Politics, purses, poetry: the letters of a poet

The late Amy Clampitt has always been something of an enigma. Even now, 11 years after her death, many readers still don't know what to make of this literary late bloomer who published her first full-length book of poems, to great acclaim, at age 63. How did she rise to fame so quickly, after decades of writing failed novels? And how did those poems - layered, sinuous, and dense - come from a woman who seemed so childlike, with a wide, enthusiastic grin, and a high, girlish voice?

In "Love, Amy," a selection of her letters, readers find answers to these questions. More important, they get to see Clampitt's life - which defied convention in many ways yet maintained it in others - through her eyes. The view is as surprising as her writing style, which is clear, vivid, and engaging.

In the opening letter, dated 1950, a young Clampitt sounds both progressive and charmingly naive as she thanks an English friend for a new purse. "You are right about the popularity of plaids, but the clever design is quite unlike anything I ever saw here - it's so thoroughly Leak-Proof, and what could be more important!" From there the shy Iowa girl turned New-Yorker moves from topic to topic - a recent election, British films she has seen, and the absurdity of the mayor consulting a rainmaking expert about the city's water supply. She has a keen eye for detail, a sharp wit, and firm opinions, especially when writing to her brother Philip, 10 years her junior.

As the book progresses, Clampitt works for the Oxford University Press and the National Audubon Society, and later as a freelance editor for Dutton. She also travels extensively, experiences a religious conversion, and continues to write novels that publishers find long on description and short on storyline. Religious fervor is eventually replaced by political zeal, and Clampitt campaigns for various causes, attends protests, and gets arrested several times.

The contradictions of her character - she was discreet in many ways, but also owned a dramatic black cape, for example - were constants in her life, as was her love of nature and literature. Keats, Wordsworth, and Dickinson were among her "teachers," who shaped her imagination and planted seeds for her poems.

Another anchor was the man she called her best friend and severest critic: Harold Korn, a law professor at New York University and later Columbia University. The two met during a political campaign in November 1968 and were partners throughout their lives. Korn and Clampitt, neither of whom were fans of marriage, wed three months before her death.

"Love, Amy" is full of colorful details - some of which are superfluous. What readers won't find is an epiphany, a moment when Clampitt realizes that poetry is what she's meant to write.

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