You couldn’t just drop in. You had to phone.
He’d put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
In this stanza, the narrator comments on his father’s grief-stricken behavior. The narrator notes that—to some extent—his father recognizes that his behavior is a bit odd and unusual. Though the father is merely expressing his grief, he feels self-conscious of his behavior—to the point that he insists people call before they drop by, so that he may clear up the evidence of his heartbroken fantasy. This stanza highlights how grief manifests itself in curious and unusual ways; it is a personal process that varies from person to person. It also shows how people can be quite embarrassed of their grief and ashamed of what others might think about their grieving process.
I say: I had two uncles, Joe and Harry -
one was a stammerer, the other dumb.
In this remarkably brief poem, the narrator has been asked how/why he was motivated to become a poet. In this quotation, the narrator replies that he had two uncles. One of them stammered and the other one suffered from some sort of mental illness. Though the narrator’s motivation is not immediately apparent, a bit of further examination makes the narrator’s motivation clear. The narrator implies that his family always struggled with language. It was because of their struggle that he was inspire to pursue a career that depended upon the ability to utilize and master language: poetry. The narrator needed to prove that he was capable and intelligent enough to become a successful poet.
Back in our silences and sullen looks,
for all the Scotch we drink, what's still between's
not the thirty or so years, but books, books, books.
In this stanza, the narrator recalls the moment his acquaintance’s wife commented on the fact that they were just like bookends. The wife likened the narrator and her husbands to two bookends; always together, always close, but never interacting. In this quotation, the narrator recognizes that they are, in fact, like bookends. Though they have known each other for “thirty or so years,” the only thing that lies between them is books. In other words, the narrator is commenting on the fact that, though he has been physically near to this other person for some thirty years—they are no closer than bookends. In this way, it becomes clear that the dead wife clearly bridged the gap between these two characters. Now that she is gone, they have no clue how to grow closer together.
I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven’t both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there’s your name
and the disconnected number I still call.
This stanza, which concludes the melancholy poem, is remarkably telling because it is in this stanza that the narrator admits that—despite his criticism of his father’s grief-stricken actions—he also deals with loss in a similar manner. In this stanza, the narrator speaks to some unknown character—the addressee of his statement. Though it is not clear whether this mystery character has died or simply left the narrator’s life, we discover that the narrator still pretends he/she is alive by calling the disconnected number. It is here that we discover the hypocrisy of the narrator’s actions. Though he criticized his father for acting as if his mother was still alive, the narrator grieves the loss of this mystery character in the same way.
