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The Idea of Order at Key West
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9.8
/10
(16
votes)
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She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.
The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard,
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.
For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end
And sound alone. But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world
In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we,
As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there was never a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As the night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of sea
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.
Wallace Stevens
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Read poems about / on: sea, water, fishing, song, summer, solitude, sky, wind, alone, ocean, night, rose, world, dark, star
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Comments about this poem (The Idea of Order at Key West
by
Wallace Stevens
) |
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comments about this poem (The Idea of Order at Key West by
Wallace Stevens
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James Niles
(4/19/2008 11:35:00 PM) |
The 'S', hissing 'S'
a susurration of sound,
sinister, soulful
sinful, satisfied,
seeping in slowly surreal
sacred and sublime
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Tony Best
(10/6/2007 7:51:00 PM) |
I love this poem. Its about the imagination versus reality. How the imagination gives one a sense of order against the pressures of reality.
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Beverly Nelms
(9/22/2007 3:09:00 PM) |
I always feel as though I am on the verge of understanding this poem.
It captured me when I first read it. And reread it.
It is more like a force to me than a poem. It contains much of what it is to be human, and implied questions about art - is art to define the person making or performing the art and hand that definition to the audience, or is it a way to bring order to the chaos around us, as the singer and the masts brought order to the sea.
Here's to hoping I never fully understand this poem. It's a touch of chaos and order.
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Charlie Briggs
(7/7/2005 2:51:00 PM) |
A poem just as poignant to me as it was when first discovered 35 years ago.
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Wallace Stevens
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