The Idea of Order at Key West
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
Comments :
Dec '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Claire,
It is Shabbot Shira, literally the Sabbath of the Song at the Sea. The Israelites have crossed the Red Sea, split by Gd. The sea has closed back down upon the Egyptians, destroying Pharoh's Chariots. Now, on the other side the Jews break into song in rejoicing.
___
I will sing to Gd, for very exalted is He;
Horse and its rider He cast into the sea.
Gd's strength and vengeance were my salvation.
This is my Gd, and I will build Him a sanctuary.
The Gd of my father, and I will exalt Him.
Gd is the Master of war; Gd (uses) His Name (to do battle).
He cast Pharoh's chariots and army into the sea.
His elite officers sank in (the mud of) the Sea of Reeds, (So that) the deep waters would (return and) cover them.
The (average ones) descended into the depths (quickly) like stone.
Your right hand, O Gd, is most powerful (and saves Israel when Israel follows Your will, Your punishing left hand becomes like) your right hand, O Gd and (constantly) crushes the enemy.(cont.)
Dec '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
(cont. from #1)
(And that is merely Your Hand But when you reveal) Your great majesty Then your opponent are devastated (And that is merely Your majesty But) when you send forth Your burning wrath; The (most wicked of them) are consumed like straw.
With the (angry) breath of Your nostrils,
The waters were heaped up.
The running water stood erect like a wall; The deep waters congealed, In the strongest part of the sea.
The enemy said: "I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide spoils!"
"My desire will be filled from them."
"I will draw my sword, my hand will impoverish them."
You blew with Your wind, the sea covered them; The (decent ones) sank like lead in the powerful waters.
Who is like You among the mighty, O Gd?
Who is like You, powerful in holiness, Too awesome for praises, performer of wonders?
You tilted Your right hand; the earth swallowed them up.
With Your loving kindness You led the people You redeemed;
You led with Your might to Your holy abode.(cont.)
Edited on Feb 5 at 3:28amDec '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
(cont. from #2)
People heard, they trembled; A shudder seized the inhabitants of Peloshes.
Then the chieftains of Edom were confounded.
Trembling gripped the powerful men of Moav, All the inhabitants of Cana'an melted.
May dread fall upon (the distant ones), And fear upon (the near ones).
At the greatness of Your Arm, May they become as still as a stone.
Until Your people cross over (the stream of Arnon), O Gd, Until this nation that you have cherished, Crosses over (the Jordan).
You shall bring them and plant them, On the mount of Your heritage.
A foundation for Your dwelling place that You made, O Gd;
The sanctuary, O Gd, which Your hands founded.
Gd will reign to all eternity.
__
Miriam (who was) a prophetess (when she was) Aharon's sister (even before Moshe was born), took a tambourine in her hand, and all the women came out after her with tambourines and with dancing.
Good Morning Miriam..er Claire.
Regards,
Jim
May '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
What a silly question. Conservative poetry is by Kipling.
Nov '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
As a thoroughly prosaic person I have no business commenting on poetry, especially poetry as rich and dense as this, but the contrast between your post, Claire, and the preceding one on the wonder of Velveeta "cheese" in combination with other supposedly edible ingredients reminds one of how courageous and gloriously mixed-up are conservatives. Thanks for a charming start to the day, and thanks, too, to James and Haakon. I loved both comments.
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Would anyone like to volunteer thoughts about Ramon Fernandez?
Dec '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Concise but true. As my father might have said, "So how about a little Kipling." Haakon give us something from Rudyard's finest to start the beautiful day.
Regards,
Jim
Edited on Feb 5 at 5:00amRe: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Why not?
Nov '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Thanks for putting this up, Claire, it's such a great way to start the day. And it sort of points to the need for a "slow conversation" corner of Ricochet; trying to do Wallace Stevens in 200 words when I'm already late in getting organized for the day is too much of a challenge for this brain.
But as for your question re. whether conservatives should like the work - I would see it more as a question of which conservatives like the work, and which do not, depending on whether their conservatism is more descriptive or prescriptive.
Sep '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Claire, I've never been able to understand Wallace Stevens' poems, but I would like to.
I hereby request a Ricochet research grant to study this poem on location -- Key West -- for three weeks.
Jan '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Here's a clue for my nominee:
"The best lack all conviction, and the worst are full of passionate intensity."
Now, top that!
Perhaps I should have added, Yeats was no slouch.
Edited on Feb 5 at 7:04amNov '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Claire Berlinski, Ed.
Why not? · 2 hours ago
That was my way of saying that if you hit me between the eyeballs I have a chance of getting it, so give me Aristotle, but Plato confounds me. The sound, the rhythm, yes, but I would only embarrass myself and try the patience of others by attempting to get at Stevens' deeper meaning.
Jul '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Ramon Fernandez is questioned why, after listening to this song of nature( who was is and always will be woman ), the town lights have some dominion over night and seas. The answer is the maker's rage for order. What a moving phrase. Mankind has sought to subdue it's baser instincts in to a kindler gentler form as we know that if let to behave as animals we shall be doing a disservice to ourselves, our loved ones and our community. God knows we need to fight tooth and nail against our baser instincts and I believe this was one point Stevens was trying to make as mans ultimate creation, fire, somehow brought nature in to a semblance of order. I could be completely off base here Claire but you asked and that's my first thought. Thank you for the poem.
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
I think it's important that Ramon Fernandez was a real person. The name isn't chosen for no reason.
Sep '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Questioning without rage makes this a poem that conservatives can appreciate. The details of the poet's personal longing remain hidden with the anxious waves, but his universal anguish is characterized by awe, not anger. There is no fist waving at she who is beyond the genius of the sea, only the desire to understand—to accept?—the mystery she reveals, the flummoxing "Idea of Order." The sea offers a glimpse of this spirit but is not to be confused with it (a mistake progressives so often make); neither, perhaps most especially, is the sound emanating from it: ... it was more than that, more even than her voice, and ours, among the meaningless plungings of water and the wind. Ramon Fernandez—pale Ramon—seems to be a deceased companion of the poet, someone with whom he has shared this longing to know the answer to the question of who is the maker of the song she sang and, who now perhaps understands the true delineation between land and sea.
Jul '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Well Claire, it's boring to look first on the net. There I found James Longenbach's analysis of Fernandez's embracing of fascism etc and how this poem related to him. Yet Stevens claimed Ramon was not meant to represent anyone. Anything I say now is not really my own thoughts.
Jun '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
ROBERT BLY: THE CALL AWAY
A cold wind flows over the cornfields;
Fleets of blackbirds ride that ocean.
I want to be in that wild, be
Outdoors, live anywhere in the wind.
I settle down, with my back against
A shed wall where no one can find me.
I stare out at the box elder leaves
Moving in this mysterious water.
What is it that I want? Not money,
Not a large desk, a house with ten rooms.
This is what I want to do: To sit here,
Take no part, be called away by wind.
Jun '10
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
ROBERT BLY: SNOWBANKS NORTH OF THE HOUSE
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
May '11
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
Thanks for the post Claire. This is one of the few poems that has been part of my internal conversation for 40 years. Great poems, like all great art, establish their greatness by being something that we can come back to over and over with different questions in mind and find meaning. I have never thought of this poem in political terms but now that I learn that Ramon was a fascist that adds a new delicious aspect to my appreciation of it. I am conservative in many matters but I am pessimistic in almost all. That phrase,"Oh. Blessed rage for order " has been pounding on my subconscious for decades like the silly ditty that you hear and then can't quit hearing. (Doctors call this an ear mouse which is similar to the loose body in a joint called a joint mouse.) As a pessimist I find comforting solace in the line: It was her voice that made The sky acutest at its vanishing.
The solace comes from the earlier line: For she was the maker of the song she sang.
Edited on Feb 5 at 12:16pmFeb '12
Re: Sunday Morning Poetry Discussion
I think Ramon Fernandez is mentioned in order to connect imagination to the substantial. And we are given Mr. Fernandez's full name because Stephens wants us to know imagination not only touches the "real" theoretically, but specifically in time and space.