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GOD IS AN AMERICAN, by             Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography

Terrance Hayes’ "God Is an American" is a meditation on language, intimacy, and the unsettling paradoxes of contemporary life. The poem unfolds with a personal, almost confessional tone, yet its imagery and juxtapositions reach beyond the domestic, questioning broader themes of power, history, and survival. Hayes weaves together private moments with philosophical musings, his syntax loose yet deliberate, capturing the speaker’s simultaneous attachment to and alienation from the world.

The poem opens with an affirmation: “I still love words.” This declaration frames the poem as an exploration of language’s role in shaping experience, particularly in the context of love and longing. The mention of making love in the morning, of the partner’s damp skin, introduces a moment of intimacy, yet it is immediately followed by a shift in tone—“the day calms.” The emotional urgency of desire gives way to a quieter reflection, a signal that this is not a poem merely about sensuality but about what lingers after.

Hayes then introduces the word Schadenfreude, a term for pleasure derived from another’s misfortune, linking it to the “covering of adulthood,” an idea that suggests experience, disillusionment, or perhaps a kind of protective detachment. The metaphor of “powdered sugar on a black shirt” is particularly striking, evoking something simultaneously sweet and staining, a pleasure that leaves a mark. This line sets the tone for the poem’s deeper engagement with contradiction—love and loss, pleasure and pain, presence and absence.

The poem moves into a more solitary space: “I am alone now on the top floor pulled by obsession, the ink on my fingers.” Here, the speaker’s preoccupation with language becomes physical, ink-stained hands symbolizing the labor and devotion of writing. The phrase “pulled by obsession” suggests a compulsion, a desire to translate experience into words, yet this is followed by the admission: “Sometimes what I feel has a difficult name.” This moment of uncertainty underscores the poem’s central tension—how does one articulate the complexity of existence, especially in a world as fractured as the one Hayes describes?

The poem then takes an unexpected turn: “Sometimes it is like the world before America, the kinship of God’s fools and guardians, of hooligans; the dreams of mothers with no children.” The phrase “the world before America” is expansive, evoking a time before the constructs of nationhood, colonialism, and power hierarchies. “God’s fools and guardians” suggests a medieval or mythic vision of society, while “hooligans” introduces a more modern, anarchic energy. The juxtaposition of “the dreams of mothers with no children” adds a haunting note, hinting at absence, loss, or unfulfilled longing.

Hayes then returns to the power of language: “A word can be the boot print in a square of fresh cement and the glaze of morning.” This line captures the dual nature of words—they can leave an imprint, solid and lasting, yet they can also be ephemeral, fleeting as light on a surface. This tension between permanence and transience echoes the poem’s broader meditation on beauty, memory, and existence.

The shift to dialogue is sudden and almost jarring: “Your response to my kiss is, I have a cavity.” The juxtaposition of romantic expectation with this mundane, physical reality is both humorous and poignant. It undercuts sentimentality, reminding the speaker (and the reader) that love is not just poetic idealism but also grounded in the body’s imperfections.

“I am in love with incompletion. I am clinging to your moorings.” These lines encapsulate the poem’s emotional core. The speaker does not seek resolution but rather finds meaning in the unfinished, the uncertain. The word moorings suggests stability, yet to “cling” to them implies fear of being set adrift, reinforcing the poem’s underlying anxiety about attachment and impermanence.

The final lines bring the meditation full circle: “Yes, I have a pretty good idea what beauty is. It survives all right. It aches like an open book. It makes it difficult to live.” Here, beauty is not romanticized but acknowledged as something that endures despite suffering. The comparison to “an open book” suggests vulnerability, exposure, the way beauty invites pain as much as pleasure. The last line—“It makes it difficult to live”—is devastating in its simplicity, acknowledging that the very things that give life meaning are also the things that make it unbearable.

Throughout "God Is an American", Hayes constructs a lyrical meditation that refuses easy answers. He balances personal reflection with philosophical inquiry, blending the domestic with the historical, the intimate with the abstract. The poem’s syntax mirrors its thematic concerns—fluid, shifting, resisting closure. At its heart, it is a poem about language’s power and limitations, about love’s contradictions, and about beauty’s paradoxical ability to both sustain and wound.


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