Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Linda Hogan's "Lost Girls" delves into the complex terrain of selfhood, memory, and identity, particularly focusing on the evolution of womanhood and the disconnection from earlier versions of oneself. As a Chickasaw poet and environmentalist, Hogan often explores themes of nature, community, and the spiritual connection between people and the earth, but in this poem, she turns her gaze inward. Through a lyrical, almost stream-of-consciousness narrative, Hogan reflects on the various “girls” she has been, those versions of herself that have been left behind, yet continue to shape her present. The poem is both a lament and a celebration, addressing the fragmented nature of identity while asserting a reclamation of those lost selves.

The poem begins with a moment of uncertainty and disorientation: “I don’t remember when the girl of myself turned her back and walked away.” This opening line sets the tone for the poem's exploration of loss—not just of youth, but of the carefree, unburdened parts of the speaker's identity. The phrase “the girl of myself” suggests that this is not just a separate person but an intrinsic part of the speaker, one that has become distant or obscured over time. The ambiguity of “I don’t remember when” highlights how this separation was gradual and unnoticed until its absence became undeniable.

The speaker reminisces about this younger self, describing her as “that girl whose thin arms once held this body and refused to work too hard or listen in school.” This depiction conveys a sense of defiance and freedom, a girl who rejected societal expectations and constraints. The description of her as “that dark child, that laugher and weeper without shame” emphasizes her emotional authenticity and unfiltered engagement with life. The repetition of the word “turned” signifies a pivotal departure, a deliberate choice to leave behind the constraints of adulthood or responsibility, yet it also carries a tone of betrayal, as if the speaker has been abandoned by this freer, unguarded version of herself.

As the poem progresses, Hogan introduces another version of the lost self: “that curving girl I loved to love with, who danced away the leather of red high heels and thin legs.” This image is sensual and celebratory, emphasizing the physicality and joy of youth. The act of dancing becomes a metaphor for freedom and vitality, underscored by the line “dancing like stopping would mean the end of the world and it does.” Here, Hogan suggests that the cessation of this uninhibited movement marks the end of a particular world—the world of youthful exuberance and unselfconscious expression. The repetition of “and it does” reinforces the finality of this loss, hinting at the irrevocable passage of time and the inevitable changes it brings.

The poem's structure mirrors its thematic content: it flows in long, unpunctuated lines that evoke a stream-of-consciousness style, reflecting the speaker's emotional outpouring and the nonlinear nature of memory. This free verse form allows Hogan to blur the boundaries between past and present, thought and feeling, reinforcing the idea that these lost girls are still part of the speaker’s psyche, even if they have become distant.

Hogan’s tone shifts from nostalgic to contemplative as the speaker acknowledges the complexities of aging and self-awareness: “We go on or we don’t, knowing about our inner women and when they left us like we were bad mothers or lovers who wronged ourselves.” This line encapsulates the poem’s central tension—the sense of having failed oneself by neglecting or abandoning these earlier selves. The comparison to “bad mothers or lovers” suggests a deep emotional betrayal, one that carries both guilt and regret. It also highlights the nurturing aspect of self-love and the idea that we must care for all parts of ourselves, even those we have outgrown or rejected.

Yet, despite this sense of loss, the poem is not solely a lament. The speaker expresses a desire to reconnect with these lost girls, to reclaim the joy and freedom they embodied. “Some days it seems one of them is watching, a shadow at the edge of woods with loose hair clear down the back and arms with dark moles crossed before the dress I made with my two red hands.” This image of a shadowy figure at the edge of the woods evokes both mystery and possibility, suggesting that these lost selves are not entirely gone but waiting to be acknowledged. The phrase “the dress I made with my two red hands” signifies both creativity and labor, indicating that the speaker has always been the architect of her own identity, even in the parts she has forgotten or left behind.

The poem culminates in a declaration of intent, as the speaker reaches out to her former selves: “You there, girl, take my calloused hand. I’m going to laugh and weep tonight, quit all my jobs and I mean it this time, do you believe me?” This moment is both a plea and a promise, expressing a yearning to break free from the constraints of adult life and rediscover the uninhibited joy of the past. The rhetorical question “do you believe me?” underscores the difficulty of this endeavor, suggesting that the speaker herself is unsure whether this reconnection is possible.

In the final lines, Hogan moves toward reconciliation and acceptance: “I’m going to put on those dancing shoes and move till I can’t stand it anymore, then touch myself clear down to the sole of each sweet foot.” The act of dancing returns as a symbol of liberation, but now it is tempered by the physical limitations of age and experience. The gesture of touching oneself down to the feet suggests a grounding, a re-rooting in the body and the present moment. The speaker no longer seeks validation from external sources—“That’s all the words I need, not poems, not that talking mother I was with milk and stories peeking in at night.” Instead, she embraces the multiplicity of her identity, recognizing that she is both the nurturing mother and the carefree lover, the responsible adult and the wild child.

The poem concludes with a powerful affirmation of self-love and wholeness: “loving all the girls and women I have always been.” This line encapsulates the poem’s ultimate message—that we carry all our past selves within us, and that embracing them is essential to understanding who we are. By honoring these lost girls, Hogan suggests, we can reclaim the joy, freedom, and authenticity that may have been buried beneath the demands of adulthood.

In "Lost Girls," Linda Hogan crafts a poignant meditation on the evolving nature of identity, the tension between past and present, and the importance of self-reclamation. Through rich imagery, fluid structure, and an intimate, confessional tone, Hogan invites readers to reflect on their own lost selves and the possibility of reconnection. The poem is both a tribute to the resilience of the human spirit and a call to embrace the full spectrum of our experiences, recognizing that even the parts of ourselves we have left behind continue to shape who we are.

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