![]() |
Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained | |||
Robert Creeley’s "Hunger" captures the essence of existential despair and a longing for understanding in a modern, fragmented world. The poem’s speaker grapples with a sense of alienation and a profound awareness of hunger—not just as a physical need but also as a metaphor for human yearning and isolation. The poem is written in free verse, allowing Creeley’s language to reflect a stream of consciousness and the speaker’s erratic thought process. The language is both sparse and emotionally charged, characteristic of Creeley’s minimalist style, which draws attention to the weight of each word and line. From the opening lines, “He knows the hunger, walking in that stiff-legged fashion,” the poem situates its reader in a sense of observation—distanced but intimately aware of another’s suffering. The use of “he” suggests an unspecified subject who embodies this hunger, depicted as a persistent, almost habitual state. The description of walking “in that stiff-legged fashion” hints at a physical manifestation of this emotional state, where hunger and the body are inextricably linked. Immediately, the poem establishes the motif of hunger as something deeply engrained, affecting not only the individual but all others in their environment. Creeley then shifts to “She knows the hunger,” expanding the awareness of this pervasive condition to a feminine presence. Here, the separation between the self and others deepens, as the speaker notes, “all her body keeps telling you you are not her.” This line introduces an acute awareness of otherness—an inability to fully understand or connect with another person despite shared experiences of hunger. The repetition of knowing the hunger in both male and female subjects suggests universality, yet the stark acknowledgment of separateness underscores a theme of existential isolation. The narrative voice is disjointed and fragmented, reflecting the chaos and confusion in grappling with these overwhelming feelings. Creeley employs enjambment and terse, broken sentences to mirror the speaker’s psychological state. For example, the lines “It is / here, I saw it here. Where are the people.” embody a sudden shift from the affirmation of a vague presence to a search for communal connection. The abrupt question, “Where are the people,” signals an underlying desperation, suggesting that in recognizing the shared human condition, the speaker also perceives an absence—a lack of solidarity or mutual understanding among people. Creeley invokes a sense of confrontation through a brief dialogue, “Try to shut me up, I said, keep / pushing you’ll get it, he, or someone, said.” This exchange, though ambiguous in its participants and context, carries an undercurrent of conflict and resistance. The speaker’s challenge, “Try to shut me up,” reveals an urge to assert oneself or to be heard despite external pressures. It echoes a wider theme of resisting suppression or denial of one’s reality. The vague attribution of words to “he, or someone” reinforces the sense of alienation—the speaker’s inability to distinguish one voice from another or, perhaps, the insignificance of who speaks these oppressive words. As the poem moves forward, the speaker exclaims, “Jesus Christ, another one we / got to put up with,” signaling frustration not just with an individual, but with the repetitive, burdensome presence of people. The subsequent repetition of “people, and people, and people, and people” builds a rhythmic insistence on the overwhelming nature of human existence, where individuals become faceless masses—mere repetitions of each other. The listing continues with “people-trees on Michigan Ave—as photographed by Harry Callahan-trees,” interjecting an image of urban scenery immortalized in art. By referencing Harry Callahan’s photography, Creeley highlights the artistic representation of human environments, where people and trees become indistinguishable in their ubiquity. This visual blending of people and trees segues into a direct engagement with poetic tradition, as the speaker interrupts the scene with, “I think that I will never / see—.” The phrase recalls the famous opening line of Joyce Kilmer’s poem "Trees," hinting at a critique or reinterpretation of Kilmer’s idealized vision of nature. In contrast, Creeley’s depiction of trees seems indifferent and functional—“trees-drink water, places, a tree in / the hole.” These observations are factual and devoid of romanticism, reflecting a practical, almost indifferent view of nature as opposed to Kilmer’s spiritual reverence. The enjambment of these lines creates a jarring, dissonant rhythm, emphasizing the speaker’s detached state of mind. The closing lines, “We have to leave / now,” bring the poem to an abrupt and ambiguous conclusion. This final directive suggests a need to escape or depart from an overwhelming reality or place. The open-endedness of this statement leaves the reader to question what departure signifies—a physical relocation, an emotional withdrawal, or perhaps an acceptance of defeat in the face of persistent hunger. The insistence on leaving underscores the tension between the desire to confront reality and the urge to abandon it altogether. Overall, "Hunger" encapsulates the unease and disconnection of modern existence through its fragmented form and evocative language. Creeley’s minimalism strips the narrative down to its essential elements, compelling the reader to engage with the raw emotions and experiences of the speaker. The poem’s emphasis on hunger, both literal and metaphorical, creates a profound meditation on human longing, isolation, and the search for meaning amid a world of relentless repetition. By invoking external imagery and references to art and poetry, Creeley situates the speaker’s internal struggle within a broader cultural and existential framework, inviting readers to reflect on their own experiences of hunger and alienation.
| Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PREJUDICE by ROBERT CREELEY PIECES OF CAKE by ROBERT CREELEY DAWN BEHIND NIGHT by ISAAC ROSENBERG |
|