Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Naomi Shihab Nye’s "The Last Day of August" is a meditation on time, memory, and inheritance—both the physical abundance of nature and the emotional weight of familial relationships. The poem contrasts the simplicity of pears falling from a tree with the complexity of a man’s unresolved relationship with his father. Through its quiet, reflective tone and evocative imagery, the poem explores how we process what we have been given, whether it be fruit from a tree, the past we carry, or the words we leave behind.

The poem begins with a serene image: "A man in a lawn chair / with a book on his lap / realizes pears are falling / from the tree right beside him." The man, seemingly engrossed in his book, is momentarily interrupted by nature’s quiet insistence. The pears fall with a "round, full sound in the grass," emphasizing their ripeness and completion. This moment is unhurried, filled with a kind of patience and inevitability—things fall when they are ready.

Nye then speculates about the act of falling: "Perhaps the stem takes an hour / to loosen and let go." This line subtly introduces the theme of time and detachment. Just as the pears do not drop suddenly but take time to release from the branch, emotions, memories, and unresolved relationships do not disappear all at once. There is a slow, unseen process leading to release, much like the man’s own reflections in the poem.

The man is then revealed to be someone carrying the weight of a long-standing fear: "This man who has recently written words / to his father forty years in the birthing: / I was always afraid of you. / When would you explode next?" The shift from observing falling pears to confronting an old fear is sudden yet seamless. It suggests that the man, like the pears, has been waiting for a moment of release—his letter to his father, forty years in the making, is his own loosening from the branch. The phrasing "forty years in the birthing" suggests not only a long period of gestation but also a painful struggle, as if this letter has been forming for decades, waiting to finally drop.

At this moment of vulnerability, he experiences "sudden reverence for the pears." This line links the natural world with the human one—the act of falling, of detaching, of moving from one state to another, is no longer just about fruit but about the cycles of life and reconciliation. The pears, in their simple surrender to gravity, mirror his own emotional release.

The next lines contemplate what happens after the fall: "If a dark bruise rises, / if ants inhabit the juicy crack, / or the body remains firm, unscarred, / remains secret till tomorrow . . ." These images evoke the unknown outcomes of both pears and emotions. Will the fallen fruit bruise, or will it remain intact? Will the man’s letter to his father be met with healing, or will it reveal wounds? The phrase "remains secret till tomorrow" introduces an element of uncertainty—what will the pears look like after a night on the ground? What will become of the words the man has written?

By "tomorrow," the letter may be "lying open on a table." This small, almost offhand statement carries significant weight—there is a shift from internal contemplation to external reality. The letter, which has existed in his mind for forty years, now has a physical presence. Like the pears, it has fallen, and now it will wait to be received.

The poem then returns to the harvest: "We gather pears in baskets, sacks." This communal act contrasts with the solitary act of writing the letter. There is an abundance—so much has been given, so much to sort through. The line "What will we do with everything / that has been given us?" extends beyond the literal pears to encompass inheritance, both tangible and intangible. This is the central question of the poem—how do we handle what we receive, whether it is fruit, love, pain, or memory?

The images of "ginger pears, pear pies, / fingers weighing flesh" suggest both enjoyment and careful selection. Some things are transformed into something new (pies), while others are simply held and examined. This mirrors how we process the past—some experiences are reshaped into stories, others are held quietly in reflection.

The final lines linger on an unexpected detail: "It is hard not to love the pile of peelings / growing on the counter next to the knife." The discarded parts, the things usually thrown away, become beautiful in their accumulation. The peelings, the remnants of what has been processed, are not insignificant. They, too, are part of what has been given. This suggests that even the painful parts of life—the peeling away, the cutting—can be appreciated as part of a whole.

"The Last Day of August" is a meditation on how we deal with the weight of the past, the inheritance of memory, and the way time gently pushes us toward release. Naomi Shihab Nye seamlessly weaves together the natural and the emotional, showing how a simple act like falling pears can mirror the complexities of family, fear, and forgiveness. The poem leaves us with a quiet recognition of life’s cycles, the beauty in both what is kept and what is discarded, and the ever-present question of what we will do with all that we have received.

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