Volume 10 55
and we understand that these masters are the mas-
ters of theology as well as the masters of poetry.
This stanza muses on humans’ relationship with
God: is it painful and agonizing? Is the cry one of
joy, or is it from “where pain puts them, an inch-
and-a-half above the floor”? What is unclear in this
stanza is how nature fits in—it was introduced in
such strong and permeating terms in the first stanza,
but it almost disappears in the second, replaced by
a discussion of holy men.
The third stanza begins to bring the two terms
together in its use of the figures of Dante and St.
John Chrysostom. Dante, of course, was the 14th
century Italian poet whose Divine Comedy at-
tempted to construct an architectural model of the
temporal and spiritual worlds, linking the two par-
tially astronomically, while St. John Chrysostom is
one of the Doctors of the Roman Catholic Church.
“Chrysostom” means “golden-mouthed,” and St.
John Chrysostom was famed as one of the great or-
ators of the early church, a man who became the
Patriarch of the city of Constantinople and attacked
the material excesses of the Empress Eudoxia. In
this stanza Wright starts drawing together his
themes—nature, astronomy, God, and poetry—in a
carefully-constructed web. In the first line, he links
Dante, a poet who encompassed religion, the stars,
and art, with St. John Chrysostom, whose fame was
also due to his use of language. Both of these men
might / find this afternoon a sidereal roadmap, / A
pilgrim’s way ... /
Wright’s use of the term “sidereal,” or having
to do with the stars, again brings us back to the no-
tion of astronomy, as well as the humid air, repre-
senting nature. “The afterlife of insects, space graf-
fiti, white holes / In the landscape, / such things,
such avenues, lead to dust / And handle our hurt
with ease.” Wright compares the dust and ashes that
are the inevitable final states of any living creature
with the dust that forms planets and stars as well
as filling the void of space.
Much of the rest of the poem develops this
theme, in quite abstract and cosmic terms, but in
the final stanza we return to homely, quite terres-
trial nature. We have returned from space and are
back in Wright’s yard, by the greenhouse, and he
is still questioning the process by which the mind
understands and represents nature. The “lexicon of
late summer,” both the poetry that Wright is re-
sponding to and the lexicon of nature (heat, insects,
humidity), is “abstracting the necessary word,”
causing the poet to think in these broad, abstract,
cosmic terms. But it is to the particular that Wright
must return. “Autumn’s upon us,” he notes, “the
rain fills our narrow beds.” These “beds” recall the
graves that Wright has discussed earlier, in the pre-
vious stanza when he talks about human death, and
death, to Wright, is not a particularly important
event: “we’re out of here, and sweet meat.”
So what is the enduring part of human exis-
tence, if we turn to nothing but dust and “sweet
meat”? The answer comes in the final lines: “De-
scription’s an element, like air and water./ That’s
the word.” Wright’s stance on the relative places
of the poet, of poetry, and of nature, then, comes
somewhere between Wordsworth’s and Keats’. Art
is immortal: it is “an element, like air and water.”
In this, the poem seems an affirmation of Keats’
“Grecian Urn” ode. However, this poem, and hu-
man existence, are buffeted by and in a sense de-
termined by nature. If art does end up being as en-
during as (or even more so than) nature, as Keats
would have it, the artist is not entirely in control,
as in Keats. Rather, nature must determine the sub-
ject matter of poetry, which achieves immortality
in that it depicts of nature. Artists, destined to be
dust or “sweet meat” in the grave, simply record
the atmosphere of the thirty-first of August, 1995,
or the zodiac, the motions of the stars themselves.
Source:Greg Barnhisel, in an essay for Poetry for Students,
Gale, 2001.David Caplan
David Caplan is a doctoral candidate at the
University of Virginia, writing a dissertation on
contemporary poetry. In this essay, he places
“Black Zodiac” in the context of Charles Wright’s
poetic career.An air of almost pure meditation distinguishes
Charles Wright’s poetry. Characters rarely inhabit
its landscapes. Extremely few actions occur; the po-
ems never tell stories. More often than not, they di-
rect their gazes inward, meditating upon the nature
of poetry. Again and again Wright’s verse returns
to the basic questions one might ask of this art.
How is it written? What inspires it? What does it
accomplish? What, if any, consolations does poetry
bring?
The answers Wright provides might strike
some as intolerably bleak. During the Vietnam
War, many poets and readers wanted politically
committed writing. Art, the argument went, could
help stimulate opposition to an unjust war. It could
raise consciousness and protect a nation from its
worse impulses. Wright viewed these claims withBlack Zodiac