Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota by James Wright (1990)

I ask that you read the poem before my commentary, unless you have the willpower to not think of a purple elephant.

This one gobsmacked me. And now every time I see something truly beautiful or feel a moment of deep peace, I think of the last line of this poem.*

For me, what makes poetry truly stand out is when I can see a change in the speaker. Typically this moment begins halfway or two thirds in, but here, Wright spends the majority of the time luxuriating in pastoral imagery. We see bronze, black, green, and gold. We hear cowbells and smell pines. We bask in the relaxation of a hammock.

The shift is swift, and it lands so deeply because we have been lulled into this perfect, quiet moment. And though the reveal is sudden, it comes gently, a revelation that expects to be immediately understood.

The older I get, the more I understand it. This poem has basically ruined my life.

*If you skip to the end, I will find you and cut off your fingers.

Short Stuff:

• James Wright spent a year in Vienna on a Fulbright Scholarship.
• He died of tongue cancer at the age of 52, which seems a sardonic death for a poet.
• He won the Pulitzer, and then his son Franz won the Pulitzer. They are the only parent/child combo to do that. (My mom and I have plans, though–she just doesn’t know it yet.)

Topics

nature; enlightenment

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Lying on a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk,
Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right,
In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones.
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.

—James Wright