And George Oppen, who said, “Great artists are those, in the end, who do not have a failure of nerve.” Afraid, yes, but there they are, having locked themselves alone in a room with fear. Or as someone else might put it: “Blank pages—shoot-out at the O.K. Corral.” 

George Oppen's mother committed suicide when he was four. His step-mother was a stereotype.

As a teenager he lost control of a car and a friend was killed in the crash.

He was expelled from high school and college.

He began a publishing house at the dawn of the depression. It failed.

In his thirties Oppen stopped writing poetry, joined the communist party, rejected the communist party, joined the US Army, was seriously wounded fighting Nazis and awarded the Purple Heart.

After the war he was hounded by the House Committee on Un-American Activities. He moved to Mexico, became a carpenter, and began writing poetry again.

In 1968 Oppen's Of Being Numerous was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for poetry.

Oppen wrote:

A small room, the varnished floor Making an L around the bed,  

What is or is true as Happiness 

Windows opening on the sea, The green painted railings of the balcony 

Against the rock, the bushes and the sea running.