Lowell, the American poet and diplomat. Robert's mother, Charlotte Gilbert Lowell, was a writer and a painter. The family moved to New York City when Lowell was four years old, and he spent his childhood between New York and Maine.

Lowell struggled with mental health issues from an early age, including anxiety and depression. He attended Harvard University at the age of 16 but dropped out due to poor grades. After serving in the United States Marine Corps during World War II, Lowell began to develop his writing skills.

Major Accomplishments


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Robert Lowell's poetry is known for its intense personal and emotional content, often exploring themes of mental illness, family history, and social issues. He was a key figure in the Confessional Poetry movement, which emphasized the poet's personal experiences and emotions.

Some of Lowell's notable works include:

"Lord Weary's Castle" (1946): His first collection of poetry, which won the Pulitzer Prize.
"Life Studies" (1959): A groundbreaking collection that explores his family history and mental health struggles.
"Near the Unbalanced Aquarium" (1967): A collection that reflects on his relationship with his wife, Elizabeth Hardwick.

Lowell was also a prolific essayist and translator. He wrote essays for various publications, including _The New Yorker_ and _Harper's Magazine_. His translations of French poetry helped to introduce readers to the works of Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and other poets.

Notable Works or Actions


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Lowell's personal life was marked by struggles with mental illness, addiction, and relationships. He married three times:

Elizabeth Hardwick (1957-1972): A writer and critic who was also his close friend.
Caroline Blackwood (1972-1976): An Irish novelist and artist.

Lowell's poetry often reflects on his family history, including his struggles with mental health and addiction. His work has had a significant impact on the literary world, influencing poets such as Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, and John Berryman.

Impact and Legacy


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Robert Lowell's legacy is complex and multifaceted. He was a key figure in the Confessional Poetry movement, paving the way for future generations of poets who explored personal themes in their work.

Lowell's poetry has been widely praised for its emotional intensity and technical skill. His work often explores the intersections between personal experience, family history, and social issues.

Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered


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Robert Lowell is remembered as a pioneering poet who opened up new avenues of exploration in American literature. His work continues to be widely read and studied due to its:

Intense emotional honesty: Lowell's poetry is known for its unflinching examination of personal struggles, family history, and social issues.
Technical skill: Lowell was a masterful poet who experimented with form, language, and style.
Influence on future generations: Lowell's work has influenced countless poets, including those associated with the Confessional Poetry movement.

Lowell's legacy extends beyond his poetry to his impact on American culture. His work continues to resonate with readers due to its exploration of themes that remain relevant today, such as mental health, family history, and social justice.

Quotes by Robert Lowell

In Boston serpents whistle at the cold.
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In Boston serpents whistle at the cold.
I’m sure that writing isn’t a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can’t be taught, it can’t be what you use in teaching.
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I’m sure that writing isn’t a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can’t be taught, it can’t be what you use in teaching.
Some morbidity in me attracts mosquitoes.
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Some morbidity in me attracts mosquitoes.
I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the ‘enthusiasm’ is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither.
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I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the ‘enthusiasm’ is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither.
Sometimes nothing is so solid to me as writing – I suppose that’s what a vocation means – at times a torment, a bad conscience, but all in all, purpose and direction.
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Sometimes nothing is so solid to me as writing – I suppose that’s what a vocation means – at times a torment, a bad conscience, but all in all, purpose and direction.
It’s a completely powerful and serious book, as good as anything in prose or poetry written by a ‘beat’ writer, and one of the most alive books written by any American for years. I don’t see how it could be considered immoral.
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It’s a completely powerful and serious book, as good as anything in prose or poetry written by a ‘beat’ writer, and one of the most alive books written by any American for years. I don’t see how it could be considered immoral.
It’s the light of the oncoming train.
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It’s the light of the oncoming train.
And blue-lung’d combers lumbered to the kill.
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And blue-lung’d combers lumbered to the kill.
Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone; peace to our children when they fall in small war on the heel of small war – until the end of time to police the earth, a ghost orbiting forever lost in our monotonous sublime.
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Pity the planet, all joy gone from this sweet volcanic cone; peace to our children when they fall in small war on the heel of small war – until the end of time to police the earth, a ghost orbiting forever lost in our monotonous sublime.
Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city’s throat.
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Their monument sticks like a fishbone in the city’s throat.
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