January 25, 2003

THERE'S A REASON HELL IS HOT:

The Snow Man (Wallace Stevens)
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


Sure, it's existentialist twaddle, but it fits the season. Posted by Orrin Judd at January 25, 2003 6:43 PM
Comments

Well, I don't have a mind of winter, but I really admire Wallace Steven's poetry. "Existentialist twaddle"? Ouch!!



I suppose Stevens' poetry isn't exactly edifying, but when I discovered him in college, I was relieved to find a modernist poet who could actually write poetry with hard-edged structural rigour. He was followed by so much soggy, morose, poetic oatmeal.

Posted by: Whackadoodle at January 26, 2003 2:45 PM

Whack:



Not only is the idea that the "listener" is "nothing himself" rather silly, but the thought that you can behold snow and not be filled with wonder and that, by implication, if it were warm out you'd not be nothing, seem odd too.

Posted by: oj at January 26, 2003 3:40 PM

Hey man!! Poetic license!! Poetic license!!

Posted by: Whackadoodle at January 26, 2003 10:06 PM

Okay, here's a question for you: if nothing means anything then why do existentialists spend so much time writing stuff to tell us nothing means anything?

Posted by: oj at January 26, 2003 10:24 PM
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