Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In "Ride," Christopher Howell captures a haunting memory from a shared journey, reflecting on the complexities of human connection, silence, and the weight of experience. Through rich, evocative language, Howell examines the subtle tensions between those who speak and those who remain silent, weaving together themes of judgment, regret, and understanding. The poem unfolds like a quiet revelation, drawing readers into a single night and a singular memory that ultimately speaks to the larger truths about the costs of expression and the barriers between people, even when they are in close proximity.

The poem opens with a line that sets the tone for the reflective, almost confessional narrative to follow: “You probably don’t remember, it was years ago.” Howell’s use of second-person immediately creates a sense of intimacy, as though the speaker is recounting a memory directly to someone who may have forgotten it, or perhaps to himself as he tries to reconcile his own lingering thoughts about that night. This opening line evokes the hazy quality of memories that have aged, where certain details remain vivid while others fade, reinforcing the sense of distance and detachment that permeates the poem.

The scene is set on a night-time drive to Springfield in a “rattletrap van,” evoking a feeling of transience and instability as the group makes their way along back roads. The mention of “ghostly broken mill towns” suggests that they are traveling through a desolate, perhaps decaying landscape, which mirrors the subdued and somewhat somber atmosphere of the ride. Howell introduces the main figure of the poem, who sits silently with “a pint of peach brandy in a bag on [their] knees,” creating an image of isolation and introspection. This character’s silence becomes a focal point, setting them apart from the others in the van who are engaged in conversation, discussing “the evening or the road” or simply looking for any connection. The group’s desire for the silent passenger to “speak as we spoke” hints at a need for shared experiences and a yearning for understanding, but it is met with only silence.

Howell’s speaker initially interprets this silence as disdain, thinking the person “disdainful of us maybe, or too drunk to know” their companions’ desire for connection. The silence, from the speaker’s perspective, feels like a rejection or dismissal, as if the person with the brandy bottle is actively choosing to withdraw. This judgment reflects a common human reaction to silence—the tendency to interpret it as a form of judgment or aloofness, as though the refusal to speak were a critique of those who do. The silence becomes uncomfortable, almost accusatory, a reminder of how unsettling it can be when someone chooses not to engage in a setting that typically demands it.

The turning point in the poem occurs when the van hits a possum and her “kittens,” a visceral image that momentarily breaks the silence. Howell’s description of the possum as “a string of bells” hanging from the mother creates a haunting, almost surreal image, as though the moment is frozen in time. Tremblay, the driver, “nearly cried, rocking like a bear in the headlight beams,” showing a deeply emotional response to the incident, one that contrasts starkly with the silent figure’s reaction. The passenger does not leave the van to join the others, instead remaining inside, apart from the shared moment of mourning and consolation that takes place outside. This moment solidifies the gap between the silent figure and the rest of the group, emphasizing the sense of separation and unbridgeable distance.

As they reach their destination and exit the van, the silent figure finally speaks, saying, “It’s cold tonight” to no one in particular. This simple statement is striking in its ordinariness and vagueness, a comment that feels almost out of place after the shared trauma and the tension of the journey. Howell’s speaker realizes, in this moment, that their judgment of the silent figure is “a broken worried thing,” hinting at a shift in understanding. The speaker begins to see that this person’s silence was not a sign of disdain or intoxication but a deliberate choice, a way of preserving something private and untouched by the demands of conversation or the need for validation.

The poem concludes with the speaker’s recognition of the silent figure’s experience, acknowledging that they “simply hadn’t cared / to speak.” This silence, Howell suggests, is not a lack but a strength, a choice to remain apart from the shared moment rather than risk what the voice “can cost.” Howell delves into the implications of speaking and the vulnerability it entails, noting that voice can “wrongly…take you / into the path of a transfixing lie, its headlights / coming on / monstrous and too beautiful for words.” These final lines evoke a sense of danger in words, suggesting that speaking can lead one astray, exposing the speaker to deception and illusions that may ultimately harm or betray.

The “transfixing lie” is a powerful image, capturing the allure and potential destructiveness of words. Howell implies that the silent figure understands this risk and has chosen silence as a way to avoid the potential pitfalls of speech. Their decision to withhold words is not out of disdain but out of an understanding that speaking could expose them to vulnerabilities or even to a truth they would rather not confront. The silent figure’s experience is one of quiet resilience, a refusal to be swept up in the illusions or expectations of others, a choice to remain self-contained and untarnished by the inevitable misunderstandings that words bring.

"Ride" is a meditation on silence, memory, and the complexities of human connection. Through the subtle interplay of speech and silence, Howell explores the nuanced ways people navigate relationships, revealing the tensions between shared experiences and personal boundaries. The silent figure in the poem becomes a symbol of resilience, someone who values their inner world over the need for validation or connection. Howell’s speaker, in retrospect, comes to understand this silence as a form of wisdom, a reminder that sometimes the greatest truths are found not in words but in the spaces between them. The poem leaves readers with a sense of reverence for the mysteries of others, acknowledging that true understanding often requires letting go of judgment and simply allowing others to be.

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