Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Linda Pastan's "Almost an Elegy" is a reflective and deeply introspective poem that navigates the themes of mortality, memory, and the gradual process of letting go. Structured in three parts—"Keeping Watch," "Recessional," and "Letting Go"—the poem unfolds as a meditation on the different stages of life, culminating in an acceptance of mortality and the delicate balance between holding on and releasing the things we cherish.

The first section, "Keeping Watch," sets the tone with its focus on a life lived in the background, "in the shadows cast by other lives." The speaker has spent much of their life as "almost invisible," content to play supporting roles—first as an "obedient child" and later as a mother. This idea of living in the shadows suggests a life marked by selflessness or perhaps a lack of agency, where the needs and demands of others have consistently taken precedence.

The imagery of living in "the future" and now inhabiting "the past" creates a sense of temporal displacement, where the speaker's existence has always been oriented towards something beyond the present moment. Both the future and the past are described as having "the same indeterminate sky, brilliantly cloudless," a metaphor for the uncertainty and ambiguity that has characterized the speaker's life. The "shifting walls" between these two realms reflect the instability of memory and anticipation, where the speaker constructs their reality with "invented furniture," suggesting that much of their life has been shaped by imagination and adaptation rather than concrete experiences.

The passage of time is symbolized by the "ferris wheel of months," a continuous cycle of seasons that repeats endlessly. The speaker seems trapped in this cycle, "locked in the view" of the changing seasons, which are portrayed with a mixture of beauty and melancholy: "December white-outs; another April; May weighted with flowers; November's leafy rags." These images convey a sense of inevitability, as if the speaker is resigned to the endless repetition of life's cycles, with each season bringing its own burdens and gifts.

The final lines of this section introduce the idea of secrets—"the baby's milky face, a rage of orchids, the rough, particular sounds of love"—that the speaker has kept "like extra buttons." These secrets are clues to a deeper, unspoken emotional life, hints at desires and experiences that were perhaps never fully realized or shared. The speaker acknowledges that these "gifts withheld" have been kept so long that they might not even recognize them anymore, suggesting a sense of loss or missed opportunities.

In "Recessional," the speaker reflects on the gradual process of diminishing presence: "You are taking up less space in the world, giving bits of yourself away." This section captures the feeling of becoming less substantial, as the speaker's life is metaphorically "picked over" by others—indifferently kept or discarded. The image of life as a "charity" given away suggests a sense of detachment or resignation, as if the speaker has begun to let go of the things that once defined them.

The metaphor of becoming "transparent—a pane of antiqued glass" evokes the idea of fading from view, becoming less noticeable or significant. Yet, despite this transparency, the speaker remains unbroken: "though you don't break." This resilience hints at an inner strength, even as the speaker becomes more ethereal, more like a "secret whispered once from mouth to ear that nobody bothers to tell." The idea of being a secret that has lost its urgency or importance underscores the theme of fading relevance and the quiet disappearance from the active world.

The final section, "Letting Go," confronts the reality of mortality with a poignant mixture of fear, longing, and acceptance. The speaker, now "newly mortal," faces the ultimate question: "how to leave this world." The "apron strings of light" that tug at the speaker symbolize the attachments to life—those small, often overlooked joys and connections that make letting go so difficult. These include "the fruit tamed in the hand," the innocence of a "child carelessly climbing the ladder of generations," and the beauty of "seascapes and dogwoods and seasons."

The reference to animals, particularly the "black bear [that] lumbers harshly / into darkness," contrasts the speaker's awareness of mortality with the animal's instinctual existence, unaware of death. This comparison emphasizes the uniquely human burden of knowing one's end is inevitable, a knowledge that brings both fear and regret—described as "the underside of longing."

The closing lines of the poem offer a moment of solace: "If you close your eyes, the first blade of grass has not been invented yet, / and light will wait with perfect patience / for the eyelid's fringed curtain to be raised again." This imagery suggests a return to a state of potential, where time and existence are momentarily suspended. The "perfect patience" of light implies that life, or the essence of it, will endure beyond the physical self, waiting for the cycle to continue, even as the speaker prepares to lower the curtain for the final time.

"Almost an Elegy" by Linda Pastan is a moving exploration of life, memory, and the inevitable approach of death. Through its three sections, the poem navigates the stages of living with a quiet, contemplative tone, capturing the bittersweet nature of aging and the gradual process of letting go. The poem reflects on the quiet endurance of life’s cycles, the secrets we carry, and the ultimate acceptance of our mortality, offering a deeply human perspective on the passage of time and the meaning we find—or fail to find—along the way.

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