Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Richard Hugo's poem "1614 Boren" delves into the exploration of memory, decay, and the enigmatic remnants of a past life, all encapsulated within the confines of a dilapidated building. The poem paints a vivid picture of a place where the passage of time has left behind fragments of lives once lived, each piece holding a story that is simultaneously mundane and mysterious.

The poem opens with an image of the speaker and perhaps others "poking debris for fun," suggesting an almost childlike curiosity in exploring the remnants of the past. The items they discover—a chipped doll, a union picnic flag, a valentine—are relics of a bygone era, each carrying its own weight of nostalgia and forgotten sentiment. The valentine, with its image of a "plump girl in a swing" who "never could grow body hair or old in all that lace," becomes a symbol of eternal youth and innocence, preserved in a moment that defies the natural progression of life. The girl's "flesh the color of a salmon egg" adds a touch of surrealism, emphasizing the artificiality of the image and the disconnection from reality.

The poem then shifts to a "black-edged scroll regretting death," a piece of mourning ephemera that embodies the formal, almost formulaic expressions of grief that were common in the past. The scroll's text, with its references to the "Great Architect" and the "lesser aerie here" versus the "great aerie in the sky," reflects a religious or spiritual attempt to rationalize death, placing it within a grand cosmic design. However, Hugo hints at a sense of irony or bitterness in this ritualized mourning, suggesting that "someone could have hated this so much" that they chose to escape, owning "a million acres in Peru" as if to distance themselves from the very sentimentality or emotional burden the scroll represents.

The poem's attention then turns to a picture hung in the "best room," a scene of "Peace, perhaps." The depiction—a calm road leading to a house "half hid by poplars, willows and the corny vines"—seems to offer a sense of tranquility and idyllic beauty. Yet, Hugo's description is tinged with a subtle critique, noting the "corny vines bad sketchers used around that time," suggesting a lack of artistic skill or originality. The white canal in front, with "two innocuous boats en route," contributes to the sense of calm, but also raises questions about the true nature of the scene and its significance.

Hugo speculates on the origins of this picture, imagining it as the work of "a man who sweated years in a stale room, probably one upstairs," who deliberately left the picture behind as if it held some personal meaning or as a final statement. The idea that the man believed "that was the place he was really moving from" adds a layer of psychological complexity, hinting at the emotional or mental detachment from the reality of his situation, and suggesting that the picture represented a world he longed for or could never truly reach.

The poem continues to explore the physical space of the building, noting the disparities between rooms—why "room 5 could cook and 7 not?"—and reflecting on the general decrepitude of the place. The description of the rooms as "dirty even then," with "ancient toilets" and "weak and flat" light, paints a picture of a place that has always been neglected, where even the light is stark and unforgiving, cast by "a bare bulb." The boarders who lived there referred to it in various terms—"place," "house," or "edifice"—each term carrying different connotations of permanence, identity, or grandeur, further emphasizing the ambiguity and complexity of the building's character.

Hugo introduces a sense of skepticism about the picture itself, questioning whether the scene depicted is "The Netherlands perhaps," and whether the canals shown are "bleached by sky" or "scorched pale gray by an invader's guns." The uncertainty about the picture's origin or even its existence ("It can't exist. It's just a sketcher's whim") reflects the broader theme of the poem: the elusive nature of memory and the constructed realities we create to make sense of the world around us.

The final lines of the poem bring this reflection full circle, as Hugo acknowledges the harshness of reality—"The world has poison and the world has sperm"—contrasting it with the deceptive simplicity of the picture, where "water looks like water, not like milk or a cotton highway." The mention of "a chance" at the end leaves the poem open-ended, suggesting that despite the decay and ambiguity, there is still a possibility, however slim, for something real, tangible, or meaningful to emerge from the detritus of the past.

"1614 Boren" is a rich exploration of the interplay between memory, decay, and the artifacts of a forgotten life. Hugo's use of detailed imagery and shifting perspectives creates a layered narrative that invites readers to consider how we engage with the remnants of the past, and how the spaces we inhabit are infused with the memories, dreams, and failures of those who came before us. The poem suggests that while these remnants may be fragmented and decayed, they still hold the power to provoke reflection and, perhaps, offer a fleeting glimpse of meaning in an otherwise indifferent world.

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