Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Donald Justice’s "In Memory of My Friend, the Bassoonist, John Lenox" is a tender elegy that celebrates a singular life while grappling with loss and the passage of time. The poem is a vivid portrait of John Lenox, a contrabassoonist, autodidact, and eccentric who embodied a rich individuality. Through its meditative tone and layered imagery, the poem offers a deeply personal exploration of friendship, mortality, and the way memory preserves and reshapes the lives of those we’ve lost.

The opening lines establish Lenox as a unique figure: “One winter he was the best / Contrabassoonist south / Of Washington D.C.— / The only one.” The dry humor in this statement sets the tone for a poem that is both affectionate and unsentimental. The phrasing elevates Lenox’s skill while acknowledging its rarity in a wry manner, emphasizing his isolation in “lonely eminence.” This duality—a combination of admiration and solitude—underscores Lenox’s distinctiveness, a theme that threads through the poem.

Justice paints Lenox’s surroundings with a romantic, almost mythic quality. Lenox is likened to a “lost island king,” ruling over “his blue front lawn” and the “Shakespearian feuds and passions” of pigeons. These images evoke a sense of grandeur mixed with whimsy, as if Lenox inhabited a world shaped entirely by his imagination and idiosyncrasies. The portrayal of pigeons as dramatists adds humor, while the backdrop of the bay and the high porch situates him in a tangible, almost nostalgic landscape. Justice’s ability to combine the everyday with the extraordinary reflects the richness of Lenox’s character and life.

The poem shifts into a moment of historical specificity with the mention of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Lenox’s response to this world-altering event—stocking his boat with booze, charts, and a silver flute—demonstrates his resourcefulness and eccentricity. His decision to teach himself the flute “casually, one evening” speaks to his autodidactic nature and his ability to approach life with curiosity and ease. This anecdote encapsulates Lenox’s spirit, a mix of preparedness, humor, and ingenuity, even in the face of potential disaster.

Justice moves from Lenox’s outward actions to his inner world, describing him as “O autodidact supreme!” The invocation suggests a reverence for Lenox’s self-made wisdom and independence. The line “John, where you are now can you see?” transitions the poem into an elegiac mode, addressing Lenox in the afterlife. The questions that follow—about pigeons, bassoons, and flutes—convey a longing to imagine his continued existence in a realm that mirrors his unique spirit. The repetition of “Do” in these inquiries emphasizes both the poet’s curiosity and his grief.

The juxtaposition of Lenox’s vitality with the memory of his death is striking. Justice recalls “the hideous green sofa” where Lenox was “slumped,” a grim image that contrasts sharply with the vibrancy of his earlier descriptions. Yet the speaker refuses to dwell on this moment, asserting instead that Lenox is “off somewhere, / Off with Gauguin and Christian / Amid hibiscus’d isles.” This imagined afterlife—one of tropical beauty, art, and freedom—serves as a testament to Lenox’s spirit, which transcends the limitations of his earthly life.

Justice’s language in the latter half of the poem becomes more reflective, capturing the passage of time and the changes wrought by loss. The bay, once Lenox’s kingdom, is now “printed, with many boats…thick as trash,” a poignant reminder of how the world moves on, often at the expense of what was cherished. The high porch, symbolic of Lenox’s realm, has been “gone up in the smoke of money, money,” a biting critique of modernity’s encroachments.

Despite this lament for change, the poem closes with a moment of beauty and connection: “Across the way, / Someone is practicing sonatas. / And the sea air smells again of good gin.” The music and the scent evoke Lenox’s presence, suggesting that his essence lingers in the small pleasures and rituals of life. This ending is both a tribute to Lenox and a meditation on memory’s power to preserve the best of those we’ve lost.

Structurally, the poem’s free verse mirrors the ebb and flow of memory, allowing Justice to weave together anecdotes, reflections, and elegiac musings. The shifts in tone—from humorous to solemn, nostalgic to critical—reflect the complexity of grief and the multifaceted nature of Lenox himself. Justice’s precise yet conversational language creates an intimacy that invites readers into his personal remembrance.

Ultimately, "In Memory of My Friend, the Bassoonist, John Lenox" is a celebration of individuality and a poignant meditation on loss. Justice captures not only the character of his friend but also the universal experience of mourning someone irreplaceable. Through vivid imagery, tender humor, and a deep sense of humanity, the poem reminds us that even as the world changes, the memories of those we love endure, shaping the landscapes of our hearts.

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