Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Robert Creeley’s poem "The Saints" presents a surreal and introspective meditation on human connection, existential space, and the presence of darkness within the ordinary. Through disjointed imagery and fragmented thoughts, Creeley creates a scene that resembles a dreamscape, where the boundaries between the mundane and the profound, as well as between love and darkness, become blurred. The poem explores themes of intimacy, spiritual longing, and the intrusion of unsettling forces, ultimately examining the complexities and contradictions of human experience.

The poem opens with the statement, "Heaven won’t have to do with its multitudes. / There isn’t room enough." This line suggests a critique or reimagining of the concept of heaven, rejecting the traditional notion of an expansive paradise filled with "multitudes." The speaker seems to imply that heaven is not about vast numbers or an overcrowded realm. By saying "There isn’t room enough," Creeley introduces a sense of limitation, as if heaven, or any idealized state of being, cannot accommodate all the souls or experiences people might imagine. This phrase questions the inclusivity or expansiveness of spiritual ideals, hinting that true fulfillment or peace might lie outside grand, populated visions.

The line "A thought we’ve all had perhaps, / now taken beyond that consideration" indicates that this notion of limited space is something familiar, a concept the speaker has moved past or taken to a deeper level. It suggests a kind of existential fatigue or resignation, as if the speaker has pondered questions of heaven and the afterlife extensively but now approaches them with a more skeptical or detached perspective. This shift hints that the poem will venture beyond conventional spiritual or philosophical musings, exploring instead the speaker's own introspective journey.

The next stanza brings the poem into a personal, surreal realm: "Last night I saw several people / in a dream, in shapes / of all of this: faces and hands, / and things to say, too." The speaker describes a dream filled with people, but rather than seeing them in full, they appear as "faces and hands," fragmented and incomplete. This description captures the fleeting, fragmented nature of memory and dreams, where people are often represented by partial, emblematic images rather than cohesive, whole presences. The mention of "things to say, too" suggests that these figures are trying to communicate, but their words and intentions remain unclear, lost in the ambiguity of the dream world. The focus on "faces and hands" underscores the intimacy and physicality of human connection, while the lack of completeness adds a haunting quality to the scene.

"I love you, one said. / And I love you too. Let’s / get out of this." Here, the dream characters express mutual affection, echoing a familiar exchange of love. However, the phrase "Let’s get out of this" complicates the sentiment, adding a sense of urgency or entrapment. This line suggests that love, while present, is not enough to make the dreamscape—or reality—comfortable or fulfilling. The desire to "get out of this" implies that the characters feel confined or uneasy, as if they are searching for escape from an oppressive or meaningless situation. This sentiment reflects a duality in human relationships: even as love binds people together, it often comes with an undercurrent of restlessness or dissatisfaction.

The line "One said: I have to take a piss" introduces an abrupt shift in tone, from the serious and affectionate to the mundane and bodily. This sudden interjection of physical need brings the lofty notions of love and escape down to a more grounded, human level, underscoring the body’s role in human experience and interrupting any idealized vision of intimacy. It serves as a reminder of the unavoidable aspects of physical existence, as if to say that even in moments of closeness or connection, the body’s demands persist, grounding us in reality.

The imagery then shifts again, this time to something darker: "The door to the pantry was dark, / where the two crouched, / his hand on her back, her hand / on his back." This scene is intimate yet shadowed, with the "dark" pantry and the characters crouching, suggesting secrecy or a hidden, almost primal connection. The placement of hands on each other’s backs indicates a closeness and mutual support, but the dark setting creates an aura of mystery or foreboding. The darkness here may symbolize the unknown or even the unconscious desires and fears that lie beneath the surface of human relationships.

The final lines introduce a powerful, unsettling image: "I looked / at an evil, in the face. / I saw its place, in the universe, / and laughed back / until my mind cracked." Here, the speaker confronts "an evil" directly, gazing into its face. This line suggests a moment of recognition or revelation, as if the speaker is acknowledging the presence of darkness not just within the dream but within the universe itself. By stating "I saw its place, in the universe," the speaker seems to accept that this darkness is an integral part of existence, something unavoidable and perhaps essential. The laughter that follows is ambiguous—whether it’s a response of defiance, madness, or understanding remains unclear. The phrase "until my mind cracked" implies that this encounter with evil, or with the absurdity of existence, pushes the speaker to a breaking point, shattering their sense of stability or rationality.

Structurally, "The Saints" is composed of fragmented thoughts and images, with Creeley’s use of enjambment creating a flowing, dreamlike rhythm that reflects the shifting scenes of the speaker’s subconscious. The poem’s disjointed quality mirrors the surreal, often incoherent nature of dreams, where ordinary events merge with unsettling revelations. Creeley’s language is straightforward yet layered, inviting readers to interpret each image and interaction while remaining elusive and open to multiple readings.

Through "The Saints," Creeley explores the intersections of intimacy, darkness, and the human condition. The poem moves from reflections on heavenly ideals to the physicality of love and the confrontation with existential evil, suggesting that human experience is an uneasy blend of the sublime and the mundane, the loving and the menacing. By weaving together scenes of affection, confinement, and revelation, Creeley presents a nuanced view of human connection as something that encompasses both light and dark. In the end, "The Saints" is a meditation on the complexities of existence, where moments of tenderness and confrontation with darkness coexist, each revealing something about the nature of humanity and the universe itself.

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