Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Fanny Howe’s "You Can’t Warm Your Hands in Front of a Book but You Can Warm Your Hopes There" is a meditation on language, violence, and the stark reality of urban existence, particularly in Los Angeles. The poem moves through disjointed yet interconnected images, weaving a tapestry of decay, contemplation, and survival. The title itself presents a paradox—books may not provide physical warmth, but they offer the sustenance of hope, implying a tension between material need and intellectual or spiritual sustenance.

The opening lines introduce a striking image: "Feathers fluffed the ashtray bin at the bottom of the elevator. Feathers and a smeared black look littered the parking lot like mascara." The presence of feathers suggests a fallen bird, possibly killed or injured, while the "smeared black look" likened to mascara gives the scene a human, cosmetic quality. This imagery blurs the line between human and animal suffering, reinforcing a sense of violence and disorder. The following lines clarify that this was the aftermath of a struggle: "It looked as if a struggle had ended in tears between the bird and an enemy." Whether this enemy was another bird, a predator, or an unseen force remains ambiguous. The bird’s absence—“No chicken claws, or comb, no wing, no egg”—leaves only the remnants of the encounter, signaling loss without resolution.

The next section shifts to an abstract philosophical inquiry: "The neutrality of words like ‘nothing’ and ‘silence’ vibrated at her back like plastic drapes." The speaker questions the very existence of a word like "silence," arguing that sound—or the absence of it—cannot truly be captured by language. She observes that movement in the air does not necessarily create sound, undermining the supposed necessity of a term for its absence. This reflection underscores the gap between language and reality, a recurring theme in Howe’s work.

As the poem progresses, the focus turns toward "violence," which the speaker claims is "common in her circle." The examples given—“A bush could turn into a fire, or a face at a clap of the hand could release spit and infection”—suggest spontaneous eruptions of destruction, whether natural or human-made. The "deviants," whom the speaker associates with, appear to be people living on the margins, unable to control their emotions or circumstances. Los Angeles, as depicted in the poem, is a city that is only "hostile as a real situation during the rainy season," when the canyons flood and force the homeless into underground spaces. Otherwise, the "whiteness spread out by a Southland sun kept them warm," implying that the city’s relentless sunlight masks its deeper social inequalities.

The poem closes with a moment of irony and self-awareness: "My personal angel is my maid, said one to another, putting down his Rilke with a gentle smile." This line reveals a jarring contrast between privilege and deprivation. The invocation of Rainer Maria Rilke, a poet deeply concerned with the transcendent and the ineffable, underscores the gap between the intellectual and material worlds. The speaker, or the person quoted, recognizes this irony—his "angel" is a servant, suggesting that those who have the luxury of literature are often blind to the suffering around them.

Ultimately, "You Can’t Warm Your Hands in Front of a Book but You Can Warm Your Hopes There" operates on multiple levels: as a commentary on urban violence, as an exploration of the limits of language, and as a critique of social and economic disparity. Howe juxtaposes abstract thought with visceral imagery, creating a poem that moves between intellectual inquiry and the raw physicality of lived experience. The title encapsulates this tension—books and intellectual pursuits may not provide tangible relief, but they offer a form of resilience, a space where hope, however fragile, can survive.

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