Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Linda Hogan’s “Blessing” weaves together themes of resilience, loss, and the often paradoxical nature of blessings. The poem juxtaposes the physical and emotional wounds of family, particularly the speaker's father, with broader reflections on poverty, dispossession, and the bittersweet endurance of indigenous identity. Through vivid imagery and sharp irony, Hogan explores how people find meaning and grace in survival, even when faced with systemic inequality and personal hardship.

The poem opens with a poignant image: “Blessed are the injured animals for they live in his cages.” This line introduces the father’s relationship to wounded creatures, positioning him as a caretaker of the vulnerable. The cages may symbolize both a literal space for healing and a metaphor for confinement—a place where injuries are acknowledged but freedom is curtailed. The care extended to animals highlights a tenderness in the father, yet also hints at a deeper irony: while he can tend to the broken wings of birds, his own frailties remain unaddressed. The speaker asks, “But who will heal my father, tape his old legs for him?” This question underscores the father’s vulnerability, suggesting that his physical decline mirrors the emotional and cultural injuries he carries.

The bird with “two broken wings” becomes a central symbol in the poem. Described as having “feathers... white as an angel,” the bird represents both fragility and purity, yet her expletive—“goddamn stirring grains in the kitchen”—injects a dose of realism into the image. This unexpected profanity shatters any romanticized view of suffering, grounding the scene in the gritty realities of life. The bird, though angelic in appearance, is not a passive figure of sanctity but an embodiment of frustration and resilience. The father’s decision to leave the cages open when the birds fly out suggests a complex relationship with freedom and captivity. While he provides refuge, he does not impose permanent confinement, allowing the creatures to leave when they’re ready. This act earns him a tender gesture: “she kisses his brow for such good works.” The kiss symbolizes recognition of his quiet acts of kindness, though it is unclear whether this affection comes from the bird in a personified form or another figure entirely.

The father’s bitter wisdom is revealed in his reflections on work and ownership: “Work he says all your damned life and at the end you don’t own even a piece of land.” This statement resonates with the historical displacement of Indigenous peoples, particularly the Chickasaw, to whom Hogan belongs. The father’s labor is fruitless in the face of systemic dispossession, and his resentment reflects a deeper, collective grievance. This is reinforced in the sardonic blessing: “Blessed are the rich for they eat meat every night. They have already inherited the earth.” Here, Hogan flips the traditional biblical beatitudes on their head, highlighting the injustices that privilege the wealthy. The rich, far from needing spiritual consolation, are depicted as having already claimed their rewards in this life, leaving little for those like the speaker’s family.

The poem shifts into a more intimate, almost humorous tone as the speaker offers blessings for the everyday struggles of the poor: “For the rest of us, may we just live long enough and unwrinkle our brows, may we keep our good looks and some of our teeth and our bowels regular.” These mundane desires contrast sharply with the lofty promises of traditional blessings, emphasizing the modesty of the speaker’s hopes. The focus on physical health and basic dignity underscores how survival itself becomes a form of grace in the face of persistent hardship.

Yet, even in this humor, there is an undercurrent of longing for something more enduring: “Perhaps we can go live in places a rich man can’t inhabit, in the sunfish and jackrabbits, in the cinnamon-colored soil, the land of red grass and red people in the valley of the shadow of Elk who aren’t there.” This passage evokes a spiritual connection to the land and the non-human world, suggesting that while material wealth eludes them, a deeper communion with nature remains possible. The reference to the “valley of the shadow of Elk who aren’t there” introduces a haunting absence, hinting at the loss of both wildlife and cultural heritage, yet also invoking a landscape imbued with memory and meaning.

The father’s pragmatic worldview surfaces again: “He says the old earth wobbles so hard, you’d best hang on to everything. Your neighbors steal what little you got.” This reflects a sense of instability and mistrust, shaped by both personal experience and historical displacement. The earth itself is depicted as unsteady, a metaphor for the precariousness of life for those who have been marginalized. The father’s advice to “hang on to everything” suggests a defensive posture against a world that continually takes from him, whether it’s land, health, or dignity.

The repetition of the earlier blessing—“Blessed are the rich for they don’t have the same old Everyday to put up with”—emphasizes the monotony and hardship that define the father’s life. The “same old Everyday” reflects not only the grind of poverty but also the psychological toll of living without hope of change. Yet, this repetition also serves as a refrain, underscoring the bitter irony that runs throughout the poem.

The final lines bring the poem to a poignant close: “like my father who’s gotten old, Chickasaw chikkih asachi, which means they left as a tribe not a very great while ago. They are always leaving, those people.” Here, Hogan connects her father’s personal aging and decline to the broader history of the Chickasaw people, whose forced removals and displacements are part of a legacy of continual departure. The phrase “they are always leaving” evokes both physical migration and the passage of time, suggesting that loss is an inherent part of their history and identity.

The closing blessing—“Blessed are those who listen when no one is left to speak”—resonates with deep melancholy and reverence. It acknowledges the importance of bearing witness to histories and voices that are fading or have been silenced. In the face of cultural erasure and personal loss, listening becomes an act of resistance and remembrance.

Structurally, “Blessing” unfolds in a free verse form that mirrors the meandering flow of memory and conversation. Hogan blends sharp, ironic commentary with moments of tender observation, creating a dynamic interplay between cynicism and hope. The poem’s language is straightforward yet layered with meaning, allowing the reader to engage with its humor and its sorrow simultaneously.

At its core, “Blessing” is a meditation on the contradictions inherent in survival—the ways in which loss and resilience coexist, and how even in the face of dispossession, there is room for small acts of grace. Hogan’s exploration of familial bonds, cultural memory, and the enduring connection to the land speaks to the broader indigenous experience while remaining deeply personal. Through the figure of the father and his wounded birds, the poem invites readers to reflect on what it means to care for others and oneself in a world that often feels indifferent to both suffering and survival.

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