Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In "Like Feelings," Christopher Howell captures a nocturnal journey that fuses the ordinary with the profound, presenting a serene yet haunting meditation on companionship, continuity, and the quiet but inevitable presence of life’s darker undertones. Through the simple act of walking with his dog under the moonlight, Howell explores themes of memory, mortality, and acceptance, weaving together moments of tranquility and disturbance to reveal the complex, layered nature of life’s seemingly mundane experiences.

The opening lines situate the reader in a scene drenched in moonlight, with Howell describing how it “is all over the sycamores and down the street singing like a drunk.” This personification of moonlight adds a surreal, almost whimsical quality to the night, suggesting that the moonlight, like a celebratory yet tipsy presence, imbues everything it touches with a kind of mystical vitality. The moonlight’s expansive reach—spreading across the sycamores, the street, and even the speaker and his dog—creates a sense of unity, binding the speaker’s personal experience to the larger, universal rhythm of nature. In this moment, the moonlight becomes not just a backdrop but an active participant, a kind of companion illuminating the intimate “evening’s amble” of the speaker and his dog, underscoring the comforting familiarity of this shared ritual.

Howell’s walk with his dog is framed as a deeply personal journey, one that has unfolded over “fifteen years” of “walking the night streets.” This long span of time suggests a life of continuity and companionship, with each night’s walk building upon the memories of those before it. Howell uses the imagery of being “pleasantly fried by dreams lifting everywhere along the elm boughs,” a line that beautifully conveys how these nocturnal journeys have shaped the speaker’s inner landscape. The dream-like quality of the elm boughs, softly rustling and lifting, reflects the gradual, almost imperceptible way memories accumulate over time, filling the speaker and his dog “like jars, with all our nights and walks together.” Howell’s choice of the word “jars” is significant; it suggests that these memories are precious, carefully collected and contained, kept safe from spilling or shattering.

However, Howell introduces a jarring shift in tone with the sudden appearance of “an angry shadow from an alley” that “leaps and shoots us.” This violent intrusion disrupts the calm and continuity of the scene, confronting the reader with a reminder of mortality and vulnerability. The fact that the speaker and his dog “just step out of our bodies and go on” introduces an almost surreal acceptance of this event, as though the boundary between life and death has momentarily blurred. Howell treats this fatal moment with a calm, almost detached perspective, as if acknowledging the inevitability of death as just another step along the path. This line, imbued with both humor and poignancy, suggests an acceptance of life’s impermanence, a recognition that even the most treasured rituals must eventually come to an end.

The speaker’s reflection on this moment is both introspective and unassuming. He remarks, “That’s life, thank God (mine and the god of dogs),” a phrase that speaks to the unspoken bond between the speaker and his canine companion. This quiet gratitude, shared between the speaker and the “god of dogs,” emphasizes a kind of simple, unadorned reverence for life’s unpredictable nature. Howell’s reluctance to tell his dog or “anyone” about the “pain of it shut off” or the “last deceit” hints at the futility of explaining such profound feelings, as though words would only diminish the depth of his experience. The dog, merely listening as “things gleam and lumber in the rows of darknesses,” is a silent confidant, an unjudging presence who shares in the speaker’s journey without the need for understanding or explanation.

Howell contemplates what he might say to his dog, exploring the limits of communication and the layered meanings of companionship. He considers telling the dog about the “sanctity of moments” or making a hollow promise of a “bone when we get back,” acknowledging the waywardness of language and the inherent distance between speech and truth. These musings reveal Howell’s awareness of the limitations of words, as though any attempt to articulate the experience would inevitably fall short. The speaker’s contemplation of love as being “like the air sometimes (and vice versa), which is to say, all there is to live on,” captures the intangible, omnipresent quality of love. This simile, blending love and air, underscores love’s necessity and its elusiveness, suggesting that it sustains life even when it remains unseen or unspoken.

In "Like Feelings," Howell delves into the layered simplicity of an evening walk, elevating it to a meditation on memory, mortality, and acceptance. Through vivid imagery, he conveys the richness of the speaker’s bond with his dog, a relationship built on silent understanding and shared experiences rather than words. The moonlight, the trees, and even the sudden threat of violence serve as reminders of life’s unpredictability, its beauty and fragility intertwined. Howell’s poem ultimately celebrates the quiet endurance of love and companionship, capturing the way memories and shared moments accumulate, forming a foundation that remains intact even in the face of life’s inevitable darknesses.

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