Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lawrence Raab’s "What He Thought About the Party" is a quietly humorous yet introspective poem that explores the intersection of skepticism, wonder, and the allure of the unknown. Through the lens of a mundane social event, the speaker examines the differing perspectives between herself and her husband, using the subject of outer space as a metaphor for deeper existential questions about belief, evidence, and the limits of understanding. The poem balances wit with a subtle sense of longing, suggesting that even in our most ordinary moments, there remains a desire for something just beyond the realm of certainty.

The poem begins with the husband’s frustration: "My husband?s chief complaint was that we?d included too many people who believed in outer space." The phrase "believed in outer space" is deliberately ambiguous—while outer space is an undeniable reality, the choice of wording suggests that the husband is not merely annoyed by scientific discussions but also by those who entertain more speculative or conspiratorial views. His inability—or unwillingness—to "distinguish between those who were intrigued / by the problems of the Hubble Space Telescope / and that much smaller group who personally knew someone kidnapped by aliens" establishes him as a pragmatic thinker, someone uninterested in either the technical marvels of astronomy or the fantastical claims of extraterrestrial encounters. To him, "outer space was all the same, endlessly uninteresting." The word "endlessly" suggests not just a lack of interest but an active disengagement, a refusal to entertain possibilities beyond what he considers worthwhile.

The speaker, in contrast, shares some of his boredom: "I have to admit I was bored myself by the Hubble Space Telescope." But rather than dismissing the subject entirely, she shifts into a more personal and whimsical perspective. She recalls "the Artist?s Renderings I grew up with," evoking a nostalgic sense of wonder, particularly about "how close you were to the Martian canals, for example, with figures in the foreground to add a sense of perspective, and a little drama." Here, she acknowledges that her interest in space is not grounded in technical accuracy but in the imaginative possibilities it evokes. The "little drama" of these illustrations suggests that she values mystery and storytelling over strict realism.

This preference for the speculative is reinforced when she confesses: "But I?m one of those people who believe any movie can be improved by including a giant insect." The humor here is understated but significant—her enjoyment of the unknown is not tied to rational inquiry but to the thrill of the unexplained, the disruptive presence of something that doesn’t quite belong. She appreciates "when the aliens walk among us and no one?s sure they?re there," and when they "take somebody / up in the ship to examine him, but you never really find out why." The ambiguity of these scenarios—the refusal of definitive answers—appeals to her in a way that her husband?s pragmatic worldview does not allow.

Despite her fascination, she acknowledges her restraint: "Mostly I keep it to myself, these interests. / It?s nothing I count on." This line suggests that while she enjoys indulging in these ideas, she does not fully believe in them. There is a gap between amusement and conviction, between the desire for wonder and the need for evidence. Her husband, by contrast, is firmly grounded in "this and that about the world, the one he cares for." This phrase subtly distinguishes their orientations—he is committed to the tangible, the verifiable, while she allows room for the unknown.

As they move through their routine—"We wash the dishes, make sure there aren?t any glasses leaving rings on the piano."—the poem settles into the domestic, the ordinary. Yet, even here, the speaker finds herself drawn to something beyond the immediate. When it’s time to walk the dog, she volunteers: "I say I?ll take her because I enjoy going into the yard at night." The shift to an outdoor setting signals a transition from the practical to the contemplative. The night sky, vast and unknowable, contrasts with the controlled environment of the party and the household.

Standing outside, she observes: "The sky’s spread out above me, clear and chilly. / Ordinary planes are up there, lights flashing off and on, / and of course the stars, and all the uninhabitable planets." This moment is both grounding and expansive. The "ordinary planes" serve as a reminder of human limitations—we know they are man-made, their movements predictable. But then, her thoughts shift to "the others, where right now maybe plans are being made, where everything?s almost ready." Here, the speculative element returns. The phrase "everything?s almost ready" is wonderfully open-ended—ready for what? An arrival? A revelation? The speaker does not claim certainty, only possibility.

Her final assertion—"No one can say it isn’t possible, not for certain."—is a quiet act of defiance against her husband?s skepticism. She is not arguing for belief, only for the acknowledgment that uncertainty exists. The closing line—"I like waiting just a moment for something to happen."—captures the heart of the poem. It is not about whether aliens exist, nor about the scientific realities of space exploration. It is about the pleasure of anticipation, the hope that, in the vastness of the universe, there may still be mysteries left to unfold.

"What He Thought About the Party" is ultimately a poem about the coexistence of doubt and wonder. The speaker does not claim belief in the supernatural, but she resists the certainty of disbelief. Her husband?s dismissal of outer space as "endlessly uninteresting" stands in contrast to her quiet longing for something unexpected. In the end, the poem suggests that while evidence and skepticism shape our understanding of the world, there is also value in waiting, if only for a moment, for something to happen.

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