Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

In "Anchorage" by Mark Wunderlich, the poet meditates on the themes of isolation, union, and spiritual sustenance, exploring both personal and metaphysical territories. The poem contrasts two realms—one of physical, natural imagery and one of religious and psychological reflection—ultimately weaving them together to create a vision of peace and unity. Through the juxtaposition of violent, natural forces with contemplative spirituality, Wunderlich reflects on how one might find solace in a world full of turmoil and suffering.

The poem begins with an image of a seaside town that evokes the feeling of something vast and untamable. "I think you would like this seaside town—it makes me dream of whales," the speaker muses, immediately setting the tone with a sense of awe and wonder. The whales, with their "monstrous jaws" and "flukes stirring the surface," symbolize a powerful force of nature. The image of the whales breaking through the dark and the sea becoming calm after their movement suggests a kind of violent yet necessary disruption of peace. Gulls swoop to "pull the krill from the great open maw," reinforcing the image of an ecosystem that thrives on predation, a natural cycle that is both brutal and essential.

The following lines shift abruptly from the natural world to a historical and religious reflection: "all day I’ve been thinking of the twelfth-century postulant sealed as a child in a monastery wall, sealed with her anchor." The young woman, sealed in the wall as part of her monastic vows, is a striking image of isolation and devotion. She is "sealed with her anchor," a powerful metaphor for stability, commitment, and spiritual anchorage. The image of the anchor evokes the concept of holding firm in a turbulent world, drawing a parallel to the natural world outside, where the forces of nature are anything but still. This connection between the idea of "anchor" and the earlier imagery of whales serves to deepen the thematic exploration of groundedness amidst upheaval.

The women in the monastery sing the "canticles," a form of sacred song, and "open only for the priest’s bony fingers touching the sacrament to their lips," a clear allusion to the Eucharist. The "sour sponge of Christ’s blood" represents the physical act of communion, an intimate exchange that offers both nourishment and the promise of spiritual sustenance. The women’s ritual, set against the harsh natural world outside, seems to offer a counterpoint to the primal violence and turmoil represented by the whales. Their lives are defined by the sacred act of opening themselves only for the priest’s touch, symbolizing a deep devotion and a kind of submission to spiritual authority.

Wunderlich moves seamlessly from these religious and historical references back to a personal reflection on the self: "Here at the shore, I still live with the threat of seizure, but fear it not as much." The speaker addresses a fear of a personal affliction—seizures—that threatens their sense of stability. However, the fear is mitigated, and the speaker reflects on a shift in perspective: "heaven less my childhood vision of a bleached and rotating city than a rocking and viscous zone of slow-moving figures." The "bleached and rotating city" could symbolize a disorienting vision of the world or of existence, something alien and detached from reality. In contrast, the "rocking and viscous zone of slow-moving figures" suggests a more grounded, slow, and deliberate existence—something physical, real, and connected to others. The movement of these figures represents the motion of life, but not in the chaotic, erratic sense; rather, they move with purpose, as if in a state of unity.

The imagery of the figures moving slowly and "our shadows sealed together" suggests a profound sense of connection, even in the face of individual fears and struggles. The phrase "opening for the holiest sustenance" connects the figures’ motion to a spiritual act of nourishment, possibly referencing the Eucharist once again, or simply the act of being sustained by something greater than oneself. The line “There will be no blood there, no virus linking up its cellular chains to consume the flesh” provides a stark contrast to the previous mention of "Christ's blood" and introduces a vision of purity and absence of harm. The absence of blood here indicates a space free from suffering, disease, or destruction—a state of peace and unity.

The poem concludes with the vision of "motion, and union, and light," creating a sense of resolution and calm. These final words encapsulate the essence of the speaker’s vision—a vision of a world where connection and union are the central forces, where life moves without violence or division. There is light, both literal and metaphorical, suggesting a spiritual or existential clarity that transcends the physical pain and fear the speaker has experienced.

“Anchorage” ultimately presents a vision of peace that arises from acceptance, grounding, and unity, both within the self and with the larger forces of the world. The poem contrasts the destructive forces of nature with the calm and centered nature of spiritual devotion, reflecting the speaker's journey toward reconciling their fears with a sense of purpose and connection. The final image of light and motion underscores the power of presence and unity—an eternal theme of belonging, movement, and the pursuit of peace.

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