Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Tony Hoagland’s "Second Nature" is a meditation on personal identity, memory, and the way experience accumulates within us, shaping who we are. The poem considers the self not as something fixed, but as an evolving composition—formed from landscapes, relationships, and fleeting moments that have been absorbed and transformed into a second nature. Through striking imagery and scientific metaphors, Hoagland explores how we become, in a sense, the places we?ve inhabited and the emotions we?ve felt, carrying them within us as permanent parts of our being.

The poem opens with a sense of longevity and survival: “I must be enjoying my sixth or seventh life by now.” This phrasing suggests that the speaker has already gone through several versions of himself, each a distinct chapter of existence. The tone is both amused and reflective, acknowledging how life is not singular but a series of reinventions. The moment he describes—“watching the orange, early morning sun gleam thickly through the fabric of an evergreen”—is one of quiet appreciation. The description of sunlight as “thick” and “fabric” gives it a tactile quality, reinforcing the idea that experiences become tangible within us.

The image of “smoke churn[ing] dark and sap-like up, then waft[ing] away from the chimneyspout” introduces the theme of transformation. Smoke, like memory, is something fleeting yet persistent, momentarily visible before dispersing into the air. The “sap-like” quality of the smoke suggests that the moment is being absorbed into the speaker, just as a tree absorbs nutrients—memory becoming sustenance.

Hoagland then explores the idea that places do not just influence us metaphorically, but physically: “In the past, when I heard people talk about how a place becomes a part of you, / I always thought that they were being metaphorical, / but right now I can feel this orange and tender light taking a position inside of me.” The speaker rejects the notion that we merely recall places; rather, they embed themselves in us, becoming fundamental components of our identity. The phrase “painting a stripe of phosphorescent, pumpkin-colored warmth along one wall of the inside of my skull” is particularly vivid. Light is not just seen but internalized, painting the inside of the speaker’s mind, suggesting that the external world is shaping his internal landscape.

This absorption continues as the speaker describes “the washed-out scarlet of these winter fields becoming an ingredient of my personality.” The comparison to chlorophyll—“the way that in the noisy urban center of every molecule of chlorophyll, one atom of magnesium resides”—emphasizes how something as subtle as color or atmosphere can become a defining feature of one’s being. Just as magnesium is “quiet and essential” to chlorophyll, these accumulated experiences are essential yet often unnoticed parts of the self.

Seated in quiet reflection—“in the easy chair of my appreciation”—the speaker traces what has brought him to this moment. His second nature is not just shaped by external landscapes, but by “what I grasped and made a part of what I am— / a second nature, scavenged from those things I chose to love or fear.” This distinction is crucial: it is not merely the places he has been, but the things he has emotionally engaged with that have become part of him.

The next passage offers two particularly striking examples: “There was a sycamore in Arizona I cared enough about to take into my heart, / and now I hear the wind moving through its branches just below my clavicle.” The tree, once external, now lives within him—its presence felt in his body. The second example is even more intimate: “There was a kiss that changed the history of my mouth— / kiss that was a courtship, marriage and divorce sandwiched / in the thirty-second intersection of her lips and mine.” Here, a single moment contains an entire narrative of love and loss, emphasizing how even the briefest experiences can leave lasting imprints.

As the poem progresses, the speaker begins to see himself as a composite of these experiences: “When I look at all the odds and ends I’m made of, / I think I’m just some kind of irrationally-proportioned Frankenstein.” This comparison to Frankenstein’s monster highlights the fragmented, assembled nature of identity—how we are pieced together from moments, places, and emotions that do not necessarily form a cohesive whole. The phrase “on pilgrimage to god knows where” suggests a wandering, uncertain journey through life, where selfhood is continually being reshaped.

The final section of the poem deepens this sense of fractured yet meaningful identity. The speaker imagines himself as a creature carrying old memories within his very senses: “His left eye still remembers a sunset that it saw in 1964; / his right beholds the snow upon a branch with so much childish love / it threatens continually to break the rockpile of his heart.” This contrast—one eye looking at the past, the other at the present—is deeply poignant. The past is a stored vision, something that lingers within him, while the present is experienced with such intensity that it almost overwhelms him. The phrase “break the rockpile of his heart” suggests both wonder and fragility—beauty so powerful that it threatens to undo the speaker.

The poem ends with a question about origins and creation: “But he keeps going on, half-thrilled and half-appalled by his own strangeness— / wondering what god he could be fashioned in the image of? / What handiwork of what mad scientist?” These closing lines capture the essence of "Second Nature": the idea that our identities are not singular, logical constructs, but strange, unpredictable accumulations of everything we have loved, feared, and experienced. The reference to “some mad scientist” suggests that the process of becoming oneself is chaotic, unplanned, and beyond our control.

In "Second Nature," Hoagland presents identity as something fluid, layered, and deeply tied to both memory and environment. The self is not a fixed entity but a living record of encounters, emotions, and places absorbed over time. Through lush imagery and scientific metaphor, the poem offers a vision of human experience as both wondrous and bewildering—a continuous act of becoming, shaped by the forces of love, memory, and the landscapes we carry within us.

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