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Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THESE WORKING HANDS?, by                 Poet's Biography

Linda Hogan’s "What Has Happened to These Working Hands?" is a deeply introspective meditation on the physical and emotional histories carried by the human body, particularly through the hands. Hogan, known for her connection to nature and indigenous traditions, explores how hands serve as both literal tools of labor and symbolic vessels of memory, trauma, and resilience. Through a series of vivid, tactile images, she traces the journey of hands that have toiled, comforted, rebelled, and grieved, turning them into a metaphor for personal and collective experiences.

The poem opens with a grounding in the natural world: "They opened the ground and closed it around seeds. / They added a pinch of tobacco." These lines immediately situate the hands within a context of traditional practices—planting seeds and offering tobacco, a sacred ritual in many Native cultures. The act of opening and closing the ground reflects the cycle of life, death, and renewal, a recurring theme in Hogan's work. The hands are not just instruments of labor but are deeply connected to the earth, embodying a reverence for nature and a continuation of ancestral customs.

As the poem progresses, Hogan expands the role of the hands beyond agricultural work to include caregiving: "They cleaned tired old bodies / and bathed infants." Here, the hands become symbols of nurturing and care, spanning the spectrum of life from the elderly to the newborn. This dual role highlights the hands’ capacity for both strength and tenderness, illustrating how they serve as bridges between generations and between life’s beginnings and endings.

The shift from nurturing to suffering is subtle but powerful: "They got splinters from the dried-out handles of axes." The splinters are small, almost mundane injuries, yet they signify the cumulative pain of hard work and the harshness of life. The mention of axes suggests manual labor, possibly in logging or chopping wood, which connects back to the earth but also introduces the idea of struggle and the physical toll of survival. The phrase "The right one suspected what the left was doing / and the arms began to ache" personifies the hands, giving them a consciousness that reflects internal conflict and weariness. The suspicion between the right and left hands suggests a deeper dissonance within the self, hinting at the emotional strain that parallels physical exhaustion.

The poem delves into personal pain and grief: "They clawed at each other when life hurt. / They pulled at my hair when I mourned." These lines depict hands turning inward, grappling with emotional suffering. The act of clawing at oneself conveys a visceral response to pain, while pulling at hair is a universal gesture of mourning and frustration. The hands are no longer just tools; they become extensions of emotional expression, unable to separate themselves from the body’s internal turmoil.

Hogan introduces the theme of creativity with: "They tangled my hair when I dreamed poems." This image intertwines the physical and the imaginative, suggesting that even in moments of artistic inspiration, the body is involved. The hands, once agents of labor and care, now participate in the act of creation, though even this process is not without its complications—the tangling of hair implies both the complexity and the messiness of translating dreams into words.

The poem’s tone darkens as Hogan reflects on broader societal issues: "As fists they hit the bed / when war spread again throughout the world." The transformation of hands into fists signifies anger and resistance, a reaction to global injustices and violence. The hands, once gentle and nurturing, now become instruments of protest. This anger becomes destructive in the next lines: "They went crazy and broke glasses." The breaking of glasses symbolizes a loss of control, perhaps a response to the overwhelming weight of personal and collective suffering.

Hogan also touches on the alienation that comes with assimilation and education: "They regretted going to school where they became so soft / their relatives mistook them for strangers." This poignant observation speaks to the tension between traditional ways of life and the pressures of adapting to a modern, often Westernized world. Education, while offering new opportunities, also distances the speaker from their cultural roots, softening the hands that once knew the earth intimately. The relatives’ perception of the speaker as a stranger underscores the loss of connection and identity that can result from such transitions.

Despite these hardships, the hands retain their capacity for simple, human gestures: "They turned lamps off and on / and tapped out songs on tables, / made crosses over the heart." These actions are both mundane and meaningful, reflecting the hands’ role in daily rituals and spiritual practices. The act of making crosses over the heart suggests a blending of indigenous and Christian traditions, a nod to the complex cultural heritage many Native people navigate.

The poem circles back to themes of grief and comfort: "They covered my face when I cried, / my mouth when I laughed." The hands serve as both shields and silencers, protecting the speaker from external judgment while also containing emotions that might otherwise be too overwhelming. The dialogue between the hands adds a tender, almost humorous note: “You’ve got troubles,” said the left hand to the right, / ‘Here, let me hold you.’” This anthropomorphizing of the hands reflects the speaker’s self-soothing mechanisms, illustrating how even in solitude, there is an internal dialogue of care and resilience.

The closing lines of the poem return to the earth and tradition: "These hands untwisted buried roots. / They drummed the old burial songs. / They heard there were men cruel enough to crush them. / They drummed the old buried songs." The untwisting of buried roots symbolizes a reconnection to ancestral knowledge and the unearthing of cultural identity. The drumming of burial songs ties the hands back to communal rituals of mourning and remembrance, emphasizing their role in sustaining cultural traditions. The repetition of "They drummed the old buried songs" reinforces the cyclical nature of history and the enduring power of cultural memory, even in the face of violence and oppression.

Structurally, the poem flows like a series of memories or vignettes, each line building on the last to create a rich tapestry of experiences. Hogan’s use of plain, direct language mirrors the simplicity and honesty of the hands’ work, while the repetition of certain phrases—such as the drumming of burial songs—creates a rhythmic, almost hypnotic effect that echoes traditional oral storytelling.

At its heart, "What Has Happened to These Working Hands?" is a testament to resilience. Hogan illustrates how hands, as extensions of the self, carry the weight of labor, love, grief, and creativity. They are witnesses to personal and collective histories, bearing the scars of both physical toil and emotional strife. Through this exploration, Hogan honors the endurance of those who have come before and acknowledges the complex legacy that shapes our present. The hands, despite their wear and tear, remain active participants in the ongoing story of life, culture, and survival.


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