Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Linda Hogan’s "The Truth Is" explores the complexities of identity, heritage, and belonging through a deeply personal lens. Hogan, a Chickasaw poet, often grapples with the intersections of Indigenous identity, colonial history, and personal experience in her work. This poem uses the metaphor of hands in pockets to articulate the tension between her Native and white ancestry, and by extension, the broader struggle of navigating a bicultural existence in a world fraught with historical violence and personal conflict.

The opening lines immediately set the tone of duality and introspection: "In my left pocket a Chickasaw hand rests on the bone of the pelvis. / In my right pocket a white hand." Hogan situates her identity physically within her body, suggesting that her heritage is not an abstract concept but something she literally carries with her. The pockets serve as symbolic spaces where her cultural identities are stored, hidden yet ever-present. The bone of the pelvis evokes a sense of grounding and structure, emphasizing that her Chickasaw identity is foundational, a core part of who she is. Meanwhile, the white hand in the right pocket introduces the complexity of her mixed heritage, hinting at both the privileges and the burdens that come with it.

The poem’s casual, conversational tone deepens with the reassurance: "Don’t worry. It’s mine and not some thief’s." This line acknowledges the potential discomfort or misunderstanding that might arise from this duality. By asserting ownership over both identities, Hogan resists the notion that one part of her heritage is more authentic or legitimate than the other. However, the tension remains palpable, as the juxtaposition of these two hands in her pockets implies an ongoing negotiation between them.

Hogan’s self-reflection continues with humor and vulnerability: "It belongs to a woman who sleeps in a twin bed even though she falls in love too easily, and walks along with hands in her own empty pockets even though she has put them in others for love not money." This line shifts from cultural identity to personal experience, highlighting the universality of human longing and connection. The twin bed suggests solitude, perhaps even loneliness, while the admission of falling in love too easily reveals a tenderness and openness. The act of putting her hands in others' pockets for love not money suggests a giving nature, one that seeks intimacy and connection rather than material gain. Yet, the emptiness of her own pockets hints at a sense of loss or unfulfilled desire, both in love and in identity.

Hogan introduces a striking metaphor to describe her identity: "About the hands, I’d like to say I am a tree, grafted branches bearing two kinds of fruit, apricots maybe and pit cherries." This image of a grafted tree suggests a harmonious blending of her different ancestries, with each branch contributing to the whole. However, she immediately dismisses this romanticized notion: "It’s not that way." Instead, Hogan presents a more complex, perhaps even discordant reality: "The truth is we are crowded together and knock against each other at night." This image of internal conflict conveys the difficulty of reconciling her dual heritage. The identities are not seamlessly integrated but instead jostle for space, causing friction and unease.

The desire for amnesty recurs throughout the poem, highlighting Hogan’s longing for peace and reconciliation: "We want amnesty." This plea suggests a need for forgiveness—not just for historical injustices but for the internal conflicts and struggles that arise from them. Hogan personifies herself, speaking directly to her inner self: "Linda, girl, I keep telling you this is nonsense about who loved who and who killed who." This line captures the tension between personal and collective memory, between the intimate stories of love and the broader historical narratives of violence. The repetition of who loved who and who killed who underscores the inescapable entanglement of affection and trauma in her identity.

The metaphor of being "taped together like some old Civilian Conservation Corps passed by from the Great Depression" adds another layer of historical resonance. The Civilian Conservation Corps, a New Deal program aimed at providing jobs during the Great Depression, symbolizes resilience and survival amid hardship. Hogan likens herself to this patchwork of history and survival, suggesting that her identity is similarly constructed from fragments of past struggles and efforts to endure. The mention of empty pockets reiterates a sense of loss and absence, while also critiquing materialism: "It’s just as well since they are masks for the soul, and since coins and keys both have the sharp teeth of property." Here, Hogan suggests that possessions can obscure one’s true self, and that her emptiness might actually be a form of authenticity.

The poem takes a darker turn with the warning: "Girl, I say, it is dangerous to be a woman of two countries." This line encapsulates the central tension of the poem—the danger and difficulty of navigating a bicultural existence. The two countries represent not just her Chickasaw and white heritage, but also the broader cultural and historical forces that shape her identity. Hogan acknowledges the precariousness of this position, the constant awareness of which pocket the enemy lives in and the need to remember how to fight.

Despite the dangers, the poem also speaks to resilience and survival: "you better keep right on walking. And you remember who killed who." This imperative to continue moving forward, despite the weight of historical memory, reflects Hogan’s determination to live fully within her complex identity. The knocking on the door in the middle of the night symbolizes the persistent presence of history and trauma, but Hogan advises herself to relax, suggesting that while these memories are inescapable, they do not have to dominate her life.

The poem concludes with a shift in focus from hands to shoes: "Relax, there are other things to think about. Shoes for instance. Now those are the true masks of the soul." This surprising turn adds a layer of humor and lightness, but it also reinforces the theme of identity and appearance. Shoes, which carry us through the world, become symbols of how we present ourselves and navigate our journeys. The final line—“The left shoe and the right one with its white foot”—brings the poem full circle, returning to the theme of dual identity. Even in something as mundane as shoes, Hogan finds a reflection of her complex heritage, reminding us that identity is carried in every step we take.

Structurally, the poem’s free verse form and conversational tone create an intimate, reflective atmosphere. Hogan’s use of direct address, repetition, and metaphor allows her to weave personal narrative with cultural commentary, making the poem both deeply individual and broadly resonant.

In "The Truth Is," Linda Hogan confronts the complexities of identity, history, and belonging with honesty and introspection. Through vivid metaphors and personal reflection, she explores the tensions inherent in navigating a bicultural existence, while also celebrating the resilience and strength that come from embracing one’s full self. The poem is a powerful meditation on the interplay between personal experience and collective history, and the ongoing journey toward understanding and reconciliation.

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