Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Susan Wheeler’s "Hand-Me-Downs: The Movies" is a labyrinthine and richly textured poem, weaving fragmented imagery, cultural references, and linguistic play into a meditation on power, artifice, and the legacy of cinematic and societal tropes. The poem’s title suggests an inheritance of not only material possessions but also ideas, roles, and narratives handed down across generations, with cinema serving as a lens through which these themes are refracted.

The opening lines set the stage with an almost indifferent grandeur: “Power schmauer. The trees glinting their crystal boughs beyond / the breakfront.” The dismissive tone in “Power schmauer” juxtaposed with the crystalline beauty of the trees evokes a sense of irony, as if undermining conventional notions of power and significance. The breakfront, a piece of furniture often associated with displaying wealth and status, becomes a symbol of both material opulence and containment. The imagery of the trees “waving on, unconcerned” suggests nature’s indifference to human constructs of power and peril.

As the poem unfolds, Wheeler immerses the reader in a world of cinematic allusion and fragmented narrative. The “tricolor wager” and “androgynous scent” evoke the high-stakes glamour and ambiguity of classic film noir. The tuxedos and molls populate this stylized universe, their roles archetypal and performative. Yet, these images are disrupted by the goose veering “en route to Bahamian skies,” a surreal intrusion that destabilizes the scene and hints at the unpredictable, chaotic nature of life beneath the artifice.

The poem’s frequent references to “real movies” create a nostalgic undertone, contrasting the gritty realism of older films with the perceived artifice of contemporary cinema. Wheeler’s examples—a theft turned slaughter, a lug discovering his date’s racial identity, Engels quoted beside junk—invoke narratives of violence, identity, and ideology, suggesting a time when films grappled with weighty, consequential themes. This nostalgia is tinged with irony, as the speaker acknowledges the corners cut and compromises made even in those “real” productions.

Wheeler’s language is deliberately dense and fragmented, mirroring the complexity and imperfection of the narratives she invokes. Lines like “Cold Mountain’s / Incline rolls rocks big as words; Maya; a bloom; and a forehead” collapse natural imagery, cinematic reference, and abstract thought into a single breath, challenging the reader to navigate the interplay of meanings. The reference to “Cold Mountain” and its rolling rocks evokes both the physicality of landscape and the weight of language itself, as words become burdensome objects tumbling through time.

The poem’s second half grows increasingly self-referential and layered, intertwining sensory details with meditations on perception and artifice. The juncos lighting on the air conditioner shell, the molls powdering, and the trees icing their twigs are all described with a painterly precision, yet their juxtaposition creates a sense of disconnection and artifice. This fragmentation mirrors the disjointed experience of memory and cultural inheritance, where the narratives we receive are incomplete and often contradictory.

Wheeler’s playful use of language—her interjections, puns, and abrupt shifts in tone—adds to the poem’s dynamic texture. Phrases like “Dumb schmo” and “Pie-eyed” evoke the slangy dialogue of classic Hollywood, while more abstract passages like “Scrims of six-legged creatures blew out behind poems” push the reader into surreal, poetic terrain. The line “Red poppies had dibs—although, as we say, / Metaphorically” underscores the poem’s self-awareness, acknowledging its own reliance on symbolism and layered meanings.

The poem’s closing lines return to the motif of glamour and competition: “The gowns glinting in front of the breakfront move / Characteristically. Gowns, they should.” Here, the repetition and self-referential tone suggest both a critique of performative femininity and an acknowledgment of its enduring allure. The final question—“Can’t someone explain to her / The sparkling allure of the wager and the winning streak?”—seems to address the reader as much as the characters within the poem, challenging us to consider the appeal of risk, ambition, and the stories we inherit.

At its heart, "Hand-Me-Downs: The Movies" is a meditation on the interplay between artifice and reality, the allure of power and glamour, and the ways in which cultural narratives shape our understanding of identity and legacy. Through its fragmented structure and richly layered language, the poem invites readers to navigate its complex terrain, much like the characters and narratives it evokes. Wheeler’s ability to blend nostalgia, critique, and linguistic play makes this a compelling exploration of the stories we tell and the truths they reveal—or obscure.

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