Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In "Prayer to Hermes," Robert Creeley crafts a deeply introspective meditation on identity, existential struggle, and the desire for guidance through life’s paradoxes and uncertainties. The speaker addresses Hermes, the Greek god associated with boundaries, travelers, and transitions, evoking him as a protector and guide through a complex and fractured existence. Hermes, known as the god of crossroads, is particularly fitting for this prayer, as the poem’s speaker grapples with the “crossed existence” of living in a world of contradictions—between mind and body, self and other, purpose and aimlessness. Through lyrical language and a mixture of philosophical questioning and personal confession, Creeley examines the trials of living within a “half-life,” a state of ambiguity and dislocation, where the boundaries of identity and understanding remain perpetually blurred.

The opening line, “Hermes, god of crossed sticks, crossed existence, protect these feet I offer,” immediately establishes the speaker’s sense of being at a crossroads, seeking protection from the god who governs the liminal spaces in life. By describing Hermes as the god of “crossed sticks, crossed existence,” Creeley highlights the theme of duality and intersection, suggesting that the speaker’s life is marked by complexities and opposing forces. The feet offered to Hermes symbolize both humility and a willingness to surrender, as though the speaker is acknowledging their vulnerability and seeking a path forward amid confusion. This gesture reflects a desire for guidance and stability, even as the speaker remains entangled in the contradictions of existence.

“Imagination is the wonder of the real, / and I am sore afflicted with the devil’s doubles, the twos, / of this half-life, this twilight” captures the speaker’s awareness of both imagination’s power and its potential for disorientation. Imagination is described as a “wonder of the real,” implying that it can elevate reality, transforming the ordinary into something wondrous. However, the speaker also feels “sore afflicted” by the dualities—the “devil’s doubles”—that emerge from imaginative thinking, suggesting a struggle with multiplicity and division within themselves. The “half-life” and “twilight” evoke a liminal state, a world caught between light and dark, certainty and doubt, self and other. This imagery of twilight hints at a life lived in partial understanding, never fully embracing one state of being or the other.

“Neither one nor two but a mixture walks here in me— / feels forward, finds behind the track” speaks to the speaker’s conflicted sense of self. They are neither wholly unified nor divided but exist as a “mixture,” an undefined combination of opposing elements. This sense of moving “forward” while simultaneously “finding behind” suggests a cyclical or recursive journey, where progress is elusive, and each step forward reveals traces of the past. The line captures the difficulty of self-definition, as though the speaker is in constant flux, never fully aligning with a single identity or purpose. This fragmented self is both “man” and “woman,” both physical and metaphysical, embodying a fluid and ever-changing nature.

The line “What I understand of this life, what was right in it, what was wrong, / I have forgotten in these days of physical change” reveals a sense of alienation from former certainties. The speaker acknowledges that the markers of right and wrong, once seemingly clear, have become obscured amid the transformations of aging or shifting perspectives. This “physical change” could refer to the inevitabilities of aging or illness, the natural erosion of the body’s strength and identity. As the body changes, so too does the understanding of life, implying that the physical self is intimately tied to one’s sense of purpose and clarity.

“A weakness, a tormenting, relieving weakness comes to me. / My hand I see at arm’s end—five fingers, fist— / is not mine?” introduces a moment of existential crisis, where the speaker feels estranged from their own body. The “tormenting, relieving weakness” suggests an ambivalence toward vulnerability: it is both painful and freeing, as if weakness itself offers an escape from the pressures of identity and purpose. The image of the hand, an extension of the self, becoming unrecognizable reflects the speaker’s disconnection from their physical form, a feeling of being a stranger within their own body. This line captures the disquieting experience of bodily alienation, where even the most familiar parts of oneself become foreign.

The rhetorical question “Then must I forever walk on, walk on— / as I have and as I can?” conveys a weary resignation, as if the speaker is reluctantly accepting the endless journey of life. The repetition of “walk on” implies a sense of duty or inevitability, suggesting that despite their existential uncertainty, they must continue forward. The speaker seems to recognize that there is no escape from this journey; they must persist, driven not by a clear purpose but by a resigned acknowledgment that life continues regardless of one’s understanding or sense of direction.

The line “Neither truth, nor love, nor body itself— / nor anyone of any—become me?” reflects the speaker’s profound sense of disconnection, as though no concept, relationship, or even their own body truly aligns with their inner self. This question suggests a feeling of incompleteness, as if each aspect of existence—truth, love, and the physical self—remains external and unattainable. The speaker’s yearning for identity and coherence is met with an absence, reinforcing the sense of a life lived in fragments rather than in wholeness.

As the poem nears its conclusion, the line “This moment the grey, suffusing fog floats in the quiet courtyard / beyond the window” introduces an image of fog, symbolizing obscurity and uncertainty. The fog fills the “quiet courtyard,” a space that could represent the speaker’s inner world, which is enveloped in haze and ambiguity. This image encapsulates the speaker’s existential fog, where clarity remains distant and the “grey” diffuses any sharp distinctions or understanding. Despite this fog, the speaker notes that “somewhere above the sun warms the air,” suggesting that even amid confusion, there is a faint, unreachable source of warmth or clarity.

The closing lines of the poem, “I give all to you, hold nothing back, / have no strength to,” reveal a final surrender to Hermes. The speaker offers their “luck,” “melodious breath,” “stumbling,” “twisted commitment,” and “confused flesh and blood,” as though relinquishing their fractured self to the god of thresholds and transitions. This act of surrender implies a recognition that understanding or control is beyond them, that the fragmented, pained aspects of their existence must be entrusted to a force beyond their own comprehension. In this prayer, the speaker finds a form of solace in letting go, acknowledging their limitations and entrusting their conflicted self to the guidance of Hermes.

In "Prayer to Hermes," Robert Creeley navigates the complexities of identity, the uncertainties of purpose, and the alienation from self and body that arise in the face of life’s contradictions. Through an intimate and philosophical plea, the speaker addresses Hermes as both protector and witness, seeking understanding in a life marked by ambiguity and internal division. The poem’s exploration of existential themes—identity, duality, vulnerability—reveals the human yearning for coherence even amid a “crossed existence” where clear answers remain out of reach. Ultimately, "Prayer to Hermes" is a meditation on the struggle for meaning in a world of contradictions, capturing the beauty and pain of surrendering to life’s mysteries and accepting oneself as a perpetual traveler on an unknowable path.

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