Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Building" is a meditation on construction—both literal and metaphorical—exploring the act of building as a form of cultural, communal, and personal continuity in a world marked by political upheaval and environmental change. The poem, spanning decades, traces the construction of physical structures while simultaneously reflecting on the shifting social and political landscapes that surround them. Snyder fuses the physical act of building with spiritual and historical consciousness, suggesting that the structures we create are more than just shelters; they are vessels of meaning, shaped by the forces of history and the intentions of those who craft them.

The poem opens in the late 1960s, a time of global and national turmoil. “We started our house midway through the Cultural Revolution, / The Vietnam war, Cambodia, in our ears, tear gas in Berkeley.” Snyder immediately places the act of building within a broader historical context, setting it against the backdrop of war, protest, and ideological struggle. This juxtaposition suggests that building is an act of resistance—a tangible assertion of presence and purpose in a world wracked by destruction and chaos. The reference to “boys in overalls with frightened eyes, long matted hair, ran from the police” evokes the radical counterculture of the time, framing the poem’s early moments in a world where youth, rebellion, and uncertainty converge.

Despite the surrounding strife, the act of building is grounded in community and ritual. “We peeled trees, drilled boulders, dug sumps, took sweat baths together.” The physical labor is intimate and collective, emphasizing a return to elemental, hands-on engagement with the land. The verbs—peeled, drilled, dug, took—are active and tactile, reinforcing the connection between body, earth, and material. The house, then, becomes not just a structure but a manifestation of shared effort and purpose.

As time moves forward, the building extends beyond a single home. “That house finished we went on / Built a schoolhouse, with a hundred wheelbarrows, held seminars on California paleo-Indians during lunch.” The mention of paleo-Indians situates the act of building within a deeper historical framework, acknowledging those who built and lived on the land long before. Snyder weaves together practical labor with intellectual inquiry, suggesting that to construct a space is also to honor and learn from the past.

The poem’s spiritual undercurrents emerge as Snyder describes “brazed the Chou dynasty form of the character ‘Mu’ on the blacksmithed brackets of the ceiling of the lodge” and “Buried a five-prong vajra between the schoolbuildings while praying and offering tobacco.” These details reveal the fusion of Eastern philosophy and indigenous traditions within the act of building. Mu, often associated with Zen Buddhism, signifies emptiness or nothingness—not absence, but the boundless potential that precedes form. The vajra, a ritual object in Tibetan Buddhism, symbolizes indestructibility and enlightenment. By embedding these symbols into the structures they build, the community imbues the physical with the metaphysical, transforming architecture into a form of spiritual practice.

Yet, impermanence asserts itself: “Those buildings were destroyed by a fire, a pale copy rebuilt by insurance.” The original structures, imbued with meaning and painstakingly crafted, are lost. What remains is a replication—“a pale copy”—which, while functional, lacks the same authenticity and spiritual investment. This moment reinforces one of Snyder’s recurring themes: the transience of all things. Just as forests burn and regrow, buildings, too, are subject to cycles of destruction and renewal.

A decade later, the cycle continues. The political climate has shifted: “The Cultural Revolution is over, hair is short, the industry calls the shots in the Peoples Forests.” Where once countercultural movements challenged authority, now “industry” dictates environmental policy. The communal ethos of the past has given way to individual pursuits, as “Single mothers go back to college to become lawyers.” While this shift signals progress, it also marks a departure from the communal labor and engagement with the land that defined earlier eras.

Still, the work of building persists: “Blowing the conch, shaking the staff-rings we opened work on a Hall.” The conch, a sacred object in many traditions, signals a ceremonial beginning, affirming that even in a changed world, there are those who continue the work. The new construction is once again a communal effort: “Forty people, women carpenters, child labor, pounding nails.” Snyder does not romanticize the process—“child labor” hints at the necessity of all hands pitching in rather than an exploitative practice—but emphasizes that building is an intergenerational act, a shared responsibility.

As time moves into the “year of the Persian Gulf”—likely referring to the Gulf War of the early 1990s—the external world remains fraught with “Falsehoods and Crimes in the Government held up as Virtues.” Despite this, “this dance with Matter / Goes on.” The phrase suggests that building is not merely a practical act but a choreography between human effort and material reality, a way of existing in harmony with the physical world.

The closing lines affirm the essence of Snyder’s philosophy: “Buildings are built in the moment, they are constantly wet from the pool that renews all things / naked and gleaming.” Buildings, like all things, are not static but part of a greater cycle. The reference to being “wet” suggests both literal moisture and the metaphorical immersion in the ever-renewing forces of nature. The final lines—“The moon moves / Through her twenty-eight nights. / Wet years and dry years pass; / Sharp tools, good design.”—anchor the poem in the rhythms of time, nature, and craftsmanship. The moon’s cycle reminds us of continuity, while “wet years and dry years” recall the inevitability of change. The concluding phrase—“Sharp tools, good design”—returns to the fundamentals: thoughtful craftsmanship, care, and skill as the enduring elements in a world of impermanence.

"Building" is both a history and a philosophy, illustrating how the act of construction extends beyond the material into the realms of culture, community, and spirituality. Through its detailed attention to both the practical and the profound, the poem affirms that the structures we create are not just shelters but expressions of our values, histories, and aspirations. In a world where destruction and change are constant, the act of building remains a testament to resilience, intention, and the human impulse to shape the world with care and meaning.

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