Feb 23, 2012

Kevin Young's “The Mission” and Emily Dickinson's "I Heard a Fly Buzz"

The Mission by Kevin Young : Poetry Magazine


A useful, non-academic, good way to try to love poetry might be searching our own experiences for something similar to the poem we’re reading—better yet, a poem we remember and wonder why.
I suspect something like that is going on in Kevin Young’s excellent poem, “The Mission,” in which he’s remembering a funeral home across the street from his own place, probably in his youth. Those funeral scenes, homey and comforting in their way, remind him of Emily Dickinson’s “I Heard a Fly Buzz (465),” which gives him his closing line. (I was also thinking of “There’s Been a Death in the Opposite House,” discussed here last March— Banjo52: Emily Dickinson, "There’s been a Death, in the Opposite House").

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm – 

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room – 

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portions of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly – 

With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see – 

Among Kevin Young’s insights or propositions that I find intriguing is his finding in those funerals across the street “less/disquiet than comfort” as “the street filled with cars/for a wake.” How might he, or we, find a wake or a funeral across the street comforting? At the end, he doesn’t want the cars to pull out and drive away; instead he tries, like a child, to achieve or recover darkness by putting his hands over his face. 
Is it, ironically, in darkness and death, in hiding from a sun “too bright” that the speaker finds permanence, stability, and in that a comfort in which things and people, such as his father, no longer leave him? In fact, at a funeral, they cluster and stand in their inexpensive suits, gathered perhaps for the very sake of comforting each other and, unwittingly, the child or young man across the street. 

Another question:  a few lines into the poem, Young refers to “the sun/of the Mission,” which is the poem’s title. How should we read that and make it part of the poem, especially with “Mission” capitalized? Is the Mission life itself, or the satisfactory exit from life, with its excessive sun? Or is it something entirely other than that? 

In any case, “The Mission” is another of those works that satisfies the requirement that a poem be a gift and give us gifts along the way. Call it scattered candy if you like (big chunks of hot dog would suit me better—bread crumbs might be too humble, too dry). There are various elements in a good poem that pull us through it—happily or at least without coercion. They make us want to return, or they simply don't allow us to forget.


The Mission by Kevin Young : Poetry Magazine

*

8 comments:

Stickup Artist said...

What strikes me about Kevin Young's poem about his proximity to death as a child, is its complete accessibility. It seems so fluid and the childhood memories so unembellished. It brought me back to a time in NYC when I lived across the street from an emergency room entrance. One gets used to practically anything. I do understand the author's comfort. When I took up photography, I started seeing the world anew, perhaps a little like the child in me. I've photographed a few cemeteries and was surprised that I found them comforting places rather than spooky or scary... I guess that all proves your opening point...

Banjo52 said...

Stickup, thanks! Your comparisons to your own experiences are great. Is it odd that I get it more with funeral homes and cemeteries than emergency rooms? Also, I thought about discussing Young's "accessibility," but didn't want to make the post too long. He does seem very natural, though I think there's a lot going on beyond that initially comfortable language.

Ken Mac said...

red sky like end of the world. spooky gorgeous

Banjo52 said...

Ken, we must be wearing the same glasses. Thanks.

Pasadena Adjacent said...

Oh, this was a good choice.

Rune Eide said...

Having had one or two close escapes, I think I know the feeling of losing the ability not to see. I think I agree with Stickup Artist on the value of photography in overcoming this.

I appreciated that first photo!

Anonymous said...

"I could not see to see." Gosh, I love Emily.

Young's is one I wouldn't have stopped to consider had it not been for you. I'll read it a few more times, maybe I'll warm up to it.

Banjo52 said...

P.A., thanks. RuneE too. I do think photography has a lot to teach about how to see (to see?). AH, I liked it OK, but didn't love it at first; then it grew and grew on me.

Lovers' Lane