Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Derek Walcott’s "Man Who Loved Islands: A Two Page Outline" reads like a playful and self-aware film treatment, blending lyricism with the language of the cinematic world. The speaker imagines the protagonist, played by James Coburn, contemplating an island from a distance, setting up a seemingly quiet, introspective opening that quickly spirals into a critique of action-driven plots, artificiality in cinema, and the tensions between art and commerce.

The poem opens with an evocative image of Coburn, "leaning on a cold iron rail" and gazing at an islet, with the horizon uninterrupted "by any mortal sail." This quiet, meditative beginning conjures themes of isolation, contemplation, and infinity, establishing the protagonist's internal world. However, the intrusion of a tanker trailing its silvery slick across the sea breaks this stillness, serving as a metaphor for the inevitable encroachment of action, plot, and commerce in the film industry.

Walcott plays with the conventions of screenwriting and the pressures of the entertainment industry by imagining a movie that must cater to audience demands for "action" and "slaughter," despite the speaker’s preference for poetic contemplation. The protagonist is described as a leathery, aging figure, embodying a weary toughness. His "whitening hair" and "vicious grin" evoke a ruggedness, yet the speaker immediately undercuts this image with the question, "Now, we were where?" suggesting a disorientation both in the narrative and in the tension between the slow, contemplative opening and the fast-paced demands of the film medium.

The speaker refers to the "chaos of artifice still called the plot," acknowledging the arbitrary nature of conventional storytelling in cinema. This playful meta-commentary suggests that Walcott is more interested in subverting expectations than adhering to them. The poem critiques the formulaic nature of action films, where "diamonds," "emeralds," and "sapphires" are shoehorned into the plot to provide a sense of adventure and intrigue. However, this artificiality is contrasted with the genuine beauty of the island’s natural landscape, which the speaker reveres.

Walcott inserts a tension between art and commerce, as the speaker imagines how the producers or audience might demand more action, with lines like "there must be some minimum of slaughter" and "Action is all of art, the thoughtless pace / of lying with style." This critique of action-oriented cinema is reinforced by the speaker's reflection that the opening contemplative scene—"that first great shot of Coburn's leathery face"—might ultimately be deemed "superfluous" by commercial standards. The speaker laments how the "tired artifice called history" requires a linear, plot-driven structure, yet Walcott cleverly undermines this expectation by emphasizing movement, change, and the natural world as inherently dynamic forces that should take center stage.

The speaker continues to contrast the artificiality of the plot with the beauty of the island setting. "The tanker that seems still is moving, even / the clouds like galleons anchored in heaven" speaks to the constant motion and flux of nature, even in moments of apparent stillness. In this way, Walcott argues that the contemplation of nature is far more meaningful and profound than the forced movement and action required by film plots. The violence that action films rely upon is only a cheap distraction, whereas the "violent man lulled into this inaction / by the wide sea" suggests that true tension comes from the internal struggle between human nature and the vast, timeless forces of the natural world.

As the poem unfolds, the speaker acknowledges the pressure to conform to Hollywood conventions, imagining how the island setting might be used merely as a "background" for explosions, car chases, and romance. The imagined scene of Sophia, the obligatory love interest, "climbing down this rope ladder" with her "slip daintily torn" becomes a parody of the clichéd tropes often found in such films. Yet Walcott leaves room for lyricism and beauty by suggesting that the opening contemplative scene might still be kept as part of the credits or even saved for "THE END."

Structurally, the poem mirrors the tension it explores. It begins in a slow, measured tone, with the protagonist lost in thought, but quickly accelerates into a frenzied critique of cinematic conventions. The language of screenwriting—shots, plots, establishing scenes—blends seamlessly with the more poetic language of the sea, islands, and light, reflecting the tension between art and commerce, lyricism and action.

"Man Who Loved Islands: A Two Page Outline" is a richly layered commentary on the nature of storytelling, both in film and poetry. Through its meta-narrative, the poem critiques the artificiality of action-driven plots and celebrates the inherent beauty and dynamism of the natural world. Walcott deftly balances humor, self-awareness, and lyricism to explore the uneasy relationship between art and entertainment, leaving the reader to contemplate the true value of stillness and contemplation amidst a world obsessed with movement and action.

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