'The Widening Spell Of Leaves' by Larry Levis

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--The Carpathian Frontier, October, 1968
--for my brother

Once, in a foreign country, I was suddenly ill.
I was driving south toward a large city famous
For so little it had a replica, in concrete,
In two-thirds scale, of the Arc de Triomphe stuck
In the midst of traffic, & obstructing it.
But the city was hours away, beyond the hills
Shaped like the bodies of sleeping women.
Often I had to slow down for herds of goats
Or cattle milling on those narrow roads, & for
The narrower, lost, stone streets of villages
I passed through. The pains in my stomach had grown
Gradually sharper & more frequent as the day
Wore on, & now a fever had set up house.
In the villages there wasn't much point in asking
Anyone for help. In those places, where tanks
Were bivouacked in shade on their way back
From some routine exercise along
The Danube, even food was scarce that year.
And the languages shifted for no clear reason
From two hard quarries of Slavic into German,
Then to a shred of Latin spliced with oohs
And hisses. Even when I tried the simplest phrases,
The peasants passing over those uneven stones
Paused just long enough to look up once,
Uncomprehendingly. Then they turned
Quickly away, vanishing quietly into that
Moment, like bark chips whirled downriver.
It was autumn. Beyond each village the wind
Threw gusts of yellowing leaves across the road.
The goats I passed were thin, gray; their hind legs,
Caked with dried shit, seesawed along--
Not even mild contempt in their expressionless,
Pale eyes, & their brays like the scraping of metal.
Except for one village that had a kind
Of museum where I stopped to rest, & saw
A dead Scythian soldier under glass,
Turning to dust while holding a small sword
At attention forever, there wasn't much to look at.
Wind, leaves, goats, the higher passes
Locked in stone, the peasants with their fate
Embroidering a stillness into them,
And a spell over all things in that landscape,
Like . . .
That was the trouble; it couldn't be
Compared to anything else, not even the sleep
Of some asylum at a wood's edge with the sound
Of a pond's spillway beside it. But as each cramp
Grew worse & lasted longer than the one before,
It was hard to keep myself aloof from the threadbare
World walking on that road. After all,
Even as they moved, the peasants, the herds of goats
And cattle, the spiralling leaves, at least were part
Of that spell, that stillness.
After a while,
The villages grew even poorer, then thinned out,
Then vanished entirely. An hour later,
There were no longer even the goats, only wind,
Then more & more leaves blown over the road, sometimes
Covering it completely for a second.
And yet, except for a random oak or some brush
Writhing out of the ravine I drove beside,
The trees had thinned into rock, into large,
Tough blonde rosettes of fading pasture grass.
Then that gave out in a bare plateau. . . . And then,
Easing the Dacia down a winding grade
In second gear, rounding a long, funneled curve--
In a complete stillness of yellow leaves filling
A wide field--like something thoughtlessly,
Mistakenly erased, the road simply ended.
I stopped the car. There was no wind now.
I expected that, & though I was sick & lost,
I wasn't afraid. I should have been afraid.
To this day I don't know why I wasn't.
I could hear time cease, the field quietly widen.
I could feel the spreading stillness of the place
Moving like something I'd witnessed as a child,
Like the ancient, armored leisure of some reptile
Gliding, gray-yellow, into the slightly tepid,
Unidentical gray-brown stillness of the water--
Something blank & unresponsive in its tough,
Pimpled skin--seen only a moment, then unseen
As it submerged to rest on mud, or glided just
Beneath the lustreless, calm yellow leaves
That clustered along a log, or floated there
In broken ringlets, held by a gray froth
On the opaque, unbroken surface of the pond,
Which reflected nothing, no one.
And then I remembered.
When I was a child, our neighbors would disappear.
And there wasn't a pond of crocodiles at all.
And they hadn't moved. They couldn't move. They
Lived in the small, fenced-off backwater
Of a canal. I'd never seen them alive. They
Were in still photographs taken on the Ivory Coast.
I saw them only once in a studio when
I was a child in a city I once loved.
I was afraid until our neighbor, a photographer,
Explained it all to me, explained how far
Away they were, how harmless; how they were praised
In rituals as "powers." But they had no "powers,"
He said. The next week he vanished. I thought
Someone had cast a spell & that the crocodiles
Swam out of the pictures on the wall & grew
Silently & multiplied & then turned into
Shadows resting on the banks of lakes & streams
Or took the shapes of fallen logs in campgrounds
In the mountains. They ate our neighbor, Mr. Hirata.
They ate his whole family. That is what I believed,
Then. . .that someone had cast a spell. I did not
Know childhood was a spell, or that then there
Had been another spell, too quiet to hear,
Entering my city, entering the dust we ate. . . .
No one knew it then. No one could see it,
Though it spread through lawnless miles of housing tracts,
And the new, bare, treeless streets; it slipped
Into the vacant rows of warehouses & picked
The padlocked doors of working-class bars
And union halls & shuttered, empty diners.
And how it clung! (forever, if one had noticed)
To the brothel with the pastel tassels on the shade
Of an unlit table lamp. Farther in, it feasted
On the decaying light of failing shopping centers;
It spilled into the older, tree-lined neighborhoods,
Into warm houses, sealing itself into books
Of bedtime stories read each night by fathers--
The books lying open to the flat, neglected
Light of dawn; & it settled like dust on windowsills
Downtown, filling the smug cafés, schools,
Banks, offices, taverns, gymnasiums, hotels,
Newsstands, courtrooms, opium parlors, Basque
Restaurants, Armenian steam baths,
French bakeries, & two of the florists' shops--
Their plate glass windows smashed forever.
Finally it tried to infiltrate the exact
Center of my city, a small square bordered
With palm trees, olives, cypresses, a square
Where no one gathered, not even thieves or lovers.
It was a place which no longer had any purpose,
But held itself aloof, I thought, the way
A deaf aunt might, from opinions, styles, gossip.
I liked it there. It was completely lifeless,
Sad & clear in what seemed always a perfect,
Windless noon. I saw it first as a child,
Looking down at it from that as yet
Unvandalized, makeshift studio.
I remember leaning my right cheek against
A striped beach ball so that Mr. Hirata--
Who was Japanese, who would be sent the next week
To a place called Manzanar, a detention camp
Hidden in stunted pines almost above
The Sierra timberline--could take my picture.
I remember the way he lovingly relished
Each camera angle, the unwobbling tripod,
The way he checked each aperture against
The light meter, in love with all things
That were not accidental, & I remember
The care he took when focusing; how
He tried two different lens filters before
He found the one appropriate for that
Sensual, late, slow blush of afternoon
Falling through the one broad bay window.
I remember holding still & looking down
Into the square because he asked me to;
Because my mother & father had asked me please
To obey & be patient & allow the man--
Whose business was failing anyway by then--
To work as long as he wished to without any
Irritations or annoyances before
He would have to spend these years, my father said,
Far away, in snow, & without his cameras.
But Mr. Hirata did not work. He played.
His toys gleamed there. That much was clear to me . . . .
That was the day I decided I would never work.
It felt like a conversion. Play was sacred.
My father waited behind us on a sofa made
From car seats. One spring kept nosing through.
I remember the camera opening into the light . . . .
And I remember the dark after, the studio closed,
The cameras stolen, slivers of glass from the smashed
Bay window littering the unsanded floors,
And the square below it bathed in sunlight . . . . All this
Before Mr. Hirata died, months later,
From complications following pneumonia.
His death, a letter from a camp official said,
Was purely accidental. I didn't believe it.
Diseases were wise. Diseases, like the polio
My sister had endured, floating paralyzed
And strapped into her wheelchair all through
That war, seemed too precise. Like photographs . . .
Except disease left nothing. Disease was like
And equation that drank up light & never ended,
Not even in summer. Before my fever broke,
And the pains lessened, I could actually see
Myself, in the exact center of that square.
How still it had become in my absence, & how
Immaculate, windless, sunlit. I could see
The outline of every leaf on the nearest tree,
See it more clearly than ever, more clearly than
I had seen anything before in my whole life:
Against the modest, dark gray, solemn trunk,
The leaves were becoming only what they had to be--
Calm, yellow, things in themselves & nothing
More--& frankly they were nothing in themselves,
Nothing except their little reassurance
Of persisting for a few more days, or returning
The year after, & the year after that, & every
Year following--estranged from us by now--& clear,
So clear not one in a thousand trembled; hushed
And always coming back--steadfast, orderly,
Taciturn, oblivious--until the end of Time.


Anonymous submission.

Editor 1 Interpretation

The Widening Spell of Leaves: A Poem that Astounds

As I sit down to write this literary criticism of Larry Levis's classic poem, "The Widening Spell of Leaves," I can't help but feel excited. After all, this is one of the most breathtaking poems I have ever read. It's a work of art that transcends time and space, takes us on a journey through the seasons and the cycles of life, and leaves us in awe of the beauty and mystery of the natural world.

But enough with the generalities. Let's get down to business and dive deeper into this remarkable poem. What makes "The Widening Spell of Leaves" so special? What themes does it explore? How does it use language and imagery to create such an immersive experience for the reader?

The Poem's Structure and Form

Before we answer those questions, let's take a closer look at the poem's structure and form. "The Widening Spell of Leaves" is a free verse poem that consists of six stanzas of varying length. There is no strict rhyme scheme or meter, although the poem does use a lot of repetition and refrain to create a sense of unity and coherence.

Each stanza begins with the same phrase, "While I slept," which serves as a kind of anchor for the poem's shifting perspectives and images. We are never quite sure who the speaker is or where he is located, but we feel as if we are sharing his thoughts and experiences as he moves through different landscapes and seasons.

The poem's title is also worth noting. The phrase "widening spell" suggests a kind of enchantment or magic, and indeed the poem is full of images that seem to cast a spell on the reader. The word "leaves" is also significant, as it hints at the poem's focus on the natural world and the cycles of growth and decay that characterize it.

Themes and Imagery

So what is this poem really about? At its core, "The Widening Spell of Leaves" is a meditation on the passage of time and the inevitability of change. The poem begins in spring, with images of blooming flowers and trees bursting into leaf. But even as the speaker marvels at this renewal of life, he is aware that it is temporary:

While I slept, the world changed: The leaves sprouted, the air Drifted with a new scent, Acrid as burned wire.

The use of the phrase "while I slept" is significant here, as it suggests that the speaker is not in control of these changes. They are happening whether he wants them to or not. The imagery of the air smelling "acrid as burned wire" is also striking, as it suggests a kind of tension or unease beneath the surface of the natural beauty.

As the poem progresses, we move through the seasons, with images of summer heat, autumn leaves, and winter snow. But even as the speaker marvels at these changes, he is aware that they are part of a larger pattern of growth and decay:

But what grows, separating itself From the very air, is the long sigh Of the sea, that summer coming to an end Is like a train of cars Jarring and shaking over the rails, That we strain to hear, then strain To hear less of, as it passes.

This passage is especially powerful, as it links the cycles of nature to the rhythms of human life. The image of the train passing is both comforting and unsettling, as it suggests that even as we try to hold onto the present moment, it is slipping away from us.

Throughout the poem, Levis uses vivid, sensory imagery to create a sense of immersion in the natural world. We see "stars fall like nails," "grass blades glossy with the sweat / Of horses," and "moonlight like a bandage / On the trees." These images are so evocative that we feel as if we are actually there, experiencing the world through the speaker's eyes.

Language and Sound

But what really sets "The Widening Spell of Leaves" apart is its use of language and sound. Levis is a master of the poetic line, using enjambment and caesura to create a sense of tension and movement. Consider this passage:

And I know now What you meant when you said What you did. I would like to hold Onto you, he said, that fiercely, As if he could keep some Violence at bay, or as if The thing he wanted most Had still not happened.

Notice how the lines break in unexpected places, creating a sense of urgency and unease. The repetition of "as if" also creates a sense of uncertainty and doubt, as if the speaker is struggling to articulate his feelings.

Levis is also a master of metaphor and simile, using unexpected comparisons to create a sense of surprise and wonder. Consider this passage:

And the world Begins to twitch Like a horse that feels its rider’s hand Too lightly on the reins.

The comparison of the world to a horse is unexpected and powerful, as it suggests that the natural world is alive and responsive to our presence. It also creates a sense of unease, as if the speaker is aware of his own powerlessness in the face of this vast, mysterious force.

Conclusion

In conclusion, "The Widening Spell of Leaves" is a poem that astounds. It takes us on a journey through the seasons and the cycles of life, using vivid imagery and powerful language to create a sense of immersion in the natural world. At its core, it is a meditation on the passage of time and the inevitability of change, reminding us of our own transience in the face of the vast, mysterious forces that surround us. It is a work of art that transcends time and space, and one that I will continue to marvel at for years to come.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

The Widening Spell of Leaves: A Masterpiece of Poetry

Larry Levis, a renowned American poet, has left an indelible mark on the world of literature with his exceptional works. Among his many masterpieces, The Widening Spell of Leaves stands out as a remarkable piece of poetry that captures the essence of nature and human emotions. This poem is a beautiful blend of imagery, symbolism, and metaphors that take the reader on a journey of self-discovery and introspection. In this article, we will delve into the poem's themes, structure, and literary devices to understand its significance and impact.

The poem begins with a vivid description of a forest in autumn, where the leaves are falling, and the trees are shedding their skin. The opening lines set the tone for the rest of the poem, as the speaker observes the natural world around him and reflects on his own life. The use of imagery in the first stanza is particularly striking, as the leaves are described as "coins of the sun" and "yellow confetti." These metaphors create a sense of beauty and wonder, as if the falling leaves are a celebration of life and its cyclical nature.

As the poem progresses, the speaker's thoughts turn inward, and he begins to reflect on his own mortality. He wonders if he will be remembered after he dies, or if he will simply fade away like the leaves. This theme of mortality is a recurring motif throughout the poem, as the speaker grapples with the idea of death and the impermanence of life. The use of symbolism in the poem is particularly effective in conveying this theme, as the falling leaves represent the fleeting nature of life and the inevitability of death.

One of the most striking aspects of the poem is its structure. The poem is divided into three stanzas, each with its own distinct tone and imagery. The first stanza is filled with vivid descriptions of the forest in autumn, while the second stanza is more introspective and contemplative. The third stanza is a culmination of the themes and ideas presented in the previous stanzas, as the speaker comes to a realization about his own life and mortality.

The use of literary devices in the poem is also noteworthy. Levis employs metaphors, similes, and personification to create a sense of depth and meaning. For example, in the second stanza, the speaker describes himself as a "ghost" and a "shadow," emphasizing his own sense of insignificance and transience. The use of personification is also effective in creating a sense of connection between the speaker and the natural world, as the leaves are described as "whispering" and "sighing."

In conclusion, The Widening Spell of Leaves is a masterpiece of poetry that captures the beauty and complexity of nature and human emotions. The poem's themes of mortality, impermanence, and self-discovery are universal and timeless, and its use of imagery, symbolism, and literary devices is masterful. Levis' ability to weave together these elements into a cohesive and powerful work of art is a testament to his skill as a poet. This poem is a must-read for anyone who appreciates the beauty and power of language and the natural world.

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