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Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

WHAT I FORGOT TO MENTION, by                

Lawrence Raab’s "What I Forgot to Mention" is a meditation on impermanence, memory, and the ways in which the past lingers in small, seemingly inconsequential details. The poem moves through physical decay, seasonal changes, and the gradual erosion of memory, suggesting that what we forget—or choose not to mention—often carries as much weight as what we remember. With a restrained, reflective tone, Raab explores how meaning is assigned to objects and moments, even as time steadily erases their significance.

The poem begins with an assertion of inevitable decline: "Things fall apart. / First a chair, then a table." The phrase echoes the famous line from W. B. Yeats’s "The Second Coming"—"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold." However, Raab’s use of the phrase is more intimate, domestic. Instead of signaling apocalyptic chaos, it refers to the quiet disintegration of ordinary things. The listing—"First a chair, then a table."—suggests an incremental process, the slow unraveling of a home. The next observations reinforce this gradual decay: "We can see the roof needs replacing, the garden’s overgrown." These are not sudden disasters but recognizable signs of neglect, reminders of time’s steady erosion.

This physical deterioration parallels emotional and conversational fatigue: "How easy to think only of obligation, to talk for hours and say / nothing surprising." The word "obligation" suggests routine, a relationship that has settled into predictable patterns. Conversations stretch on but lack vitality—"nothing surprising." The poem suggests that just as material things wear down, so do relationships, conversations, and perhaps even memory itself.

Then comes an interruption, a sudden act of nature: "One afternoon a neighbor’s tree is struck by lightning. / It falls." This moment contrasts with the slow decay mentioned earlier. The tree’s destruction is abrupt and dramatic, a single moment of rupture in contrast to the poem’s earlier sense of gradual dissolution. The tree falling suggests that some endings are neither slow nor predictable—they arrive without warning.

Despite this dramatic moment, nature continues in its quiet, unnoticed rhythms: "And the maples shelter tiny insects chewing on their tender, folded buds." This image shifts the scale of destruction from the massive (a tree struck by lightning) to the minuscule (insects feeding on buds). The contrast reinforces how life persists, even in its smallest forms, despite decay and loss.

The poem then moves to summer, where natural symbols—"flowers, seasons, rivers"—are described as "shrinking a little in the heat." These "convenient emblems" of change and renewal seem diminished, their significance reduced by the season’s "cruel weather." The speaker acknowledges that they "weren’t going to speak of it," but the observation slips through anyway, just as difficult emotions emerge despite efforts to suppress them.

A direct address follows: "But you, dear, what did you remember today?" The shift to second-person creates intimacy, as if the speaker is reaching toward a shared past. The phrasing implies that the other person has remembered something, but the speaker does not know what it is. This introduces a gap—one person’s memory is inaccessible to the other.

The poem turns toward a specific, uncertain recollection: "Oh, the mind leaps backward and we shrug it off: / just one flower, nameless, bent toward water." The word "just" minimizes the moment, yet its presence in the poem suggests its quiet significance. The flower is "nameless," its meaning ambiguous. The speaker recalls a past moment of tenderness: "We were walking by and you picked it out of sympathy. Or you let it stay." The uncertainty—"Or you let it stay."—suggests the fragility of memory. The act itself is ambiguous; perhaps it was significant at the time, or perhaps it became significant only in retrospect.

The poem concludes with an image of erasure: "Long ago the petals fell off. / Why think of it?" The flower, like memory itself, has deteriorated. Its physical presence is gone, leaving only a faint impression. The final thought—"That stain of purple, so small it could mean anything."—captures the essence of the poem. The "stain of purple" is a remnant, a trace of something that once existed but now lacks a clear meaning. The phrase "it could mean anything" acknowledges that memory is subjective, shaped by interpretation rather than fixed truth.

"What I Forgot to Mention" is a poem about the tension between forgetting and remembering, about the way certain details linger even as they lose their clarity. Raab suggests that meaning is fluid—what we recall may not be entirely accurate, and what we forget may still leave an imprint. The poem does not seek to resolve this uncertainty but instead finds beauty in it, allowing memory to remain both elusive and persistent, like a faint stain that refuses to disappear.


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