Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

James Welch’s "Arizona Highways" is a poignant, ironic exploration of cultural dislocation, romantic idealization, and the tension between desire and guilt. Known for his incisive commentary on Native American identity and the complexities of modern existence, Welch infuses this poem with biting humor and a deep sense of melancholy. The title, referencing a popular magazine that romanticizes the American Southwest, sets the stage for a meditation on the intersection of personal longing and the commodification of Native culture.

The poem opens with a vivid, almost cinematic image: “I see her seventeen, a lady dark, turquoise on her wrists.” The description of the girl’s dark skin and turquoise jewelry immediately situates her within a romanticized vision of Native American beauty. Turquoise, often associated with Native Southwestern culture, symbolizes both cultural pride and the exoticization of Indigenous identity. The speaker’s gaze frames the girl as an object of both admiration and projection.

Welch continues with an image that blends nature and the human form: “The land astounded by a sweeping rain becomes her skin.” This metaphor fuses the girl with the landscape, suggesting an intrinsic connection between her identity and the natural world. The sweeping rain could symbolize both renewal and disruption, hinting at the emotional storm that the speaker experiences in relation to her. This fusion of land and body is both beautiful and problematic, as it reduces her to a symbol rather than a fully realized individual.

The line “Clouds begin to mend my broken eyes” suggests that the speaker’s perception is clouded—whether by his own biases, desires, or guilt. The clouds could represent a temporary relief from his emotional turmoil, but they also obscure clarity, emphasizing the theme of blurred perception.

The poem shifts from admiration to a more unsettling tone: “I see her singing by a broken shack, eyes so black it must be dawn.” The broken shack evokes poverty and hardship, while the description of her black eyes suggests both depth and mystery. The line “it must be dawn” plays with the contrast between darkness and light, perhaps implying that the girl represents a new beginning or awakening for the speaker, even as she remains shrouded in ambiguity.

The speaker’s internal conflict becomes more explicit as he admits: “I hum along, act sober, tell her I could love her if she dressed better, if her father got a job and beat her more.” This line is jarring in its bluntness, exposing the speaker’s prejudices and contradictions. His conditional love—dependent on superficial changes and a disturbing acceptance of domestic violence—reveals a deep-seated discomfort with the girl’s reality. The speaker’s attempt to impose his own standards on her reflects a broader critique of cultural assimilation and the destructive impact of colonial attitudes.

The name Eulynda becomes a focal point of the speaker’s fantasy: “There’s a name I could live with.” This suggests that he is more comfortable with the idea of her than with her actual identity. The name becomes a symbol of his desire to mold her into something palatable, something that fits within his constructed narrative.

The speaker’s ironic invocation of religious imagery further complicates the poem: “I could thrash away the nuns, tell them I adopt this girl, dark, seventeen, silver on her fingers, in the name of the father, son, and me, the holy ghost.” By placing himself in the trinity alongside the Father and the Son, the speaker adopts a messianic tone, positioning himself as both savior and possessor. This blasphemous twist underscores his conflicted relationship with power, guilt, and desire. The mockery of religious authority highlights the hypocrisy of moral institutions that historically oppressed Native communities while claiming to protect them.

The speaker’s dismissive attitude toward Mormonism—“Why not? Mormons do less with less.”—adds another layer of irony, as it critiques the superficiality of religious conversion and cultural appropriation. The reference to her ancestors liv[ing] in cliffs, no plumbing, just a lot of love and corn reduces a rich cultural history to simplistic stereotypes, further illustrating the speaker’s inability to truly engage with the girl’s identity.

In a moment of self-awareness, the speaker acknowledges his own role in this dynamic: “Me, that’s corn, pollen / in her hair.” This line suggests that he recognizes his own intrusion into her world, likening himself to pollen—a substance that fertilizes but also invades. The reference to the four cardinal directions—East, south, west, north—evokes Native spiritual practices, yet the speaker co-opts this imagery to define his role as religious. This appropriation highlights the tension between admiration and exploitation.

The poem takes a personal turn as the speaker observes the girl’s interaction with another man: “The Indian politician made her laugh. / Her silver jingled in her throat, those songs, her fingers busy on his sleeve.” This moment of jealousy reveals the speaker’s possessiveness and insecurity. The girl’s laughter and flirtation with another man challenge his fantasy of control, forcing him to confront his own irrelevance.

The plea “Fathers, forgive me” echoes the earlier religious imagery, but here it feels more genuine—a moment of vulnerability amid the irony. The speaker acknowledges his failings, both as a man and as an observer of Native culture.

The poem’s final stanza brings the narrative full circle: “She knows me in her chindii dream, always a little pale, too much bourbon in my nose, my shoes too clean, belly soft as hers.” The reference to chindii—a Navajo term for the ghost of a person who has died in a bad way—suggests that the speaker sees himself as a spectral presence in the girl’s life. His pale skin and too clean appearance mark him as an outsider, disconnected from her world. The mention of bourbon and his soft belly adds a layer of self-deprecation, implying that his vices and physicality are both barriers and points of connection.

The poem ends with a resigned acknowledgment of transience: “I’ll move on. My schedule says Many Farms tomorrow, then on to Window Rock, and finally home, that weathered nude, distant as the cloud I came in on.” The speaker’s itinerant lifestyle reflects his inability to form lasting connections. His home is described as weathered nude, suggesting both exposure and decay. The final image of the cloud he came in on evokes a sense of drifting, emphasizing his ephemeral presence in the girl’s life and in the landscape he romanticizes.

Structurally, Welch employs free verse to mirror the poem’s conversational tone and shifting emotional landscape. The lack of traditional punctuation and the fluid movement between personal reflection and cultural critique create a sense of immediacy and intimacy. The repetition of religious imagery and the juxtaposition of romanticized and gritty descriptions underscore the poem’s central tensions.

At its core, "Arizona Highways" is a meditation on the complexities of cross-cultural desire, the pitfalls of romantic idealization, and the enduring impact of colonial attitudes. Through sharp irony and evocative imagery, James Welch challenges readers to confront the ways in which personal longing intersects with historical and cultural dislocation. The poem serves as both a critique of the speaker’s complicity in cultural appropriation and a broader commentary on the commodification of Native identity in American society.

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