Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lynda Hull?s "Abacus" is a vivid and haunting exploration of memory, loss, and the intricate connections forged through place and time. Set against the evocative backdrop of Chinatown, the poem weaves together fragmented recollections, cultural motifs, and a sense of longing for what is lost yet persistently present. Hull’s characteristic lush imagery and nuanced language elevate the narrative, transforming ordinary scenes into rich, almost mythic landscapes.

The poem opens in a moment of quiet introspection, with the speaker returning to Chinatown and its familiar yet transformed streets. "No grand drama, only Chinatown?s incendiary glow, me returning to the old delinquent thrill of us / passing through this jimmied door" sets the tone for the reflective journey. The diction—words like "incendiary," "delinquent," and "jimmied"—suggests a mix of danger, allure, and nostalgia. The mention of the herbalist’s shop, now defunct and closed with an "accordion grille," immediately establishes a sense of loss and change, as though the physical space mirrors the speaker’s internal landscape.

Hull situates the speaker’s memories within the vibrant yet shadowy world of Chinatown, where daily life is marked by cultural rituals and survival. The imagery is strikingly tactile: "old women smoothing newsprint sheets for carp steamed to feathers of flesh" and "the gold-toothed Cantonese lifts her tray of pastries streaming red characters for sweet lotus, bitter melon, those for fortune, grief, for marriage & rupture." These details create a sensory-rich tableau, blending the mundane with the symbolic. The food, marked by its dualities—sweet and bitter, fortune and grief—parallels the emotional complexities of the speaker’s recollections.

Central to the poem is the relationship between the speaker and the "First Husband," a figure entwined with the past and the faded allure of a shared life. The torn wedding photograph—"your brilliantine & sharkskin, my black-brimmed hat, a cluster of glass cherries"—becomes a talisman of that time, encapsulating youthful ambition and fragility. The description is simultaneously glamorous and poignant, evoking the artifice of a life that could not sustain itself. The "second wife" mentioned in passing underscores the fragmentation of relationships and identities, as well as the inevitability of change.

As the poem progresses, Hull layers time and memory with a dreamlike quality, blurring the line between past and present. The speaker recalls the nights spent in the herbalist’s shop, the poker games, and the "bruised...feet from dancing six sets a night." These moments are rendered with a sensual immediacy, but they are also tinged with melancholy. The speaker acknowledges the impossibility of fully reclaiming the past, as seen in the line, "Not much, but what I choose to shape sleepless nights far from here." The act of remembering becomes both a comfort and a source of pain.

Chinatown itself emerges as a character in the poem, its streets and architecture imbued with life and history. Hull’s descriptions—"Chinatown?s iron lintels, the hiss & spill of neon fog" and "the harsh auroral radiance of the squad car?s liquid lights"—capture the neighborhood’s duality as a place of beauty and hardship. The "businesses fold & open like paper lilies" becomes a poignant metaphor for the transient nature of both commerce and human connections, emphasizing the impermanence of everything the speaker holds dear.

The titular abacus serves as a potent symbol, appearing in the final stanza as a tool for calculation and balance. The herbalist, "commenc[ing] the sum of unguents, of healing roots," represents an attempt to reconcile and heal, to make sense of life’s intangibles. Yet the abacus also signifies the limits of understanding—some calculations remain "beyond all worth." This duality reflects the poem’s overarching theme: the tension between the measurable and the immeasurable, the tangible and the ephemeral.

The poem’s closing lines return to the motif of cultural and personal inheritance. The speaker notes the "lacquered maze of corridors & places where those once loved unbearably wear strangers? faces," highlighting the disorienting nature of memory and the passage of time. The "twisted braille of hearts & knives incised upon the counter" suggests both permanence and decay, a reminder that even the most enduring marks are subject to interpretation and erosion.

"Abacus" exemplifies Lynda Hull’s mastery of poetic form and her ability to create layered, emotionally resonant landscapes. Through its interplay of personal history, cultural memory, and sensory detail, the poem captures the complexity of human connections and the enduring pull of places that shape our identities. Hull’s meditative approach invites readers to reflect on their own relationships with time, memory, and the spaces that hold their lives together.

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