Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lew Welch’s "In Answer to a Question from P.W." is a loose, conversational meditation on movement, ambition, and practical constraints, delivered with the wit and self-awareness characteristic of Welch’s poetry. Blending humor with existential uncertainty, the poem captures the restless mind of a writer torn between idealism and necessity, a theme that runs through much of his work.

The poem begins with a plan—“In Mexico I’ll finish the novel / I’ll write, rough, while fire-watching in Oregon.” This simple declaration sets up the tension between dream and reality. The narrator has ambitions, but they are deferred by logistical concerns. Fire-watching, an isolated job taken up by many poets of Welch’s circle, including Gary Snyder, is framed as a time to write, but the novel is only in its rough stage—suggesting a work perennially in progress.

Immediately, Welch turns to the practical: “The problem is, what kind of typewriter to pack in?” This comic shift undercuts the grandeur of the artistic pursuit with a mundane, real-world dilemma. It is a moment of self-mockery, as if acknowledging that before one can write great literature, one must first solve the issue of equipment. The typewriter itself, heavy and impractical, symbolizes the burdens of artistic ambition. His plan to leave it there in Mexico reflects an underlying resignation—perhaps an awareness that he, like the typewriter, may not make it back.

The poem then explores Welch’s thoughts on money and mobility: “I ought to be able to live 6 months in Mexico / on what I earn on the Mountain in 4.” This kind of arithmetic is a familiar concern for Beat poets and wanderers, who often calculated the minimum means for survival in order to sustain a life of writing and contemplation. But even here, Welch introduces a touch of irreverence—“They say you can buy dirty books down there.” The mention of dirty books suggests both the allure and absurdity of his escapist vision. Rather than elevating Mexico as a literary haven, he acknowledges its reputation for vice, subtly critiquing his own romanticization of the journey.

The poem then turns to the logistics of getting to Mexico. “Going to Mexico by motorcycle would be the coolest,” he muses, before invoking Thoreau: “but Thoreau warns against any undertaking that requires new clothes.” This allusion to Thoreau’s Walden—a text deeply influential to Welch and the Beats—reflects his tension between purity and indulgence. He admires the ideal of simplicity but has “not achieved simplicity yet.” The contrast is humorous but also revealing: Welch is drawn to the notion of an unencumbered life, yet reality (and possibly his own personality) prevents him from fully embracing it.

The poem’s reflections on transportation continue, each mode of travel carrying symbolic weight. “Walking is pure,” he says, but dismisses it as impractical. Hitchhiking, a common Beat method of travel, is rejected: “I’ll never willingly hitchhike again.” There’s a weary finality to this, suggesting past experiences that soured him on the practice. He considers buying “Snyder’s Austin for $200,” but the question remains: “how can I get the money together?” This line sums up the entire poem’s struggle: the poet dreams, but financial constraints dictate reality.

The poem then takes an abrupt shift: “They repossessed my Oldsmobile.” This one-line statement, coming after all his musings on travel, delivers a moment of stark reality. The vehicle—symbolizing freedom, autonomy, and mobility—is gone. The dream of travel is consistently undercut by real-world obstacles, reinforcing Welch’s theme of frustrated aspirations.

The final lines bring the poem full circle, moving from self-deprecating reflection to a vulgar, yet oddly profound, exchange. “Like the sign over the urinal: / ‘You hold your future in your hand.’” The crude wisdom of this graffiti resonates with Welch’s own predicament—his future depends entirely on his own decisions, yet he is caught in a cycle of uncertainty. The closing anecdote, in which a sex worker tells him “You can milk me like a Holstein, but I gotta see your money first,” serves as a final metaphor for his condition. Like the whore demanding payment, life demands resources before granting its pleasures. The humor in this moment is not just bawdy but deeply ironic—Welch understands that his idealistic visions, whether of travel, writing, or escape, must first be negotiated with the realities of survival.

"In Answer to a Question from P.W." encapsulates Welch’s restless intellect, humor, and existential self-doubt. The poem balances grand aspirations with the minutiae of daily life, revealing the poet’s struggle between artistic purity and material necessity. Welch’s language is unpretentious and direct, yet rich with implication. The poem captures the spirit of the wandering writer—not as a mythic figure, but as a man caught between his dreams and the inescapable practicalities of the world.

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