Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Linda Hogan’s "Watch Me" is a fierce, defiant poem that blends themes of loss, resilience, and transformation. Known for her ability to intertwine the natural world with deeply personal experiences, Hogan crafts a narrative that reflects both individual and collective struggles, particularly those of women and mothers. The poem’s speaker confronts aging, grief, and the societal expectations placed upon women, ultimately finding empowerment through movement and an unyielding connection to life.

The opening lines immediately establish a dramatic, almost apocalyptic atmosphere: "White cows in the lightning left through a torn seam of the sky." The image of white cows—symbols of domesticity, nourishment, and livelihood—disappearing into a storm suggests a sudden rupture in the speaker’s world. The torn seam of the sky evokes both natural violence and a sense of cosmic unraveling, as if the very fabric of existence has been ripped apart. This line sets the stage for the personal upheaval that follows, hinting at a loss that is both literal and symbolic.

Mothers are at tables crying but pay no mind. This line introduces a communal element to the poem. The mothers represent a shared experience of sorrow, perhaps rooted in traditional roles that confine women to domestic spaces and emotional labor. However, the directive to pay no mind signals the speaker’s refusal to be consumed by this sorrow. There’s a tension here between acknowledging grief and resisting its paralysis, a theme that will unfold throughout the poem.

The speaker then reflects on a pivotal shift in her identity: "This year I was suddenly old, a mother, and without a single cow to my name." The suddenness of aging and the assumption of motherhood suggest a loss of youth and freedom, while the absence of a single cow underscores a deeper sense of dispossession. Cows, often symbols of sustenance and stability, represent what the speaker has lost—whether literal resources or metaphorical anchors. Yet, the tone is not entirely mournful; instead, there’s an undercurrent of wry acceptance, as if the speaker is both surprised and amused by life’s abrupt changes.

The poem takes a surreal turn with the story of another woman: "I heard about the woman who found an old hand in adobe and how the doors of her house opened all night." This eerie anecdote introduces the idea of the past haunting the present. The old hand in adobe—a fragment of a life buried in the earth—suggests that remnants of history, both personal and collective, continue to exert influence. The doors of her house opened all night could symbolize vulnerability, a lack of control, or an invitation to forces beyond understanding. This story parallels the speaker’s own recognition of how her body and life are shaped by unseen forces: "so I know even my hand has its own life."

This acknowledgment leads to a profound realization: "my heart never believed the end of anything, not to mention the shank which keeps getting ahead of me." The heart’s refusal to believe in endings reflects a deep-seated resilience, a belief in continuity despite loss or change. The shank—a term that can refer to both the part of the leg and a makeshift weapon—introduces a dual image of movement and defense. It keeps getting ahead of me, suggesting that life, in all its complexity, is always in motion, always pushing forward.

The speaker’s declaration, "I won’t weep at tables at home or in cowboy bars," marks a turning point in the poem. By rejecting traditional spaces of mourning—tables at home representing domestic sorrow, and cowboy bars symbolizing a rugged, perhaps performative kind of grief—the speaker asserts her agency. "I am done with weeping." This definitive statement is both a personal resolution and a broader challenge to societal expectations that women should internalize or perform their pain.

Instead of succumbing to grief, the speaker turns to the body as a site of resistance and expression: "The bones of this body say, dance." Here, the body is not merely a vessel of suffering but a source of power and vitality. The command to dance is both literal and metaphorical—it’s an act of defiance, a way to embody life’s stories and struggles through movement. Dancing becomes a form of storytelling, a means of reclaiming agency and celebrating resilience: "Dance the story of life."

The poem’s final lines are a call to collective action and witness: "Mothers, rise up from the tables. Watch me, I will dance all our lives." The speaker extends her personal transformation to other women, urging them to reject passive mourning and embrace active, embodied living. The imperative watch me is both a challenge and an invitation, asserting the speaker’s presence and insisting that her story—and by extension, the stories of all women—be seen and acknowledged.

"These bones don’t lie, just watch." The closing line reaffirms the truth inherent in the body. Bones, as the most enduring part of the human form, symbolize the fundamental truths of existence. They carry the weight of experience and memory, but they also represent strength and permanence. The speaker’s confidence in her bones suggests an unshakable belief in the power of the body to tell its own story, to assert its place in the world.

In "Watch Me," Linda Hogan crafts a powerful narrative of resilience and defiance. Through vivid imagery and a blend of personal and communal experiences, the poem explores themes of loss, aging, and transformation. The speaker’s journey from grief to empowerment is both deeply individual and universally resonant, reflecting the enduring human capacity to find strength in the face of life’s inevitable changes. Hogan’s use of the body as a site of both vulnerability and power underscores the importance of physical and emotional presence, making this poem a stirring testament to the transformative potential of embracing life’s rhythms and stories.

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