Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In Cane, Cleopatra Mathis weaves a vivid and visceral meditation on labor, exploitation, and memory through the figure of a mule powering a sugarcane press. The poem juxtaposes the relentless toil of both the mule and the human workers with the sweetness of the product they extract, exploring the costs of industry and the invisibility of suffering within the rhythms of production.

The mule, central to the poem, becomes an emblem of labor's cyclical nature, its endurance etched into the "splintered hand of a clock." The mule’s role is defined by repetition: circling under a "coarse beam," its body powers the iron press that "wrung the sugar out of cane." The mechanical imagery—“the groan and squeak of machinery”—renders the mule almost indistinguishable from the tools it drives, a living extension of the grinding process. The mule’s resistance, conveyed through the act of "balking," invites the reader to recognize its suffering, which is met with violence: a hand slap, the "angry trick" of the stick, or even the "thrash of a cane stalk." The use of the very cane the mule is processing to strike it underscores the irony and cruelty of this dynamic, where the product of labor becomes an instrument of oppression.

Mathis vividly portrays the physical toll of this work. The mule's existence is described in terms of punishment: the "sun was another caning," a slow, burning affliction that parallels the boiling of sugar into syrup. The poem emphasizes the mule’s invisibility, noting how "so true to the circle he dragged we hardly saw him." This line encapsulates the normalization of suffering in systems of labor, where the essential contributions of workers—human or animal—fade into the background of the end product. The mule's steady, unnoticed toil mirrors that of countless laborers whose sacrifices are rendered invisible by the systems they sustain.

The speaker's memories of the sugarcane fields are imbued with a mix of nostalgia and unease. The "rustling house of green cane" is both enchanting and oppressive, its "blind" field enclosing the workers in a realm of waiting and labor. The "white plumes" of the cane signal not freedom but the "long season’s wait," a reminder of the protracted nature of agricultural labor and the delayed gratification it entails. The physical process of harvesting the cane—the machete slicing the joints, the blade peeling back the woody exterior—emphasizes the effort required to access the sweetness within. This sweetness, embodied in the "grainy fiber we chewed," is both a reward and a reminder of the work that produced it. The juice on the workers' tongues carries the mule’s "sweetness at work," an acknowledgment of the interconnectedness of labor, suffering, and product.

The poem’s closing lines turn to Chester, the man who "kept the mule." His presence introduces a human dimension to the system of labor described, complicating the moral landscape. Chester’s "black hand" becomes a symbol of the hands-on work that facilitates the transformation of cane into sweetness. Yet, Chester is not framed as a mere enforcer of the mule’s suffering; instead, his labor is intertwined with the animal’s, both figures bound by the cycle of production. By naming Chester, Mathis grants him a dignity often denied to marginalized laborers, ensuring his role is remembered alongside the mule’s.

Cane operates on multiple levels, using the sugarcane press as a metaphor for larger systems of exploitation and endurance. The mule’s ceaseless circling mirrors the human condition in its perpetual striving, its repetition of toil, and its invisibility within systems of production. Mathis’s language is rich with tactile and auditory imagery, immersing the reader in the sensory realities of this labor: the "groan and squeak" of the press, the "grainy fiber" chewed, the "juice on our tongues." These details ground the poem in physical experience, making the suffering and sweetness palpable.

At its heart, the poem interrogates the cost of transformation—how sweetness is drawn from cane, how value is extracted from labor, and how invisibility shapes both processes. The mule’s labor, Chester’s hand, and the field itself become part of a larger meditation on the cycles of exploitation and the moments of sweetness that punctuate them. By centering the mule and Chester, Mathis invites the reader to confront the often-overlooked agents of production, granting them visibility and voice in a system that would otherwise erase them.

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