Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Bob Hicok’s "Elsewhere" is a meditation on movement, dislocation, and the shifting nature of human connection. It juxtaposes the vast geological drift of continents with the everyday conversations of strangers at a party, exploring how people define themselves in relation to place, memory, and those they leave behind. The poem’s tone is casual, infused with humor and wistfulness, but beneath its conversational style lies a deeper reflection on the tension between rootedness and the impulse to keep moving.

The poem opens with a playful evocation of Pangaea, the prehistoric supercontinent that once held all landmasses together: "When we were Pangaea maps were smaller and vacations easier. / Where do you want to go? I don’t know... Pangaea?" This imaginative beginning sets the stage for the poem’s central theme—the way things drift apart, whether continents, people, or histories. The speaker humorously suggests that movement and separation are fundamental to human experience, linking deep time with contemporary longing. The phrase "The idea that continents are restless is very American." introduces the notion of national identity—Americans, historically shaped by migration, westward expansion, and reinvention, often embrace restlessness as part of their character.

The setting of the poem—a casual party—provides a space where strangers can share thoughts about movement and belonging. "At a party I talked with a man and woman / in the old style of listening and letting sentences be finished." This line introduces a subtle critique of modern conversation, where interruptions and distractions are common. The speaker values the slower, deliberate exchange of ideas, suggesting that attentiveness itself is becoming rare.

The woman introduces the idea of "elsewhere" as if it were a country: "She said her friends are all from elsewhere like elsewhere is a country." This line encapsulates the poem’s exploration of displacement—people are always from somewhere else, and "elsewhere" becomes an identity of its own. The man then offers a striking image: "He said from the air it looks like this city is trying to run away from itself." This description suggests urban sprawl, instability, or perhaps a deeper existential truth—the way cities, like people, expand and change, never quite remaining what they once were.

The speaker interjects with an anecdote: "I said they swapped Penn Station for Madison Square Garden because it was beautiful and old and clumsy for boxing." This reference to New York’s infamous destruction of the grand Beaux-Arts Penn Station in the 1960s in favor of a more utilitarian structure highlights a cultural tendency to erase the past in favor of practicality. This moment echoes the broader theme of movement and loss—the destruction of history in pursuit of progress, much like the geological and personal shifts the poem considers.

Throughout the poem, there’s a sense of intimacy between these fleeting acquaintances. "The liquor was good and by good I mean someone else’s." The humor in this line highlights the lighthearted nature of the conversation, yet the deeper discussions of displacement and belonging persist beneath the surface. Despite knowing they will likely never meet again, "we laughed and touched as if our voices had gone steady since high school." This moment of warmth suggests how quickly people can feel connected, even in transient encounters.

The conversation then shifts to a woman in Paris who dreams of opening a flower shop near the sea, selling "flowers pressed into the shapes of famous faces." The speaker relays this story through the man’s words: "Just leave, he said he said to her while shrugging articulate shoulders." The repetition of "he said he said" mimics the way stories are passed along, their meaning shifting slightly with each retelling. The woman's response—"You don’t understand,"—introduces a counterpoint to the idea of restless movement. "My father’s eyes live here," she says, pointing to her head, "each night I navigate my mother’s hair with a comb." This is one of the poem’s most poignant moments, revealing how place is not just about geography but about memory and familial bonds. Her father’s presence exists in her mind, her mother’s in a nightly ritual—suggesting that staying is sometimes an act of devotion.

The speaker contrasts this with his own detached relationship with family: "I told them I have a brother I talk to every couple years. / Likely there’s a plant outside his home I’d remember if I'd seen it." This acknowledgment of distance feels resigned, almost humorous in its understatement, but it also conveys a quiet loneliness. The speaker’s connection to his brother is vague, indirect, filtered through the possibility of recognizing a plant rather than a shared intimacy.

The woman offers a final reflection: "She said, maybe it’s organic that we're always moving, always changing." Her phrasing—linking human transience to biological inevitability—suggests an acceptance of change, as if movement is as natural as growth or decay. But before this thought can settle, a voice from outside the conversation intrudes: "Like diapers, someone added over her shoulder as he walked by." This moment of comic deflation interrupts the philosophical weight of her statement, reminding us that profound thoughts rarely remain uninterrupted, especially in casual social settings.

The poem ends with a return to uncertainty: "The liquor was good. I’m sure I was born but I don’t know where." This final line distills the poem’s central themes into a wry paradox—certainty and uncertainty intertwined. The speaker acknowledges his own existence but remains ambiguous about origins, emphasizing the disorientation of a world where everything is always shifting.

Hicok’s "Elsewhere" is a meditation on the ways people move through space and time, how they negotiate belonging, and how memory keeps us anchored even as we drift. The poem captures the fleeting yet meaningful exchanges that occur between strangers, revealing how conversations—like landscapes and relationships—are always evolving. The interplay of humor, nostalgia, and philosophical inquiry gives the poem a natural, conversational rhythm, mirroring the very act of speaking and listening that it so carefully examines.

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