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WHAT IS THE VOICE THAT SPEAKS?, by             Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography

Robert Penn Warren’s “What Is the Voice That Speaks?” explores the fractured nature of truth and the voices—human, animal, and natural—that attempt, often futilely, to express or articulate it. The poem weaves together memories, images, and unresolved questions, suggesting that truth is elusive, fragmented, and inseparable from the painful weight of lived experience. Through sharp, vivid details and a questioning tone, Warren examines the limits of communication, the burden of memory, and the complexity of human suffering, offering a meditation on the cost of trying to understand the world and oneself.

The opening question—“What is the voice that speaks?”—immediately frames the poem as an inquiry into the nature of communication and truth. The speaker identifies various “voices” that speak to him, beginning with the “tongue / Of laurel leaf by my glass door.” This voice belongs to nature, personified as having memory and wisdom rooted in “free wind inspiring your wisdom” on a “mountain in Tennessee.” Here, Warren evokes a sense of lost innocence or freedom, as if the laurel leaf, once part of a vast and untamed natural world, now speaks from confinement—by the speaker’s “glass door.” The laurel’s wisdom contrasts with the human struggle for understanding, highlighting nature’s timeless clarity versus human confusion.

The poem then shifts dramatically to the “split tongue of coluber constrictor— / Black racer to you—” a snake that “valiantly rises to hiss at the cat.” The snake’s voice is primal and defensive, driven by survival. The use of “valiantly” injects humor and irony, but also a strange admiration for the snake’s courage in the face of the larger predator. This voice—aggressive, instinctual—stands in stark contrast to human speech, with its complexities and moral ambiguities. Warren connects this primal image to a bitter memory: “Or the blind man who spat at you / When you put a dime in his cup at Christmas?” The sudden shift to human interaction is jarring, exposing the tension between generosity and indignation. The speaker’s reflection—“Screw him, a dime is a dime, and suffering no index of virtue”—reveals an unsettling cynicism, as if rejecting the idea that suffering inherently demands empathy or moral superiority.

The poem then evokes more enigmatic voices: “Have you heard the great owl in the snow-pine? You know / His question—the one you’ve never, in anguish, been able to answer.” The owl, traditionally a symbol of wisdom, poses a silent and unanswerable question that haunts the speaker. This question becomes emblematic of the speaker’s struggle to confront the unknown and articulate truths about himself, others, and existence. The same unresolved anguish surfaces in the “wolf-howl, moonlit from mountain.” The “desolate timbre” of the howl, heard from the safety of “warm bed” and darkness, echoes the speaker’s isolation and inability to fully engage with or comprehend the world’s suffering.

The poem’s emotional core arrives with the memory of the speaker’s mother on her deathbed: “What did my mother, ready to die, say? ‘Son, I like your new suit.’ / Nor spoke again. Not to me.” The mother’s final words are mundane, yet profound in their finality. Her silence afterward creates a void—what more might she have said? The emotional weight of her death contrasts sharply with the trivial observation of the suit, underscoring the inability of language to fully capture the significance of life and loss. Her silence becomes another “voice,” one that speaks through absence rather than words.

Warren continues with a memory of lost love: “And once, long distance, I heard a voice saying: / ‘I thought that you loved me—’ / And I: / ‘I do. But tomorrow’s a snowflake in Hell!’” The speaker’s response—sharp, defensive, and final—reflects his inability or refusal to sustain intimacy. The phone going dead symbolizes the abrupt rupture of connection, and the speaker’s thoughts turn to a haunting image: “snow falling / All night, in white darkness, across the blindness of Kansas.” The juxtaposition of “white darkness” evokes a landscape of emptiness and isolation. The image of a “head thrown back, and the moan” suggests both physical and emotional anguish, as the speaker mourns the consequences of his own harsh words and the irreparable distance they created.

The closing lines encapsulate the poem’s central existential inquiry: “What tongue knows the name of Truth? Or Truth to come?” This question underscores the impossibility of fully knowing or articulating truth, which remains elusive and perhaps unknowable. Warren concludes with the stark recognition: “All we can do is strive to learn the cost of experience.” The phrase “the cost of experience” suggests that truth—whether personal, emotional, or universal—is something that must be earned through the pain, failures, and losses of life. It cannot be easily spoken or understood; instead, it reveals itself through the toll it exacts.

Structurally, the poem flows as a series of fragmented voices and memories, mirroring the disjointed and often chaotic nature of human experience. The shifts between nature (the laurel, the snake, the owl) and human interactions (the blind man, the mother, the lover) reflect the speaker’s search for meaning in both the natural and personal realms. The language oscillates between lyrical beauty and blunt realism, capturing the tension between the sublime and the mundane, the profound and the trivial.

In conclusion, “What Is the Voice That Speaks?” by Robert Penn Warren is a meditation on the fragmented and often incomprehensible nature of truth and experience. Through vivid imagery, shifting voices, and unresolved memories, Warren explores the limitations of language and the emotional cost of seeking understanding in a world marked by loss, disconnection, and ambiguity. The poem ultimately suggests that while truth may remain elusive, it is through the striving—through experience, memory, and reflection—that we confront the deepest and most human aspects of existence.


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