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Spacecraft Voyager 1
Swirling like eddies in a river come the poems of Alice Oswald, who has quickly become one of the premier British poets writing today. Spacecraft Voyager 1 collects poetry from across her career ―new poems, selections from her first and more recent books, and the entirety of her masterwork to date, Dart , winner of the 2002 T. S. Eliot Prize. Oswald's speaker―always curious, often whimsical, sometimes brash―becomes the river itself, as she gives voice to the natural world and the denizens along the river Dart in Devonshire, in their unique dialects and occupations. For the first time, Spacecraft Voyager 1 introduces American readers to an essential new poet..
154 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 2007
6 people are currently reading
85 people want to read
About the author
Alice Oswald
36 books234 followersAlice Oswald (born 1966) is a British poet who won the T. S. Eliot Prize in 2002.
Oswald read Classics at New College, Oxford, has worked as a gardener at Chelsea Physic Garden, and today lives with her husband, the playwright Peter Oswald (also a trained classicist), and her three children in Devon, in the South-West of England.
Alice Oswald is the sister of actor Will Keen and writer Laura Beatty.
In 1994, she was the recipient of an Eric Gregory Award. Her first collection of poetry, The Thing in the Gap-Stone Stile (1996), won a Forward Poetry Prize (Best First Collection) in 1996, and was shortlisted for the T. S. Eliot Prize in 1997.
Her second collection, Dart (2002), combined verse and prose, which tells the story of the River Dart in Devon from a variety of perspectives. Jeanette Winterson called it a "... moving, changing poem, as fast-flowing as the river and as deep... a celebration of difference... " . Dart won the T. S. Eliot Prize in 2002.
In 2004, Oswald was named as one of the Poetry Book Society's Next Generation poets. Her collection Woods etc., published in 2005, was shortlisted for the Forward Poetry Prize (Best Poetry Collection of the Year).
In 2009 she published both A Sleepwalk on the Severn and Weeds and Wildflowers, which won the inaugural Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry, and was shortlisted for the T. S. Eliot Prize.
In October 2011, Oswald published her 6th collection, Memorial.
Oswald read Classics at New College, Oxford, has worked as a gardener at Chelsea Physic Garden, and today lives with her husband, the playwright Peter Oswald (also a trained classicist), and her three children in Devon, in the South-West of England.
Alice Oswald is the sister of actor Will Keen and writer Laura Beatty.
In 1994, she was the recipient of an Eric Gregory Award. Her first collection of poetry, The Thing in the Gap-Stone Stile (1996), won a Forward Poetry Prize (Best First Collection) in 1996, and was shortlisted for the T. S. Eliot Prize in 1997.
Her second collection, Dart (2002), combined verse and prose, which tells the story of the River Dart in Devon from a variety of perspectives. Jeanette Winterson called it a "... moving, changing poem, as fast-flowing as the river and as deep... a celebration of difference... " . Dart won the T. S. Eliot Prize in 2002.
In 2004, Oswald was named as one of the Poetry Book Society's Next Generation poets. Her collection Woods etc., published in 2005, was shortlisted for the Forward Poetry Prize (Best Poetry Collection of the Year).
In 2009 she published both A Sleepwalk on the Severn and Weeds and Wildflowers, which won the inaugural Ted Hughes Award for New Work in Poetry, and was shortlisted for the T. S. Eliot Prize.
In October 2011, Oswald published her 6th collection, Memorial.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
July 24, 2008
Alice Oswald, excepting possibly Gjertrud Schnackenberg, is my favorite contemporary poet. Her first collection, 1996’s The Thing in the Gap-Stone Stile, remains, for me, one of the best first collections of poetry that I have read. It’s also a collection that’s hard to get. The good news is that Oswald’s new volume, Spacecraft Voyager I: New and Selected Poems, captures over half of the poems of that collection – including the long poem “The Three Wise Men of Gotham Who Set Out to Catch the Moon in a Net,” along with all of her wonderful Sea Sonnets.
As nice as it is to see those poems back in print, the collection’s centerpiece is the long (48 pages) book length poem, Dart. Dart, winner of the 2002 T.S.Eliot Prize, is actually a lot things, poetry, prose, voices (which I believe Oswald recorded, while compiling research for Dart), that read as a whole, sounds like a chorus singing the history, and fate, of a river. The poem starts at the river’s source, with Oswald introducing a number of voices, human, mythological (waternymphs), boats, an even an otter. The various human voices dominate, with a wide variety of occupations represented: a naturalist, a dairy worker, oystermen, drowning knights, and of course, a dreamer (the poet), who pauses in mid-poem to offer her reflections:
(Sleep was as work and from the mind the mist
spread like a litmus to the moon, the rain
hung glittering in mid-air when I came down
and found a little patch of broken schist
under the water’s trembling haste.
it was so bright I picked myself a slate
as flat as a round pool and threw my whole
thrust into it, as if to skim my soul.
and nothing lies as straight as that stone’s route
over the water’s wobbling light;
it sank like a feather falls, not quite
in full possession of its weight.
Her reflections include herself among a band of shades, “Tillworkers, thieves, and housewives,” all of whom are, in their own way “dreamers” connected to the fate of the Dart. Oswald closes this portion of the poem taking stock, but with a melancholy refrain:
I saw all things catch and reticulate
Into this dreaming of the Dart
That sinks like a feather falls, not quite
In full possession of its weight)
The poem then proceeds, as does the river itself, with an accounting of the poisoning of the waters, through dyes, acids, dairy products, etc. But it never descends into a laundry list of abuse, just a sad accounting, an accrual for an eventual reckoning. Dart is a remarkable poem, and one that sets the stage for the other river poem in this collection: “Dunt.” The two rivers sound close, probably for a reason. If the Dart is dying, the Dunt is dead – dried up. Oswald likens the Dunt’s fate to that of a Roman waternymph:
Very small and damaged and quite dry,
a Roman Waternymph made of bone
tries to summon a river out of limestone.
Very eroded, faded,
her left arm missing and both legs from the knee down,
a Roman Waternymph made of bone
tries to summon a river out of limestone.
But the summoning gets only an Eliot like-like response (and a refrain throughout the poem):
Little sound of dry grass. Try again.
Though both these poems are rooted in nature – and its fate, Oswald is nevertheless a hopeful poet. I’ve read that she’s compared to Ted Hughes, or Wordsworth. I can see some of that, though I don’t get any sense of the blood and fur, tooth and claw of Hughes. She sees nature for what it is, but she also sees the need to dream, and to sing. Wordsworth is probably closer, but I think if you want to find a comparison, though she uses forms often, you would do well to look at Whitman. Both Oswald and Whitman sing the body electric.
As nice as it is to see those poems back in print, the collection’s centerpiece is the long (48 pages) book length poem, Dart. Dart, winner of the 2002 T.S.Eliot Prize, is actually a lot things, poetry, prose, voices (which I believe Oswald recorded, while compiling research for Dart), that read as a whole, sounds like a chorus singing the history, and fate, of a river. The poem starts at the river’s source, with Oswald introducing a number of voices, human, mythological (waternymphs), boats, an even an otter. The various human voices dominate, with a wide variety of occupations represented: a naturalist, a dairy worker, oystermen, drowning knights, and of course, a dreamer (the poet), who pauses in mid-poem to offer her reflections:
(Sleep was as work and from the mind the mist
spread like a litmus to the moon, the rain
hung glittering in mid-air when I came down
and found a little patch of broken schist
under the water’s trembling haste.
it was so bright I picked myself a slate
as flat as a round pool and threw my whole
thrust into it, as if to skim my soul.
and nothing lies as straight as that stone’s route
over the water’s wobbling light;
it sank like a feather falls, not quite
in full possession of its weight.
Her reflections include herself among a band of shades, “Tillworkers, thieves, and housewives,” all of whom are, in their own way “dreamers” connected to the fate of the Dart. Oswald closes this portion of the poem taking stock, but with a melancholy refrain:
I saw all things catch and reticulate
Into this dreaming of the Dart
That sinks like a feather falls, not quite
In full possession of its weight)
The poem then proceeds, as does the river itself, with an accounting of the poisoning of the waters, through dyes, acids, dairy products, etc. But it never descends into a laundry list of abuse, just a sad accounting, an accrual for an eventual reckoning. Dart is a remarkable poem, and one that sets the stage for the other river poem in this collection: “Dunt.” The two rivers sound close, probably for a reason. If the Dart is dying, the Dunt is dead – dried up. Oswald likens the Dunt’s fate to that of a Roman waternymph:
Very small and damaged and quite dry,
a Roman Waternymph made of bone
tries to summon a river out of limestone.
Very eroded, faded,
her left arm missing and both legs from the knee down,
a Roman Waternymph made of bone
tries to summon a river out of limestone.
But the summoning gets only an Eliot like-like response (and a refrain throughout the poem):
Little sound of dry grass. Try again.
Though both these poems are rooted in nature – and its fate, Oswald is nevertheless a hopeful poet. I’ve read that she’s compared to Ted Hughes, or Wordsworth. I can see some of that, though I don’t get any sense of the blood and fur, tooth and claw of Hughes. She sees nature for what it is, but she also sees the need to dream, and to sing. Wordsworth is probably closer, but I think if you want to find a comparison, though she uses forms often, you would do well to look at Whitman. Both Oswald and Whitman sing the body electric.
November 23, 2008
Oswald, an emerging British poet of the first rank, has written three volumes of poetry, but Spacecraft Voyager 1 is the first to be published in the US. It includes her book length poem Dart and all or most of her first and third collections, as well as five or so new poems. The title, taken from one of the poems in Woods, Etc., her third full collection, is confusing in that this is not a work of science fiction-like poetry. (Someone on the Q train glimpsed the book’s spine and asked me if it was by Gene Roddenberry.) Perhaps titles aren’t her thing. There are three poems titled “Sea Sonnet,” one titled “Poem” and another two titled “Estuary Sonnet” and “Sea Poem.” But if that’s a weakness it is the only less than brilliant aspect of Oswald’s work.
Dart, perhaps the first masterpiece of the 21st Century (though someone with more knowledge of poetry and judgment than me should make that claim), is a wondrous poem that traces the River Dart from source to mouth. It runs in multiple forms, a variety of voices (hikers, poachers, boat builders, bailiffs, plant workers, drowning victims, oystermen, ferrymen, millworkers, others), and speaks the language of nature, of myth, of work and technology. She put the poem together the way Anna Deveare Smith assembled her theater pieces, interview and observation and deciding what to leave out, to get the authenticity necessary into the language of art. “I don’t know, all I know is walking,” says a very grounded voice, “What I love is one foot in front of another. South-south-west and down the contours.” Another voice: “I depend on being not noticed, which keeps me small and rather / nimble, I can swim miles naked with midges round my head, watch- / ing wagtails, I’m soft, I’m an otter streaking from the headwaters, I / run overland at night, I watch badgers, I trespass, don’t say anything, / I’ve seen waternymphs, I’ve seen tiny creatures flying, trapped, inter- / marrying, invisible” Another voice: “Or if it’s dawn or nightfall, the river’s the weird color / of the sky, / you can see a voler as much as two miles away. / That’s the unique clean line a salmon makes in water / and you make a speckle for which way he’s heading. // Your ears are twitching for the bailiff, / the car engine, the rustle in the bushes.”
It’s a beautiful poem, liquid and powerful, full and clear. It, and all the poems in this rich collection, gives you two kinds of pause. First, what am I missing from inattention as I make my way through my day? Second, what understanding escapes with these surrounding details? A poem from Woods, Etc.:
“Field”
Easternight, the mind’s midwinter
I stood in the big field behind the house
at the centre of all visible darkness
a brick of earth, a block of sky,
there lay the world, wedged
between its premise and its conclusion
some star let go a small sound on a thread.
almost midnight—I could feel the earth’s
soaking darkness squeeze and fill its darkness,
everything spinning into the spasm of midnight
and for a moment, this high field unhorizoned
hung upon nothing, barking for its owner
burial, widowed, moonless seeping
docks, grasses, small windflowers, weepholes, wires”
Dart, perhaps the first masterpiece of the 21st Century (though someone with more knowledge of poetry and judgment than me should make that claim), is a wondrous poem that traces the River Dart from source to mouth. It runs in multiple forms, a variety of voices (hikers, poachers, boat builders, bailiffs, plant workers, drowning victims, oystermen, ferrymen, millworkers, others), and speaks the language of nature, of myth, of work and technology. She put the poem together the way Anna Deveare Smith assembled her theater pieces, interview and observation and deciding what to leave out, to get the authenticity necessary into the language of art. “I don’t know, all I know is walking,” says a very grounded voice, “What I love is one foot in front of another. South-south-west and down the contours.” Another voice: “I depend on being not noticed, which keeps me small and rather / nimble, I can swim miles naked with midges round my head, watch- / ing wagtails, I’m soft, I’m an otter streaking from the headwaters, I / run overland at night, I watch badgers, I trespass, don’t say anything, / I’ve seen waternymphs, I’ve seen tiny creatures flying, trapped, inter- / marrying, invisible” Another voice: “Or if it’s dawn or nightfall, the river’s the weird color / of the sky, / you can see a voler as much as two miles away. / That’s the unique clean line a salmon makes in water / and you make a speckle for which way he’s heading. // Your ears are twitching for the bailiff, / the car engine, the rustle in the bushes.”
It’s a beautiful poem, liquid and powerful, full and clear. It, and all the poems in this rich collection, gives you two kinds of pause. First, what am I missing from inattention as I make my way through my day? Second, what understanding escapes with these surrounding details? A poem from Woods, Etc.:
“Field”
Easternight, the mind’s midwinter
I stood in the big field behind the house
at the centre of all visible darkness
a brick of earth, a block of sky,
there lay the world, wedged
between its premise and its conclusion
some star let go a small sound on a thread.
almost midnight—I could feel the earth’s
soaking darkness squeeze and fill its darkness,
everything spinning into the spasm of midnight
and for a moment, this high field unhorizoned
hung upon nothing, barking for its owner
burial, widowed, moonless seeping
docks, grasses, small windflowers, weepholes, wires”
August 31, 2017
After Falling Awake (probably my favourite book of poetry out of all I've read in the last year), Alice Oswald can do no wrong. This covers a huge range of poems, from short nature pieces to the discursive, polyphonic voices of Dart. Marvellous.
January 24, 2008
I don’t read a lot of poetry, and admittedly, consider poetry a lesser art form than serious literature. I read a book of poetry about once every few years, but generally don’t seek them out; they must come recommended by others. However, I can recognize good technique and amazing wordplay when I see it, poetry or otherwise, and Spacecraft Voyager I has both. The book is a collection of Oswald’s poetry from several different books, along with a few new poems. Initially, the title misled me as the majority of the poems in this collection deal with nature rather than space. But once I read the poem “Sonnet” about the Spacecraft Voyager I and how it sends signals from the silence of the outer reaches of space – language from silence – I better understood how the title related to all of the other poems about nature. Oswald’s poetry contains a natural rhythm and rhyme, and her choice of word combinations and turns-of-phrase are at times playful, clever, or poignant – but at all times, they are brilliant. There are a number of books that I’ve read that make me want to write; I can’t think of a single book of poetry that had the same effect until now. Oswald’s craft is first-rate, and this book of poems the same. Highly recommended.
April 17, 2025
such a fantastic collection! read this for my literature for poets in class and it really surprised me. the way oswald uses different speaker’s not just in the book length poem “Dart” but throughout her writing is very impressive. some of my favorites from this section included “Poem”, “since love is round” and “Walking Past a Rose This June Morning”. her writing style was really dynamic and this was a fun collection to read and annotate
April 13, 2025
Good book, I am not a large poetry fan, but it was enjoyable!
Read
April 29, 2025beautiful and intelligent… but I was only really compelled by a handful of the poems in this collection
(to haman, I promise I will review/rate most of what I read from now on <3)
(to haman, I promise I will review/rate most of what I read from now on <3)
May 3, 2024
Good but I liked Falling Awake much better.
December 2, 2010
interesting river project
October 12, 2009
I've been reading this book for about two years now. I just want to read each poem over and over again. I think I must have read it through a dozen times and I'm going to read it through again.
January 13, 2017
Really interesting to read what seems to be the first and very early version of the long sequence in Falling Awake in this book, under the section New Poems.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews