Whether in person or in print, self-consciousness is unsettling. Self-conscious writers, like self-conscious speakers, can't help betraying that they're more concerned with their interest in a subject, and the manner which conveys that interest, than in the subject itself. A poet's earliest efforts are usually marred by self-consciousness and John Berryman's are no exception to the rule. For most poets, however, finding a distinct and convincing voice is, at least in part, a process of shedding unwanted affectations and exaggerated self-importance. For Berryman the process was reversed. He learnt to capitalise on his self-consciousness, to seem to intend it. His detractors claim that all his work is mannered and self-indulgent, and they're right: but the best of it - a couple of 'The Nervous Songs', some of the sonnets, most of The Dream Songs - opens up a saving gap between a displayed self-consciousness and the poet who lurks behind it.

LRB 27 September 1990 | PDF Download