Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Mark Strand's "Sleeping With One Eye Open" is a vivid exploration of fear, vulnerability, and the unsettling power of the night. Through sharp, sensory language and a playful yet ominous tone, Strand transforms the seemingly mundane experience of lying awake into a surreal and haunting meditation on the fragility of the self. The poem’s structure and sound mirror the disjointed, uneasy rhythms of an anxious mind, creating an atmosphere that is at once claustrophobic and expansive.

The poem begins with a depiction of unusual stillness: "Unmoved by what the wind does, / The windows / Are not rattled." This absence of noise sets the tone for the eerie quiet that dominates the speaker’s environment. The house, typically animated with "the usual racket," is now unnervingly still. The usual creaks and groans of a living structure have disappeared, leaving a void that amplifies the speaker's unease. By personifying the house and its parts—"joints, trusses, and studs"—Strand gives life to inanimate objects, subtly underscoring their unnerving silence. This silence is not comforting but oppressive, as if the house itself conspires with the night to heighten the speaker's sense of isolation.

The trees outside, which "at times [are] able / To raise havoc," are similarly subdued. The maples, whose branches might typically scratch or sway noisily in the wind, remain ominously still. This suspension of natural sound builds a tension that feels both anticipatory and stifling. The external world, often chaotic or alive, is here rendered inert, throwing the speaker's internal turmoil into sharp relief.

Strand shifts focus inward, where the night "rattles" the speaker instead. The external stillness contrasts with the speaker's inner agitation, as fear transforms the quiet into something menacing. The half-moon becomes a surreal figure, described as "half-man, / Half-dark," an anthropomorphic image that suggests a fractured or incomplete presence. The moon’s light, which "lies on / Its side casting a fishy light," is not a source of illumination but a distorted, almost sickly force that invades the speaker's space. Strand's choice of "fishy" to describe the light imbues it with an unsettling, alien quality, suggesting something slippery and untrustworthy.

The moonlight’s effect on the room is both physical and psychological, creating a "clammy and cold" atmosphere that reinforces the speaker’s discomfort. The phrase "moonhandled" captures the invasive power of the light, as though it manipulates and dominates the space, further unmooring the speaker. The room becomes a theater for the speaker's fears, its surreal qualities ("weird," "morbid") mirroring the distorted perceptions brought on by sleepless anxiety.

The speaker’s fear becomes most palpable in the shivers that "wash over / Me, shaking my bones." The physical manifestation of this fear—"my loose ends / Loosen"—suggests a profound unraveling, both bodily and mentally. The night transforms into a liminal space where the speaker feels caught between life and death, a sensation encapsulated in the chilling line, "Oh I feel dead, / Folded / Away in my blankets for good." The blankets, which should offer warmth and protection, instead feel like a shroud, emphasizing the speaker’s vulnerability and isolation.

Strand’s use of rhyme throughout the poem, particularly the playful and abrupt rhymes like "rattled / Saddled" and "lord / Morbid," adds to the poem’s disjointed, off-kilter tone. The rhymes feel almost nursery-rhyme-like in their simplicity, which contrasts with the weight of the speaker’s existential dread. This interplay between form and content creates a subtle tension, as the rhyme scheme both soothes and unsettles, much like the speaker's attempt to hold their fears at bay.

The poem’s conclusion—"I lie sleeping with one eye open, / Hoping / That nothing, nothing will happen"—returns to the speaker's persistent unease. The repetition of "nothing" underscores the speaker's paradoxical desire: to be left undisturbed by external forces while simultaneously grappling with an internal dread that ensures restlessness. The final hope that "nothing will happen" carries a dual meaning, encapsulating both a wish for safety and a deeper, existential fear of stagnation or insignificance.

"Sleeping With One Eye Open" masterfully captures the disquiet of a sleepless night, blending the external world’s eerie stillness with the speaker's internal fears. Strand’s use of stark imagery, sensory detail, and disjointed rhyme mirrors the fragmented and heightened awareness of the sleepless mind, creating a poem that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant. It speaks to the human condition of vulnerability, the ways in which stillness can amplify our inner chaos, and the tenuous balance between hoping for peace and fearing the unknown.

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