Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

"Contemporary Theorist Alone at Dusk in His Chair by the Sea" by Christopher Howell is a reflective meditation on the limits of language, knowledge, and the experience of the sublime. Through the figure of a contemporary theorist, Howell explores themes of transcendence, skepticism, and the inadequacy of intellectual constructs to capture the essence of existence. The poem juxtaposes a sense of intellectual rigor with moments of wordless beauty and mystery, ultimately suggesting that life’s profound experiences may lie beyond the grasp of theory and language.

The poem opens with a striking image: “The peaceful agony of cats / waiting for supper on a wide bright porch / says be wordless, if you like.” This line immediately captures a paradox, where “peaceful agony” suggests a state of anticipation that is both calm and intense. The cats’ quiet waiting embodies a silent acceptance, a state of being that suggests the futility or unnecessary nature of words. Their state, “filled with summer light,” becomes an emblem of pure existence, untethered by analysis or the need for explanation. Through this, Howell hints at the possibility of experiencing life directly rather than constantly interpreting or dissecting it.

Howell introduces figures from history and mythology—Zachary Taylor, the Dalton Gang, and Romans by the Tiber—as symbolic representations of eras and civilizations past, each carrying a certain quiet dignity in their “silent glisten.” This assembly of seemingly disconnected characters suggests that they, like the theorist, observe life without imposing definitions, finding themselves part of a continuum of observation. Their association with “late sun on water” evokes a sense of serene contemplation, as if these figures are witnessing an eternal truth that words and theories can only gesture towards. The theorist, with his “hand on a shut book,” is similarly positioned as an observer, perhaps tempted to derive meaning but also aware of the futility of doing so.

The line “Tell it to stop implying transcendence and the shameless / presence of gods whose love is only the inexplicable” reflects the theorist’s frustration with the urge to assign grand meaning to experiences and phenomena. This frustration may stem from a desire to strip away illusions or simply a resignation to the fact that the sublime—here symbolized by “the gods”—is often elusive and beyond explanation. The gods’ love is compared to “the inexplicable,” an experience that exists without the need for understanding. The cats, filled with light, embody this inexplicable presence, existing without needing to define their existence.

Howell’s use of language also reveals the theorist’s weariness with the intellectual exercise of “feeling holy” and “longing-to-define.” Theorizing, as Howell suggests, can be a “vaunted longing-to-define” that produces “slow and ugly / necessary thoughts.” This implies that while theory and analysis are foundational to understanding, they can also feel burdensome, as if they obscure the natural clarity of experience. The theorist reflects that he’s been “to the mountain” and “the other mountain,” and that “they were about the same,” suggesting that even profound journeys may ultimately reveal nothing new or transcendent, only different forms of the same mystery.

The theorist’s resignation culminates in the observation, “what’s here is the strangeness / filling everything / and unable to talk about it.” Howell captures a sense of profound wonderment, acknowledging the strangeness and beauty of existence while admitting that this beauty cannot be adequately articulated. The strangeness “filling everything” hints at the sublime—a vast, silent force or presence that permeates all things, yet remains unexplainable. This acknowledgment of life’s ineffable qualities marks a turning point for the theorist, who realizes that some experiences, no matter how intensely felt, resist words and categorization.

The poem’s concluding lines underscore this tension between knowing and unknowing. “Words are wasted / on the water, no matter how metaphorical,” Howell writes, suggesting that language, despite its power to convey meaning, falls short when faced with the sublime. Even the most vivid metaphors cannot capture the essence of the sea or sky; instead, they become exercises in self-reference, always “referring… only to itself.” The theorist’s acceptance of this limitation is both humbling and liberating, as he finally admits that grace, “like a brother,” is “something you never asked for, / something like you.”

"Contemporary Theorist Alone at Dusk in His Chair by the Sea" is an eloquent exploration of the limitations of intellectual understanding in the face of life’s mysteries. Howell uses the figure of the theorist to illustrate the beauty of surrendering to the unknown, to acknowledge the strangeness and complexity of existence without needing to define it. The poem suggests that true understanding may lie not in explanation, but in silent appreciation, a wordless communion with the world that, though beyond reason, holds its own form of truth and grace. Through this contemplative and richly layered work, Howell offers a powerful reminder of the beauty of existence, urging readers to embrace the inexplicable rather than continually striving to reduce it to words.

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