Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Marie Howe’s "More" is a quiet meditation on waiting, uncertainty, and the inability to control time or fate. The poem begins with an image of falling snow and the sound of a shovel scraping the ground—mundane, repetitive winter activities that serve as a backdrop for deeper reflection. The snow accumulates over "the seeds in the feeder outside the porch window," a detail that suggests both nourishment and obstruction. The seeds, meant to sustain life, are temporarily buried under a layer of snow, much like hope or expectation might be momentarily concealed by time and circumstance.

Howe extends this image into a metaphor: "It looks like a geological map now: the little world in layers: water then silt then rock." The layering of elements—water, silt, rock—suggests the slow, inevitable formation of landscapes over time. This geological progression mirrors emotional sedimentation—the way experiences and emotions accumulate, shaping the speaker’s inner world. It also reinforces the theme of patience, as geological processes unfold over vast stretches of time, impervious to human desire or urgency.

The speaker acknowledges the limits of personal agency: "Wishing a rock into water doesn’t work." This line is both literal and metaphorical—just as a solid rock cannot be transformed into liquid through sheer will, the speaker recognizes that certain things in life cannot be hastened or altered by wanting them to be different. The futility of this wish echoes a longing for change or resolution, but also a reluctant acceptance of what cannot be controlled.

In contrast to this powerlessness, the speaker does have the ability to "reach through the open window and scoop off the snow, scattering it down the four stories with my hand." This small action suggests an attempt to clear a path, to remove an obstacle, even if only momentarily. However, this gesture does not fundamentally alter the waiting that follows. The poem’s final lines shift from external imagery to a deeply personal moment of longing: "But nothing I can do will hurry him or promise it. It might be hours or days before he appears at the door and sits me down and lays his head in my lap."

Here, the focus moves from the impersonal forces of nature to a human relationship, one marked by anticipation and perhaps uncertainty. The identity of "him" remains ambiguous—he could be a lover, a lost friend, a departed brother, or even an imagined figure. The phrasing suggests an act of comfort and surrender, the resting of a head in the speaker’s lap evoking intimacy, trust, and the desire for connection. Yet, the indefinite time frame—"hours or days"—underscores the poem’s central tension: the speaker waits, but there are no guarantees.

The structure of "More" mirrors its themes, unfolding in a quiet, patient rhythm. Each observation leads naturally into the next, mimicking the way thoughts meander during periods of waiting. The poem resists resolution, leaving the reader suspended in the same liminal space as the speaker, uncertain of whether or when the anticipated moment of closeness will arrive.

Ultimately, "More" is a poem about longing and the limits of control—over time, over love, over the return of someone who may or may not come back. It captures the human impulse to clear away obstacles, even when we know that the most important things cannot be rushed, only awaited.

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