Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Donald Justice?s "Psalm and Lament" is a poignant elegy reflecting on the death of his mother and the profound emptiness that loss leaves in its wake. Set in Hialeah, Florida, and infused with the poet’s characteristic balance of personal grief and universal meditation, the poem masterfully captures the interplay between memory, time, and the desolate beauty of the everyday world after loss. Through its imagery and tone, "Psalm and Lament" becomes a moving exploration of mourning and the persistence of memory amid the unrelenting continuation of life.

The opening lines, "The clocks are sorry, the clocks are very sad. / One stops, one goes on striking the wrong hours," set a tone of disorientation and sorrow. The clocks, metaphors for the passage of time, reflect the poet?s internal state—a world where time has become unmoored and unreliable. This suggests that the natural order of life has been disrupted by his mother’s death, leaving him in a state of temporal and emotional disarray. The contrast between the stopped clock and the one striking "the wrong hours" emphasizes the fragmented and incongruous nature of grief.

The poem transitions into an image of a landscape scorched by the sun: "The grass burns terribly in the sun, / The grass turns yellow secretly at the roots." Here, Justice imbues the external environment with the poet’s inner despair, creating a correspondence between the physical world and the emotional devastation of loss. The phrase "secretly at the roots" suggests that the deepest wounds of grief, much like the grass?s decay, are hidden beneath the surface, invisible yet pervasive.

Justice?s portrayal of emptiness is stark and vivid: "Now suddenly the yard chairs look empty, the sky looks empty, / The sky looks vast and empty." This repetition of "empty" reinforces the void left by his mother?s absence, while the juxtaposition of the intimate (yard chairs) and the infinite (the sky) expands the scope of the loss. It is not just the immediate surroundings that feel vacant but the entire cosmos, underscoring the all-encompassing nature of grief.

Despite the personal focus, the poet acknowledges the unrelenting continuation of the external world: "Out on Red Road the traffic continues; everything continues." This observation of life?s persistence contrasts sharply with the poet?s sense of stasis, highlighting the isolating nature of mourning. Yet, the phrase "Nor does memory sleep; it goes on" shifts the focus inward, suggesting that while life around him moves forward, memory keeps circling back, tethering him to the past.

The poem’s heart lies in its poignant recollection of his mother’s final moments: "(The bedclothes, they say, had been pulled down. / I will not describe it. I do not want to describe it.)" These lines are a striking mix of restraint and anguish. By refusing to detail the scene, Justice conveys the unspeakable pain of confronting death directly. The image of "sheets… drenched and twisted" evokes both the physical reality of death and the emotional torment it leaves behind, described evocatively as "the very handkerchiefs of grief."

Amid the sorrow, Justice hints at renewal: "Let summer come now with its schoolboy trumpets and fountains." Summer, with its connotations of youth and vitality, contrasts with the finality of death, serving as a reminder of life?s cyclical nature. Yet, the subsequent line—"But the years are gone, the years are finally over"—underscores the irretrievable passage of time and the poet’s sense of irreparable loss.

The closing stanzas return to the physicality of the neighborhood, grounding the abstract grief in concrete imagery: "This long desolation of flower-bordered sidewalks / That runs to the corner, turns, and goes on." The sidewalks, bordered by flowers yet stretching into "the black oblivion of a neighborhood and a world / Without billboards or yesterdays," symbolize the continuity of life devoid of its former vibrancy. The absence of "billboards or yesterdays" speaks to a loss of markers and memories that once gave meaning to the landscape.

The final image of the "sad moon" watering the roof tiles evokes a quiet, melancholic beauty. The moon, often a symbol of constancy and reflection, here seems to mourn alongside the poet. Yet, the repeated refrain—"But the years are gone. There are no more years"—emphasizes the permanence of the loss and the irrevocability of time.

"Psalm and Lament" exemplifies Justice?s ability to blend personal mourning with universal resonance. The poem’s structure mirrors the cycles of grief, oscillating between memories of the past and observations of the present. Its language, at once restrained and evocative, captures the ineffable nature of loss while situating it within the broader context of time and existence. By juxtaposing the permanence of memory with the transience of life, Justice creates an elegy that is both deeply intimate and profoundly universal, reminding readers of the delicate balance between sorrow and the beauty of the world that endures.

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