Harold Hart Crane (July 21, 1899 – April 27, 1932) was an American poet. Finding both inspiration and provocation in the poetry of T. S. Eliot, Crane wrote modernist poetry that was difficult, highly stylized, and ambitious in its scope. In his most ambitious work, The Bridge, Crane sought to write an epic poem, in the vein of The Waste Land, that expressed a more optimistic view of modern, urban culture than the one that he found in Eliot's work. In the years following his suicide at the age of 32, Crane has been hailed by playwrights, poets, and literary critics alike (including Robert Lowell, Derek Walcott, Tennessee Williams, and Harold Bloom), as being one of the most influential poets of his generation.
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... Yvor Winters, a contemporary and friend of Crane's who had praised Crane's previous book, White Buildings, wrote one such review, in which he associated Crane's book ... and so lacks the formal unity of an epic." Critical consensus on The Bridge (and on Crane's status in the Modernist canon more broadly) still remains deeply divided ... Some critics believe that The Bridge was Crane's crowning achievement, and that it is a masterpiece of American modernism ...
... Hart Crane Comprehensive Research and Study Guide ... ISBN 978-0-7910-7390-2 Crane, Joan St ... "The Construction of Hart Crane's Last Poem, 'The Broken Tower'" ...
... and was the lover of playwright Eugene O'Neill and poet Hart Crane ... there her long friendship with poet Hart Crane turned into Crane's first and only documented heterosexual affair ... As Crane wrote to a friend about his romance with Peggy Cowley, "Rather amazing things have happened to me since Xmas ...
... (1930) The Collected Poems of Hart Crane ... (1938) Hart Crane and Yvor Winters Their Literary Correspondence ... Berkeley University of California Press (1978) O My Land, My Friends The Selected Letters of Hart Crane ...
Famous quotes containing the words hart crane, crane and/or hart:
“I could never remember
That seething, steady leveling of the marshes
Till age had brought me to the sea.”
—Hart Crane (18991932)
“Stars scribble on our eyes the frosty sagas,
The gleaming cantos of unvanquished space . . .”
—Hart Crane (18991932)
“Im ashamed of myself and this magazine too. The sloppy, slovenly notion that everybodys busy doing bigger things. Well, there just isnt anything bigger than beating down the complacence of essentially decent people about prejudice. Yes, Im ashamed of myself.”
—Moss Hart (19041961)