Purdy’s “On Human Nature”
One of the hazards of reading a famous poet for the first time is you’ll discover “great” poems that everyone else already knows like when I suggested that Al Purdy’s “At the Quinte Hotel”was one of my favorite of his early poems. When I went to Google “On Being Human” to see if I could avoid having to type it out, I discovered that it, too, is one of Purdy’s most famous poems. I guess I can either congratulate myself that I have such good taste in poetry or worry I’ve become so jaded with poetry that I only have an appetite for the kind of stereotypical poetry that fills the bookshelves at chain bookstores.
I’ll take the chance that I am exposing my jadedness and suggest that this is may be my very favorite poem from in rooms for rent in the outer planets:
ON BEING HUMAN
When my mother went to the hospital
after a fall alone in her bedroom
I was eighteen miles away
trying to build a house
I visited her later
and something in my face made her say
“I thought you’d feel terrible�?
and she meant that I’d be devastated
by what had happened to her
— I wasn’t feeling anything very much
at the time and I guess it showed
just thinking I’d have to travel
those eighteen miles every day
to visit her and grumbling to myself
At that moment
she had seen behind the shutters
normally drawn across the human face
and suddenly realized
there wasn’t much if any
affection for her in my face
and that knowledge
was worse than her injuries.
But there is no going back in time
to do anything about it now
if something wasn’t done then
and nothing was
She died not much later
her mind disoriented
forgetting what happened to her
but I remember those last words
list them first
among the things I’m ashamed of
as intolerable as realizing
your whole life has been wated
— remembering my cousin’s words
about her drunken brother:
“It would have been better
if he’d never lived at all�?
I remember those last words
before the fever took her mind
and the only good thing now
is thinking about those words
and she is instantly
restored to life
in my mind
and repeats the same words
“I thought you’d feel terrible.�?
again and again and again
and I’m still ashamed
and I’m still alive
Fortunately I’m not haunted by a particular moment with either of my parents, though I’m sure that I’ve been guilty of such moments, as have most of us. We get so busy living our lives that we resent it when someone, even those we love the most, demand our attention.
It’s very human to see the world from your own viewpoint, at least until some dramatic event forces us to see it from another’s viewpoint. Even though we know that we should be more concerned about others, our current priorities make us think that our priorities should be everyone’s priorities.
If someone my age told me that they didn’t have a single regret in life, I’d surmise that they were so self-centered they’d be dangerous to be around. People say you should live your life without regret precisely because everyone, except psychopaths, have regrets. What kind of monster wouldn’t feel bad, wouldn’t regret, making his mother feel unloved? Regret is our conscience’s way of trying to make us live our lives the way we really want to lead them, not the way we think we want to lead them.
Loren
Interesting title for this poem, “On Being Human,” a phrase which, in one usage, is a kind of excuse for failings. One has to assume the speaker’s expressed anguish is sincere, but I have to wonder how valid it is. He sounds like a pretty good son to me, traveling 18 miles “each day” to visit his injured mother who, rather than show gratitude for his visit slams him for not showing sufficient grief on his face. Can you imagine saying a thing like that to your son?
The circumstances in this poem seem pretty plainly to be out of balance with his consuming regret. I think Purdy set up this poem this way in order to show how we misjudge the events of our life, chewing over them for decades. This is a poet who puts meaning below the surface of his writing. I think it’s a mistake to read this as an autobiographical piece. He’s too good a poet for that.
Tom Himmelspach — 11:44 pm April 17, 2006
I don’t think I’d ever assume that any poem, even one by so-called confessional poets, is autobiographical, Tom, though I hope that most of them, unless obviously ironical as many of Hardy’s poems and stories are, represent the author’s philosophy.
loren — 12:39 am April 18, 2006
About the last remark in your post: Yup! About the previous comment: Truth is fiction, and fiction truth, and people who can tell the difference may have too much time on their hands!
Ron Southern — 3:24 pm April 18, 2006
Whether or not the piece is autobiographical is important only as it relates to Purdy’s message. If it’s autobiographical, we don’t look for a message that the poet is distinguishing between delusion and right conscience. If all Purdy is saying is “Look what an ass I was,” we’re left with the sense that he’s unburdening himself and not much else. There’s too much in this poem that suggests a different message.
Tom Himmelspach — 6:26 pm April 18, 2006
Forgive me all, but this poem whether self indulgent or not takes a rather long time, in not particularly elegant language, to say something and once said leaves me rather flat with it’s lack of depth. I am reminded of going to a barely veiled didactic play and looking around and realizing the wrong group is in the audience.
Terry Riley — 12:39 pm April 22, 2006
I think Purdy’s “plain language” is intentional, a way of avoiding the kind of poetic language that’s often rejected by the average man, I don’t think it’s entirely coincidental that one of his published works chronicles 10 years of communicating with Bukowski.
As a lover of poetry, of course, I’d see the “plain language” as a detriment, not an asset.
I suspect “human nature” probably is rather mundane, but perhaps that’s why even the best of us are often guilty of commiting acts that we probably know we shouldn’t commit.
loren — 5:09 pm April 22, 2006
I had never actually heard of Al Purdy, although i consider myself fairly well read but alas the world is such a big place! I then tend to take things for what they are or better said for what I perceive them.
I did a quick search on Purdy and my first finding was “During the first forty-odd years of his life, Al Purdy wrote a lot of bad poetry. Where others would have quit, Purdy persevered until he found his own …” perhaps this piece was an Early writing but as Loren says after 10 years of communicating with Bukowski, about average man and plain language(slightly paraphrased)well here we have it. Again, I am embrassed not to know Bukowski, particularly since I am well versed in all the other beat poets…
“question and answer”
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that–
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.
putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.
who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.
as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you’re going to have to
save yourself.
still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin.
–from The Last Night of the earth poem
Charles Bukowski
This is a poem. Complex, elegant, and easily read by
the average man, or the not average man, to me. I suppose, and of course who am I but…long years of effort can make one a damn good plumber but not necessarily a poet. My hats off for trying but i can’t really find a beast in the underbelly…nor a poet, but i do find a wonderful chronicler of a night in the Tavern.
Terry Riley — 12:31 am April 23, 2006
By the way, “On Nature” appears to be one of the last, not first, poems Purdy wrote since it’s at the end of his collection and they seem to be arranged chronologically.
If you’ve read here very long, Terry, you’ve probably noticed that I’m leaning more and more toward Japanese and Chinese poetry, particularly those that feature short lines and concise imagery, with little or no commentary.
I think that actually suggests a move away from “beat” poetry, which often seems to me rather verbose and to lack the kind of imagery that I find most appealing in poetry,
That doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy being stopped short and forced to see the world in a new, and different way.
loren — 10:56 am April 23, 2006
Yes, I knew that “On nature” was not one of the first poems, hence the reference to Bukowski, and then “At the Quinte Hotelâ€?. I didn’t find much difference between the skills of the two! I’ve actually just arrived, doing some research on Pound, bumped on to your site, enjoyed, agreed and disagreed with your thoughts, looked at the list on the left, saw Purdy, clicked in, and felt compelled to comment. The beat poets are very high on my list with Ferlinghetti and Gary Snyder being on the list of “authors I would want with me in the wildernessâ€?. It would be unusual for me not to pick up Riprap every couple of months, for its concise imagery, and down to earth celestial quality.
Terry Riley — 12:03 am April 25, 2006
I’m not really sure what it means to be a “beat” poet, but of those who bear that title, Snyder would definitely be my favorite, and I liked several of those by Ferlinghetti, too.
loren — 12:59 am April 25, 2006