Poetry of the Normal

red wheel barrow

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams

—————————–

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.
——————————

This one is speaking to me right now. What depends upon a red wheelbarrow? Well in this case, the Poem does. And that is something.

4 Responses to “Poetry of the Normal”

  1. September 22nd, 2005 | 4:43 pm

    From my 2003 American Lit class: Williams first names “Everything,” then narrows to “a,” then “the.” He reverses the traditional poetic progression from specific to general, encapsulating the imagist method.

  2.   Jacob Murphy
    September 22nd, 2005 | 6:55 pm

    Solid observation man. Do you like Williams’ work? I think that post Great war, pre WWII writing is very interesting.

  3. September 24th, 2005 | 9:32 am

    The poem doens’t depend on a red wheelbarrow, rather, it might be more insightful to note that without this poem the essence of the red wheelbarrow remains less defined. So, you should take the converse of your statement.

  4.   Jacob Murphy
    September 25th, 2005 | 10:19 am

    Elliot, I am not sure that I totally agree with you. I think that the poem does add to the understanding of the red wheelbarrow. So I am with you there. But with no wheelbarrow, with no subjet, there is no poem, at least not in this case. In my reckoning the poem depends on the wheelbarrow much more than the wheelbarrow does on the poem. The question is, which is more important? And to most people, the wheelbarrow.

    But then we recall that Willaims is a close contemporary of Elliot, Pound and others, so he is reminding his artistic community that we ALL depend on poetry, on art to help define our understanding of the Universe, and that if they, the artists didn’t provide the body of work, then who would?

    I think that this poem is like a Picasso. It’s a masterpiece because it says so much with so little. When I first saw a Picasso I thought it was simple lines, and not at all exceptional. But it is in his ability to say so much in such simple ways that Picasso was a Master.

    Maybe that’s what I like about Williams. Simple at first glance, maybe not even all that poetic. But under the surface there is something larger, something secret.


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