Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

"Vermilion Flycatcher, San Pedro River, Arizona" by Margaret Atwood is a poignant and vividly descriptive poem that intertwines the beauty of nature with the violent history of human conflict. Through the lens of observing a vermilion flycatcher in its natural habitat, Atwood explores themes of memory, violence, and the persistence of life amid destruction.

The poem opens with a stark depiction of a river that has been the site of violence, as indicated by "the trash caught overhead in the trees." The transformation of the river from a powerful force to "a trickle" amidst "late-spring yellowing weeds" suggests the passage of time and the changing landscape, both natural and human-altered.

The vermilion flycatcher becomes the focal point of the poem, a burst of vibrant life and color in contrast to the muted and troubled setting. Atwood's comparison of the bird's color to a "bead of blood" on a thumb not only highlights its striking appearance but also subtly connects the bird to themes of pain and violence. The bird's "joy / and the tranced rage of sex" capture the intensity of its existence, a life force that is both beautiful and fierce.

Atwood skillfully uses the flycatcher's presence as a catalyst for reflection on the darker aspects of the landscape's history. The bird's song becomes a trigger for the visualization of a murder, a "man with brown / or white skin lying reversed / in the vanished water," a victim of conflict over resources or territory. This historical violence, whether from "a hundred years or centuries / ago," is juxtaposed against the timeless natural rituals of the river, where deer "come at dusk to cross and drink / and be ambushed."

The flycatcher, "intensely / bright in the sun," remains indifferent to the human cruelty and suffering that have occurred in its territory. Its focus on "their own rapture" with its mate suggests an amnesia or perhaps an inherent disconnection from the human capacity for remembrance and mourning. Atwood raises the question of memory in non-human beings: "Who knows what they remember?" This rhetorical question underscores the poem's contemplation of how violence is remembered or forgotten across different forms of life.

The poem concludes with a reflection on the dual nature of the river as both a source of life and a potential site of death. The "river / that isn't there" symbolizes the ephemeral and often invisible boundaries between past and present, memory and forgetting, life and death. The final image of the possibility of drowning in the absent river serves as a powerful metaphor for the ways in which the histories of violence and conflict continue to haunt and shape the landscape and its inhabitants.

"Vermilion Flycatcher, San Pedro River, Arizona" is a complex meditation on the intersections of natural beauty and human violence, the persistence of life amid destruction, and the challenges of memory and forgetting. Through Atwood's masterful use of imagery and narrative, the poem invites readers to reflect on the layers of history and meaning embedded in the natural world and our place within it.

POEM TEXT:

The river's been here, violent, right where we're standing,

you can tell by the trash caught overhead in the trees.

Now it's a trickle, and we're up to our knees

in late-spring yellowing weeds. A vermilion

flycatcher darts down, flutters up, perches.

Stick a pin in your thumb, the bead of blood

would be his colour. He's filled with joy

and the tranced rage of sex. How he conjures,

with his cry like a needle. A punctuation. A bone button

on fire. Everything bad you can imagine

is happening somewhere else, or happened

here, a hundred years or centuries

ago. He sings, and there's the murder:

you see it, forming under

the shimmering air, a man with brown

or white skin lying reversed

in the vanished water, a spear

or bullet in his back. At the ford, where the deer

come at dusk to cross and drink

and be ambushed. The red bird

is sitting on the same tree, intensely

bright in the sun that gleams on cruelty, on broken

skullbone, arrow, spur. Vultures cluster,

he doesn't care. He and his other-coloured mate

ignore everything but their own rapture.

Who knows what they remember?

Birds never dream, being their own.

Dreams, I mean. As for you, the river

that isn't there is the same one

you could drown in, face down.

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