The setting for Linda Gregg’s poem “Fragments” is an underground subway car, late at night in the city. The speaker observes the pathos and unglamorous fatigue of the other riders. We’ve been here before, we readers, in life as well as in literature. Yet the abstract assertion in line five, when we encounter it, gathers the entire scene into a unified magnetic field:
You can’t call the exhausted people on
the 1 or 9 beautiful. Especially
the drunk at the back yelling and stumbling
and grabbing the pole gracefully just
in time. Beauty has a strangeness.
[…]
Indeed, the poem's worldly descriptions are now changed, because they are filtered through the idea of beauty. We see that “Fragments” is making the case for a particular kind of beauty: the beauty of so-called ordinary reality, even in its most awkward, tawdry manifestations. Even in fatigue, asserts the poem, even in this flawed impoverished setting, beauty makes its appearances. Beauty cannot be stopped.
—Tony Hoagland, “Say It. Say it.” The Art of Voice (Norton, 2019)
No comments:
Post a Comment