Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In "Being Altogether Literal, & Specific, and Seeking at the Same Time to Be Successfully Explicit," Charles Olson delivers a critical, densely layered examination of American identity, cultural evolution, and economic dominance, all viewed through the prism of commodities, history, and language. By focusing on the commercialization of American ideals and cultural exports, Olson constructs a poem that reads as a cultural indictment, examining how consumerism and self-assured nationalism have permeated and possibly eroded a collective ethos.

The poem opens with historical references, immediately situating readers within a timeline where significant cultural, economic, and moral shifts unfold. Olson references Francesco Cenci, a 16th-century Italian nobleman infamous for his immorality, hinting at the persistent undercurrent of corruption throughout history. This historical anchoring expands as Olson compares it to the rise of American capitalism, noting how America “outproduces the world in steel” and establishes itself as a force of “Cant uber alles,” where the American ethos becomes "confidence." By invoking “Coca-Cola,” Olson personifies American capitalism as an unstoppable cultural and economic force, representing not only a globalized product but also a singular, omnipresent American identity. Coca-Cola's language — “I am taste. I am the cup which pays” — echoes the way American products infiltrate not only foreign markets but also influence the identities of those who consume them. Olson’s sardonic portrayal presents Coca-Cola as both a cultural juggernaut and a seemingly benign but pervasive presence in daily life.

In Part II, Olson delves into European history and syphilis, metaphorically linking the “pox” of colonialism to the rise of Puritanism and, eventually, American enterprise. The implication is that America’s moral rigidity, rooted in Puritanism, emerged as a reaction to Europe’s decadence. Olson contrasts the figures of “Timon” and “Cenci” to demonstrate two conflicting approaches to moral decay: one Platonic and restrained, the other visceral and depraved. Cenci, as a brutal figure, embodies an antihero whose extreme behaviors (including the rape of his daughter) explore the limits of “righteousness.” In this stark comparison, Olson critiques how America's moral righteousness might mask a darker undercurrent, hinting that America's high-minded self-assurance has bred forms of exploitation and control — not entirely unlike Cenci’s misuse of power.

Olson's historical journey through America’s origins touches upon "Sassafras," a natural remedy believed to cure syphilis and a symbol of colonial America’s connection to both physical and moral rejuvenation. It becomes a strange, almost ironic point of pride, as though even from the beginning, America’s appeal was rooted in this dual narrative of cure and disease, purity and exploitation. Olson's choice to foreground “Sassafras” speaks to the way America romanticized itself as a land of healing and renewal, yet with an undertone of irony, as this myth of purity masked the realities of conquest and exploitation.

The poem then bridges into a broader commentary on the entrenchment of Protestant work ethics, capitalism, and industrialism — “Protestantism, and the rise of Das Capital” — tracing a path from early American settlers to the global dominance of modern American capitalism. Olson critiques this through a depiction of “sourness” that reflects his view of the American Dream as corrupted by capitalist greed and exploitative tendencies. He evokes the “Commercial Traveler” archetype, a figure emblematic of global consumer culture who spreads not just products but also a standardized version of the American way of life. Olson’s imagery of “junkies” circling around “hung-up skins” presents a cynical portrait of a society dependent on its own mythologized ideals, much like addicts around a central source of addiction. This language suggests that America’s self-image — and perhaps its sense of purpose — is a kind of delusion, a cycle of “junkies” who continue to crave an unattainable purity or perfection.

The poem’s final lines, referencing a “baby in a carriage” who asks, “Aren't we supposed to be revolutionaries?” evoke a poignant irony. This child, symbolizing innocence and future generations, questions the true essence of America’s identity, hinting at an ingrained expectation of change and rebellion within the American psyche. However, the child’s question is contrasted against the stagnation Olson perceives in American culture. The revolutionary spirit America once embraced now seems reduced to slogans and hollow gestures, leaving Olson to imply that true transformation — the kind of revolution that reinvents or renews a culture — is conspicuously absent. Instead, America remains trapped in a loop of self-assured consumerism and blind confidence, continually commodifying its values without genuine introspection.

Ultimately, "Being Altogether Literal, & Specific, and Seeking at the Same Time to Be Successfully Explicit" critiques America’s commodification of its own identity, questioning the authenticity of its ideals and exploring the pervasive reach of its capitalist doctrine. Through his historical allusions, linguistic play, and cultural references, Olson interrogates the real cost of America’s global success, suggesting that the nation has traded its revolutionary roots for a marketplace of empty symbols, products, and cultural tropes. The poem stands as a warning — a call to recognize the “cant” of a society that has equated its self-worth with its production and economic reach, perhaps at the expense of its deeper humanity.

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