Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In "Cry," Christopher Howell captures the haunting and intense experience of encountering an unknown creature’s call in the night, using this moment to explore themes of grief, fear, and the limitations of empathy. Through the setting of a misty autumn night, Howell weaves together feelings of dread, compassion, and helplessness as he contemplates the boundaries between himself and this suffering presence. The poem’s reflective tone and powerful imagery create an atmosphere that is both eerie and deeply moving, inviting readers to consider the universal resonance of pain and the innate human desire to respond, even when doing so feels impossible.

The poem opens with the image of the moon “hang[ing] in alders by the bridge,” casting its light on a “choked hollow” below. This landscape—a dark, overgrown space—suggests mystery and isolation, a fitting setting for the unsettling cry that soon rises from it. Howell establishes a mood of desolation and suspense, positioning the hollow as a place where something hidden is struggling or in distress. The cry that emerges from this scene “trumpets up the ladders of mist and cold,” a vivid phrase that personifies the sound as an act of pure desperation. Howell’s description gives the impression that the cry is a raw, almost defiant response to an indifferent world, rising despite the surrounding mist and cold. This image conveys the idea that the creature’s grief or pain is overpowering and unstoppable, commanding the attention of everything around it.

Howell’s speaker reacts with both fear and empathy to this mysterious cry, confessing, “I’m afraid of you, whatever you are, and of your grief or pain.” The fear seems rooted not only in the unknown nature of the creature but also in the intensity of its suffering, which the speaker describes as a “gift no one will take.” This comparison of grief to an unwanted gift implies that the creature’s pain is being offered to the world, yet it remains unacknowledged, left to echo unanswered in the darkness. The speaker’s acknowledgment of this loneliness and isolation hints at a shared understanding of suffering, an empathy that makes the scene more unsettling. The grief Howell describes here is not merely personal or isolated but something profound that any creature, human or otherwise, can recognize.

At one point, the speaker contemplates descending to the hollow, imagining that he “will come down to you through scotch broom and heaps of leaves and put my fingers softly to your throat.” This imagined scene is intimate, even tender, suggesting that the speaker’s instinct is to comfort the creature and offer solace. Howell’s choice to use language like “softly” and “stroke you” conveys a genuine desire to ease the creature’s pain, to soothe it in a moment of vulnerability. Yet, he quickly recoils from this impulse, admitting, “But it’s autumn now and I don’t want to die or hear you, dying fascination.” This seasonal reference to autumn implies a time of decay, endings, and vulnerability. The speaker’s fear of engaging with the creature’s suffering reflects a self-preserving instinct to avoid facing mortality and anguish, emotions that feel intensified in the season of autumn when the natural world is visibly fading.

The speaker ultimately turns away, even as the creature’s cries continue to “rasp… onto the air.” Howell introduces an owl’s call, which he describes as “testing / testing,” as though the owl, like the speaker, is attempting to make sense of the sound. This moment of testing suggests a kind of communal response to suffering, an instinctive reaction that resonates even among animals. Yet, despite this shared awareness, the speaker is unable to respond meaningfully, choosing instead to “turn toward home, / nudging aside pity, guilt, and echoes / of the suffering every creature knows.” This line underscores the speaker’s reluctance to confront the full weight of the creature’s suffering, acknowledging it as part of a broader experience that “every creature knows.” Howell suggests that while the speaker can recognize and empathize with suffering, he is also constrained by his own limitations, choosing to walk away rather than fully engage with the creature’s pain.

The poem’s conclusion is particularly poignant, as the speaker reflects, “Nothing changes what I cannot do.” This line expresses a sense of powerlessness, a recognition that his empathy alone cannot alter the creature’s fate or alleviate its suffering. This helplessness is a heavy burden that he carries, as Howell writes, “This is how broken things / pile up inside of me.” The “broken things” signify unresolved pain, moments of empathy that went unfulfilled, and the speaker’s inability to address the suffering he encounters. These experiences accumulate within him, forming an internal weight that he carries, a reminder of the limitations of compassion when it cannot be fully acted upon.

In the final lines, the speaker calls out, “I love you. Come to me / because I cannot come to you.” This declaration of love is both a plea and an acknowledgment of separation. By saying, “I cannot come to you,” the speaker admits his own limitations, expressing a longing for connection while acknowledging the barriers that prevent it. Howell’s closing lines resonate with a deep sense of sorrow and resignation, as the speaker offers love from a distance, unable to bridge the divide between himself and the creature. This final call captures the essence of the poem’s theme—the idea that love and empathy are often constrained by fear, distance, and the impossibility of fully understanding another’s suffering.

"Cry" is a meditation on the limits of compassion, the weight of unfulfilled empathy, and the universal experience of suffering that connects all creatures, even as it isolates them. Howell’s speaker embodies the tension between the desire to comfort and the instinct to protect oneself from pain, reflecting on the struggles we face when confronted with another’s anguish. Through haunting imagery and evocative language, Howell explores the bittersweet nature of empathy—the way it opens us to love and connection, even as it reminds us of our own fragility and the boundaries we cannot cross. In the end, the poem leaves readers with a sense of unresolved longing, a reminder that love and empathy are often imperfect, limited gifts that, while sincere, cannot always reach their intended recipients.

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