Emma+Comery+(extra+poetry+pages)

. Through his sarcastic put-down of the “bowl of Earth” and confession of “never tir[ing]” of his ruminations, the speaker in “Bowl” adopts an acerbically pensive tone to reassert the universe’s power over mankind (lines 2, 13). With what I imagine to be premeditated contempt, the speaker asks for which “emperor” the “bowl” was made, and I can practically hear him mentally insert //greedy// before “emperor” (line 1). Because, for an emperor, holding a “bowl of Earth” doesn't necessarily mean cradling a clay dish. Purposefully wielding the ever-vague word “things” as a poetic weapon, Stevens' speaker suggests the world is an immense “bowl” in itself, home to many a “thing” (line 3). The emperor, a man who must believe in his own divine power, wishes to have this “bowl of Earth,” and all its contents, in the palms of his hands. The speaker then goes on to attack the entire bowl-crafting industry, declaring “more things” to be “Here” than “on any bowl” (lines 3, 4). Wiser than the “emperor,” the speaker understands the impossibility of capturing the entire essence of Earth on the outside of a dish. Pensively he recognizes the earth has a complexity far greater than “pears” and “dresses” and “oxen,” and painting a moon on a “bowl” will not clarify its “obscurities” (lines 7-12). To Stevens' speaker, “even the rarest” of bowl-canvased renditions of Earth pales in comparison to the real “thing” (line 5). In this context, the definition of “Here” is the real world: the land of the common man and everyday insurance salesperson. “Here” is where “leaves” not only “would be loose,” but actually are (line 9). And “Here” is where the speaker “never tire[s] / To think” of the vastness of the world and its inability to be summarized or contained (line 14). This poem pushes back against the “emperors” of the world, reminding them all of an unchangeable truth about life: never will the hands of man stretch far enough to frame the universe. || One deceptively simple stanza long, Wallace Stevens' “Song” packs quite a literary punch. Hats off to him for making me love and hate him within eleven lines. Odi et Amo, indeed. Between the delicious vagueness of “great things” and a tenderly commanding tone, the speaker develops a protective streak for the “little rabbit” (lines 1, 3). The voice of wisdom, he tells the “rabbit” of “great things,” but neglects to specify if “great” means wonderful or egregious. The gap between the two connotations is sizable, and it's one an inexperienced “little rabbit” most likely does not consider. Acting as caretaker for the young rabbit's ignorance, the speaker gives the rabbit a metaphorical suit of armor against pain. The pain, of course, stems from reality. For “there is a damsel” whom the speaker describes with most admiring lyric (line 4). In fact, Stevens dedicates four whole lines to deeming the girl “dearer” and “sweeter” than some of nature's finest attributes (lines 5,6). With imagery fit for a daydream, Stevens set me up for a Snow White moment: bunny meets “damsel” and joyous singing ensues. But, alas, the singing was not to be. Instead Stevens pulled the rug out from under me with the blunt introduction to the girl's “long coat” (line 9). Rare is it to see a writer employ a set-'em-up-knock-'em-down strategy for non-humorous means, but Stevens has a point to make, and situation is fitting. The conclusion I drew from the coat quickly drowned my previous Disney-princess-euphoria. I believe the “coat, / with twelve buttons” to be made of rabbit fur, and the speaker is thus giving fatherly advice to be wary of the “damsel” (line 10). Yet once again he resorts to vagueness, omitting any helpful details which might simultaneously enlighten and terrify the “little rabbit.” His caution extends even to the architecture of the poem. While spending four lines using natural imagery to introduce the “damsel,” he wastes only two describing of her jacket. How typical, to talk at length of “water / flowing over pebbles,” then skim over the part about the bunny dying (line 6,7).Thus Stevens makes a statement about the human preference to closet evil while flaunting goodness. In one my favorite lines, the speaker tenderly commands the rabbit to “tell” his “mother” the truth he has learned (line 11). Upon first glance I though the line a glimpse of Stevens' sassy side; a sort of hand-on-hip, snap-your-fingers put-down. But I think now it threads into the theme of vagueness for the sake of protection. The speaker gives no reason why the rabbit should “tell” his “mother,” leaving both the rabbit and I with a delightful ignorance. And I still don't know what the title means. || Amidst claims of a “Gray Room,” the speaker of Wallace Stevens' poem pays suspiciously close attention to color. Between his initial mention of “silver...straw-paper” and later repetition of the colors “green” and “red,” the speaker's voice rings of F. Scott Fitzgerald's Nick Carroway (lines 2-10). In light of the blatant discrepancy, I find myself debating if Stevens' speaker is entirely trustworthy. But of course, the poem's blurriness could very well be purposeful. I can only assume the heavy attention to color means to highlight the speaker's unreliably. He labels the room “gray,” and yet he soon sprinkles the description of the scene with a “white gown,” “green beads,” and “red branches” of a fan (lines 1-10). But never does he recant his original claim of “gray[ness].” As he further entangles himself in the details of the scene ––and the rhythmic movements of the woman–– the big picture fades away. By zooming in on the “red branches of a red willow,” he fails to see the overall hue of the room (line 10). Ironically, he pays attention to the point of distraction and forgetfulness. Thus the framing of the poem mimics its meaning. The sin the speaker accuses the woman of is the very sin he himself commits. Between his almost hypnotized distraction and resulting failing to notice color on a larger scale, the speaker is guilty of falling into the same reverie as the woman. Snapping out of his reverie with confused disgust, the speaker demands to know “What is all this” (line 16)? But without quotation marks to act as trail guides, I am left wondering whom he is addressing. Between the speaker's constant reference to the woman as “you,” the disparity between the woman's actions and the speaker's preconceived belief about her actions, Stevens indicates the sudden “What is all this?” is intended for the woman (line 1). The speaker “know[s]” her heart “is beating” “furiously,” and therefore her robotic “finger” which twirls the “leaf in the bowl” confounds him (lines 11-15). On the other hand, the speaker has no choice but to scoff when he realizes how he has engulfed himself in his own poetry. For the sake of diplomacy, I say he is addressing them both. Detailing the scene to the point of distraction and sweeping himself up in his own words, the speaker lends the poem a strong in-the-moment feeling. So focused is he on the woman who “lift[s]” her “necklace, / to let it fall,” he barely catches himself fading away into a boundless ellipse (lines 6-8). With the multitude of commas and semi-colons, I found the poem sweeping me away as well. I didn't even notice until my third read-through that the speaker never finishes his sentence. || Imagery is like make-up. When used sparingly and delicately, the result is beautiful, but when stuffed into the poem's every pore, Elizabeth-Taylor-blue eyeshadow comes to mind. Ever the poetic Mary Kay, Wallace Stevens brandishes his literary brushes with abundant reserve, saving his imagery for emergency-only situations. And his poem “The Wind Shifts” is no emergency. Between poetic architecture symbolic of “how the wind shifts” and satisfyingly sparse imagery, Stevens simultaneously personifies “the wind” and dehumanizes people (line 1). Through his strategic manipulation of the first and eleventh lines —thus creating the fifth and eighth lines— Stevens creates a back-and-forth A B B A pattern which mimics the motion of the “shift[ing]” wind. Through such visual formatting, he atones for the lack of imagery throughout the majority of the poem. But the absence of flowery language is unexpectedly appropriate in “The Wind Shifts.” Between dry descriptions of “approaching” people and the distance-putting use of the term “human,” Stevens’ speaker relates the thirteen line poem through objective observation (line 2). His limited artistic descriptions he reserves for “the wind,” comparing it in an extended metaphor to people and giving it “human” emotions such as “eager[ness]” and “despair” (lines 2,3). But of the “humans” themselves he provides little imagery. He generalizes, lumping them in a large “approaching” group capable of being only “proud,” “angry,” “eager,” “despairing,” or “irrational” (lines 7-10). This bland word choice and overall stereotyping turns “humans” into animals. With typical Stevens vagueness, the speaker outlines the progression of “human” thoughts. At first the “old human” thinks with a heartbreaking combination of “eager[ness]” and “despair” (line 2). Despite the difficulty of maintaining a sharp mind, the “old” man perseveres. But a mere two lines down, the speaker mentions a woman “without illusion” but a hint of “irrational things” (lines 6,7). “Things,” of course, does nothing to clarify, but instead seems to mimic the meaningless mumbo-jumbo which litters her mind. With menopause-esque “irrational[ity]” and hopelessness, the “humans” then slip farther into their own “despairing” dehumanization. Eventually the “humans” are “heavy,” and they just don't “care” (line 13). The poetic transition from “eager” to indifferent is rapid and subtle. Through his light descriptive touch and characteristic use of vagueness, Stevens forces “humans” to trade their emotions for “the wind's” mere physical existence. || Between a gentle demand to “pour the unhappiness” from her “too bitter heart,” and an explanation of the “cause of being,” Stevens' speaker shows pitying condescension to “another weeping woman” (lines 1-7). Under the mistaken impression that “grieving” will “sweeten” her heart, the woman wallows in her own pain (line 3). But “grieving” is a “dark[ness]” which breeds “poison” and feeds on the “water of tears” (lines 3-5) Although the speaker shows obvious sympathy for the woman, he refuses to sugar-coat the “one reality” of life (line 8). The second stanza serves as a foil to the natural perception of death and grief. The idea of something which “grows,” “blooms,” and “rise[s]” contradicts all previously recognized definitions of death (lines 4-6). Nothing good sprouts from a “too bitter heart,” the speaker seems to say, save for “poison” (lines 2-4). Then comes the shout-out to one of Stevens' favorite themes. The “magnificent cause of being” brings back memories of “The Emperor Of Ice Cream” and the speaker's toe-curling plea to “let be be the finale of seem” (line 7). Toying with the various conjugations of 'to be' in all his poems and defining the “cause of being” as both “the imagination” and “the one reality,” Stevens once again haunts me with his grandiose considerations of existence (lines 7-8). Skillfully balancing “imagination” and “reality,” Stevens suggests life to be a compromise between hope and honesty, between romanticism and realism (line 8). At the same time, however, the “magnificent cause” of life “leaves” the woman, as the speaker reluctantly reveals to her. Hope abandons her with the elusive “him for whom no phantasy moves” (line 11). Who is this “him?” The dead man she mourns? God? The devil? And in what way do the “phantas[ies]” not “move” (line 11)? As I see it, they either refuse to step aside in the wake of his fearsome power, or he lacks the “imagination” to spur incorporeal dreams into existence. And, on an entirely morose note, the great “cause” of life “leaves” the woman to be “pierced by a death” (lines 7-12). Said “death” is either the source of her “weeping,” or it marks her transition from “this imagined world” to “reality” (lines 8-12). In the end the speaker delivers the harsh truth to this “grieving” woman whose “bitter heart” will never “sweeten,” thanks to her inevitable fall into “dark” “reality” (lines 2-8). ||
 * [[file:bowl.doc]] || Summary # 4
 * [[file:song.doc]] || ‍Summary # 5 ‍
 * [[file:gray room.doc]] || Summary # 6
 * [[file:wind.doc]] || Summary # 7
 * [[file:weeping woman.doc]] || Summary # 8