Things the Way They Are

It's funny how the more I learn about Wallace Stevens, the more I see him in my daily life, and the more I understand him.

Seeing things the way they are is an idea that I have not been able to get out of my head. It's funny to me that this comes up in poetry because it's always been the part about seeing things the way they aren't that's always stumped me and kept me from really understanding poetry. To me, poetry has always been about crazy metaphors and symbols and basically goes down the list of an 8th grade English class vocabulary list.

But then along comes Wallace who says to see things the way they are. A pear is a pear. A tree is a tree.

This idea has been following me around for a bit. I have the horrible habit of over thinking everything. A tree is never just a tree. A word is never just a word. Everything means something. Everything has an underlying purpose. But yesterday, I was driving with my roommate through the Bridgers, watching the sunset, clearing my mind. And then it hit me. It's so simple. A pear is just a pear. Things are what they are.

It's so simple! It's so sublime!

It's so Lucretian...

We're all the same. We're all just atoms. That's the way things are. There is no need to over think things because it doesn't matter. It's all dust and it will all blow away. This is the sublime. It's lonely to think that it doesn't matter, but it's also freeing in a way.

I was flipping through "the bible" today and I came across this poem:

A Window in the Slums

I think I hear beyond the walls
    The sound of late birds singing.
Ah! what a sadness those dim calls
    To city streets are bringing.

But who will from my window leans
    May hear, neath cloud belated,
Voices far sadder intervene,
    Sweet songs with longing weighted -

Gay children in their fancied towers
    Of London, singing light
Gainst heavier bars, more gay than in their flowers
    The birds of the upclosing night

And after stars their places fill
    And no bird greets the skies;
The voices of the children still
    Up to my window rise.

Thinking about this poem from the Things the Way They Are perspective, I see a sad sort of happiness. Although this poem takes place in the slums, which is considered a sad place, the children still sing. The voices are sad, but light. "Gay children in their fancied towers." The slums the way they are aren't always sad. It is a place of dreams, especially for the children, who still allow their imagination to roam. Things the way they are are not as bad as they seem.