Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Linda Hogan’s "What Gets In" is a contemplative exploration of the permeability of our physical and emotional spaces, using the metaphor of a house to reflect on the human condition, vulnerability, and the inevitable interactions between the internal and external worlds. Known for her deep engagement with themes of nature, indigenous identity, and the intersection of human and non-human life, Hogan crafts a poem that blurs the boundaries between the safe, domestic sphere and the wild, uncontrollable forces of the natural and cosmic world. Through vivid imagery and a quiet, almost meditative tone, she reveals the paradox of seeking security in a world where everything, from the smallest insect to the vastness of space, seeks entry.

The poem opens with an unusual but evocative comparison: “In daylight houses expand like chests of majors.” This simile anthropomorphizes the house, suggesting that it breathes and moves like a living organism. The reference to “majors” implies a militaristic posture—proud, disciplined, perhaps defensive. During the day, the house is outwardly strong and secure, projecting an image of control and stability. However, Hogan immediately contrasts this with the house’s nocturnal behavior: “In the dark night they contract.” This contraction at night suggests vulnerability, as if the house, like its inhabitants, becomes more introspective and exposed under the cover of darkness. This duality sets the stage for the poem’s exploration of how perceived security gives way to the underlying anxiety of what might “get in.”

Hogan reassures, but only superficially: “Don’t be afraid, it is only the house breathing out its daily war with termites and slugs.” Here, the natural world intrudes into the domestic space in small but persistent ways. The “daily war” with creatures like termites and slugs underscores the constant, low-level battle between human-made structures and the relentless forces of nature. Even as we attempt to maintain order and control within our homes, the natural world seeps in, reminding us of our fragile boundaries.

The creaks and groans of the house become a source of anxiety: “When walls and floorboards creak we’re afraid of what gets in.” This fear is not just of physical intruders but of the unknown, the uncontrollable. Hogan lists a series of unexpected or unwelcome intrusions: “light from the next house lying prone on the floor, ten o’clock news, a cat, wild from the woods and full of seed stealing in the cracked door.” Each of these represents a different kind of invasion. The “light from the next house” suggests an invasion of privacy, a reminder of the proximity of others even when we seek solitude. The “ten o’clock news” represents the intrusion of the outside world’s chaos and violence into the domestic sphere. The wild cat, “full of seed,” symbolizes nature’s persistence and the inevitable mingling of the wild with the domestic.

Perhaps the most poignant intrusion Hogan mentions is “Even a child from one night of love.” This line introduces a deeply personal, human element to the theme of invasion. While love is typically seen as something positive, the resulting child represents an unexpected, permanent change—an unplanned consequence that alters the landscape of one’s life. This moment encapsulates the poem’s broader theme: that life, in all its forms, insists on entering, transforming the spaces we try to keep controlled.

Hogan asserts that “No place is safe from invasion and everything wants to live.” This line serves as the philosophical heart of the poem, suggesting that the drive for life and existence is universal, transcending boundaries and barriers. Even the “moth with eyes on its wings flying in on light” becomes a symbol of this persistent life force. The moth, drawn to light, embodies both the beauty and inevitability of intrusion—it seeks warmth and survival, but its entry disrupts the carefully maintained interior space.

As the poem moves upstairs, the imagery becomes darker and more mysterious: “And upstairs, the bats are listening with all their dark life / to what we can’t hear.” Bats, often associated with the nocturnal and the unseen, symbolize the aspects of life and existence that operate beyond human perception. Their presence in the eaves—an architectural feature that itself bridges the inside and outside—reinforces the idea that even in the most secluded corners, life thrives and listens, attuned to frequencies beyond our comprehension.

Hogan deepens this sense of cosmic connectivity with the lines: “In true dark / the sound of wind arrives / all the way from stars / and dust from solar storms.” Here, the boundaries between the domestic, the natural, and the cosmic dissolve entirely. The “true dark” is not just the absence of light but a space where the universe’s vastness becomes palpable. The “sound of wind” arriving from “stars” and “dust from solar storms” suggests that the very air we breathe and the sounds we hear are infused with the history and energy of the cosmos. This cosmic intrusion into the domestic space emphasizes the interconnectedness of all things, from the microscopic to the astronomical.

The poem concludes with a reiteration of the central idea: “all the life wanting in, / even the moon at the window.” The moon, often a symbol of tranquility and beauty, here becomes another entity seeking entry. Its presence at the window suggests both a longing and an inevitability—the moonlight cannot be kept out, just as life, in all its forms, will find its way into our lives, our homes, and our hearts.

Structurally, "What Gets In" is written in free verse, allowing Hogan to weave together domestic, natural, and cosmic imagery fluidly. The lack of punctuation in places creates a continuous, flowing rhythm that mirrors the unstoppable force of life infiltrating the spaces we try to protect. Hogan’s language is simple yet evocative, grounding profound philosophical reflections in everyday observations.

Thematically, the poem explores the tension between control and vulnerability, highlighting the porous nature of the boundaries we construct around our lives. Hogan suggests that despite our efforts to create safe, enclosed spaces, we are always subject to the forces of life—whether they manifest as insects, animals, unexpected human relationships, or the cosmic elements that shape our existence. This inevitability is not portrayed as entirely negative; rather, it is a fundamental aspect of being alive.

In conclusion, "What Gets In" is a meditation on the unavoidable permeability of life, illustrating how our attempts at isolation and control are constantly challenged by the natural and cosmic forces that surround us. Through vivid imagery and thoughtful reflection, Linda Hogan reveals that the house—like the human heart and mind—is a space both protected and vulnerable, where the boundaries between inside and outside, self and other, are fluid and ever-changing. The poem invites readers to embrace this interconnectedness, recognizing that the very forces we fear may also be the ones that sustain and enrich our lives.

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