Finally school has ended for the summer and I am able to start indulging in writing poetry and reading some fantastic literature I wasn’t making time for. I recently bought the collected works of Wallace Stevens and have been utterly inspired to say the least. His poetry seems to concern the transformative power of the imagination. Stevens’ style is entirely exotic, whimsical and infused with a sense of light and Impressionism; his words are soft and quiet yet explanatory, much like the unfinished brushstrokes of the impressionist painters.
So far, my favorite poem has been “The Brave Man.” I can’t explain whether it was the power of repetition, or the dark and ominous imagery, that struck me the most; I found it both ironic and brilliant to relate such a shadowy vision to describe the sun. The sun becomes an entity that is able to exist victoriously, impervious to the hand at man, at least during the day time. The poem is beautifully written and implies a sense of dependability where the sun never tarries, and always continues on its path.
That Brave Man
Wallace Stevens
The sun, that brave man,
Comes through boughs that lie in wait,
That brave man.
Green and gloomy eyes
In the dark forms of the grass
Run away.
The good stars,
Pale helms and spiky spurs,
Run away.
Fears of my bed,
Fears of life and fears of death,
Run away.
That brave man comes up
From below and walks without meditation,
That brave man.
