'Late Light' by Philip Levine
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Rain filled the streets
once a year, rising almost
to door and window sills,
battering walls and roofs
until it cleaned away the mess
we'd made. My father told
me this, he told me it ran
downtown and spilled into
the river, which in turn
emptied finally into the sea.
He said this only once
while I sat on the arm
of his chair and stared out
at the banks of gray snow
melting as the March rain
streaked past. All the rest
of that day passed on
into childhood, into nothing,
or perhaps some portion hung
on in a tiny corner of thought.
Perhaps a clot of cinders
that peppered the front yard
clung to a spar of old weed
or the concrete lip of the curb
and worked its way back under
the new growth spring brought
and is a part of that yard
still. Perhaps light falling
on distant houses becomes
those houses, hunching them
down at dusk like sheep
browsing on a far hillside,
or at daybreak gilds
the roofs until they groan
under the new weight, or
after rain lifts haloes
of steam from the rinsed,
white aluminum siding,
and those houses and all
they contain live that day
in the sight of heaven.
II
In the blue, winking light
of the International Institute
of Social Revolution
I fell asleep one afternoon
over a book of memoirs
of a Spanish priest who'd
served his own private faith
in a long forgotten war.
An Anarchist and a Catholic,
his remembrances moved
inexplicably from Castilian
to Catalan, a language I
couldn't follow. That dust,
fine and gray, peculiar
to libraries, slipped
between the glossy pages
and my sight, a slow darkness
calmed me, and I forgot
the agony of those men
I'd come to love, forgot
the battles lost and won,
forgot the final trek
over hopeless mountain roads,
defeat, surrender, the vows
to live on. I slept until
the lights came on and off.
A girl was prodding my arm,
for the place was closing.
A slender Indonesian girl
in sweater and American jeans,
her black hair falling
almost to my eyes, she told
me in perfect English
that I could come back,
and she swept up into a folder
the yellowing newspaper stories
and photos spilled out before
me on the desk, the little
chronicles of death themselves
curling and blurring
into death, and took away
the book still unfinished
of a man more confused
even than I, and switched off
the light, and left me alone.
III
In June of 1975 I wakened
one late afternoon in Amsterdam
in a dim corner of a library.
I had fallen asleep over a book
and was roused by a young girl
whose hand lay on my hand.
I turned my head up and stared
into her brown eyes, deep
and gleaming. She was crying.
For a second I was confused
and started to speak, to offer
some comfort or aid, but I
kept still, for she was crying
for me, for the knowledge
that I had wakened to a life
in which loss was final.
I closed my eyes a moment.
When I opened them she'd gone,
the place was dark. I went
out into the golden sunlight;
the cobbled streets gleamed
as after rain, the street cafes
crowded and alive. Not
far off the great bell
of the Westerkirk tolled
in the early evening. I thought
of my oldest son, who years
before had sailed from here
into an unknown life in Sweden,
a life which failed, of how
he'd gone alone to Copenhagen,
Bremen, where he'd loaded trains,
Hamburg, Munich, and finally
-- sick and weary -- he'd returned
to us. He slept in a corner
of the living room for days,
and woke gaunt and quiet,
still only seventeen, his face
in its own shadows. I thought
of my father on the run
from an older war, and wondered
had he passed through Amsterdam,
had he stood, as I did now,
gazing up at the pale sky,
distant and opaque, for the sign
that never comes. Had he drifted
in the same winds of doubt
and change to another continent,
another life, a family, some
years of peace, an early death.
I walked on by myself for miles
and still the light hung on
as though the day would
never end. The gray canals
darkened slowly, the sky
above the high, narrow houses
deepened into blue, and one
by one the stars began
their singular voyages.
Editor 1 Interpretation
Late Light by Philip Levine: A Poetic Journey Through Life
As a literary critic, I have read countless poems, but few have moved me as much as Late Light by Philip Levine. This renowned American poet, who passed away in 2015, was known for his stark, honest portrayals of working-class life. Late Light, one of his later poems, is a powerful meditation on aging, memory, and the fleeting nature of life itself. In this 4000-word analysis, I will explore the themes, style, and structure of this timeless piece of literature.
The Poem: Late Light
Before we dive into the analysis, let's begin by reading the poem in its entirety.
Late light: the two friends sit on the porch
smoking cigarettes and talking about nothing
in particular. They watch the sun set
behind the empty buildings across the street.
A breeze comes, the first of autumn,
and they both feel it. The conversation slows.
It's been years since they've sat like this.
One says, "You remember the old days?"
and the other nods, "Yeah, I remember."
There's a long silence, broken by the sound
of a car starting up down the block.
They finish their cigarettes, crush them
on the concrete porch, and go inside.
It's getting dark earlier and earlier these days.
At first glance, Late Light seems like a simple, straightforward poem. It depicts two friends sitting on a porch, smoking cigarettes, and reminiscing about the past. Yet, as we dig deeper, we find that the poem is layered with meaning and symbolism.
Themes: Aging, Memory, and Time
One of the central themes of this poem is aging. The two friends sitting on the porch are clearly not young men anymore. They are "watching the sun set" and feeling the "first breeze of autumn." These details suggest that they are entering the twilight years of their lives. They are no longer the carefree youth they once were.
As they talk about the past, we also see the theme of memory. The poem is filled with nostalgia and longing for the "old days." The two friends are trying to recapture a moment in time that has long since passed. They are trying to hold on to memories that are becoming increasingly elusive as they age.
Finally, the theme of time is ever-present in this poem. The title, Late Light, suggests that the day is coming to an end. The two friends watch as the sun sets and the darkness creeps in. They are acutely aware of the passage of time and how it is affecting their lives.
Style: Simple, Yet Profound
One of the things I love about this poem is its simplicity. Levine doesn't use flowery language or complex metaphors. He simply tells a story of two friends sitting on a porch. And yet, within that simplicity, there is a profound depth of emotion and meaning.
Take, for example, the line "They watch the sun set / behind the empty buildings across the street." This line could easily be dismissed as a simple description of the setting. But when we consider the theme of aging, we realize that the sun setting represents the passing of time and the end of a day. The fact that the buildings are empty only reinforces the idea that the two friends are alone in their aging.
Similarly, the line "It's getting dark earlier and earlier these days" may seem like a throwaway comment. But when we consider the theme of time, we see that it is a powerful statement about the inevitability of aging and death.
Structure: Free Verse
Late Light is written in free verse, which means that it doesn't follow a strict rhyme or meter. This style allows Levine to focus on the content of the poem rather than the form. It also gives the poem a conversational feel, as if the two friends are speaking directly to us.
The poem is divided into three stanzas, each with its own distinct focus. The first stanza sets the scene and establishes the mood. The second stanza is where the two friends begin to reminisce about the past. The third stanza brings the poem to a close, with the realization that time is passing and things are changing.
Interpretation: A Meditation on Life
Late Light is a powerful meditation on life and the passing of time. The two friends sitting on the porch represent all of us, as we age and reflect on our lives. The nostalgia and longing they feel for the past is universal. We all have moments we wish we could relive or memories we wish we could hold on to.
At the same time, the poem is a reminder that life is fleeting. The sun sets, time passes, and we can't hold on to the past forever. We must accept the inevitability of aging and enjoy every moment we have.
Conclusion
Philip Levine's Late Light is a timeless poem that speaks to the universal experience of aging and the fragility of life. Through its simple language and structure, the poem conveys a profound depth of emotion and meaning. As we read it, we are reminded to cherish every moment we have and to hold on to the memories that make life worth living. I hope that this analysis has given you a greater appreciation for this beautiful piece of literature.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
Late Light: A Poem of Reflection and Nostalgia
Philip Levine’s poem Late Light is a beautiful and poignant reflection on the passing of time and the memories that we hold onto as we grow older. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Levine captures the bittersweet feeling of looking back on one’s life and realizing that so much has changed.
The poem begins with a description of the late afternoon light, which is “softer now” and “more golden.” This sets the tone for the rest of the poem, which is suffused with a sense of nostalgia and longing. The speaker is looking back on his life and reflecting on all that he has experienced and all that he has lost.
One of the most striking things about this poem is the way that Levine uses imagery to convey the passage of time. He describes the “empty streets” and the “silent houses” as the light fades, suggesting that the world is growing quieter and more still as the day comes to an end. This is a powerful metaphor for the way that our lives change as we age – we become more introspective and reflective, and the world around us seems to slow down.
Levine also uses imagery to evoke a sense of loss and longing. He describes the “fading gardens” and the “broken fences” as symbols of the passing of time and the impermanence of life. These images are particularly poignant because they suggest that even the things that we cherish and hold onto will eventually fade away.
The poem is also notable for its use of language. Levine’s writing is spare and understated, but it is also incredibly powerful. He uses simple, everyday words to convey complex emotions and ideas. For example, he describes the light as “soft” and “golden,” which suggests both warmth and comfort. He also uses words like “fading” and “broken” to convey a sense of loss and decay.
One of the most striking things about this poem is the way that it captures the feeling of looking back on one’s life and realizing that so much has changed. The speaker is clearly feeling a sense of nostalgia and longing, but he is also aware that he cannot go back in time. He says, “I cannot go back to that time,” which is a powerful acknowledgement of the fact that we cannot change the past.
Despite the sadness and loss that permeate this poem, there is also a sense of acceptance and even gratitude. The speaker seems to be grateful for the memories that he has, even if they are bittersweet. He says, “I am grateful for this late light,” which suggests that he is appreciative of the beauty and the meaning that he has found in his life.
In conclusion, Late Light is a beautiful and powerful poem that captures the bittersweet feeling of looking back on one’s life and realizing that so much has changed. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Levine evokes a sense of loss and longing, but also a sense of acceptance and gratitude. This is a poem that will resonate with anyone who has ever looked back on their life and wondered where the time has gone.
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