Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Robert Penn Warren’s “Part of What Might Have Been a Short Story, Almost Forgotten” explores the tension between human encounters with nature’s grandeur and the lurking, often incomprehensible truths that these moments evoke. Written in octosyllabic verse, the poem presents a vivid narrative of a journey to Shoshone Falls, where the sublime beauty of the natural world is overshadowed by an encounter with a primal, almost mythic beast. Through layered imagery, shifts in tone, and philosophical reflection, Warren meditates on humanity’s place in time, the mysteries of existence, and the inevitability of revelation.

The poem begins by establishing its temporal and physical setting: “Fifty-odd years ago if you / Were going to see Shoshone Falls.” This framing places the narrative in a past era, evoking a sense of distance and nostalgia. The speaker contrasts the rugged, isolated experience of visiting the falls back then with the present-day commodification of natural wonders: “No-rough roads then, gravel / Sometimes and, too, lonesomeness.” This “lonesomeness” underscores the raw and unmediated connection to nature that modern tourism, with its “burnt high-test” and “flowered shirts,” has eroded.

The depiction of Shoshone Falls is grand and overwhelming. The “chasmed roar” of the water builds from a “dream of thunder” to a palpable, almost physical force: “tons of water, / Glinting like steel, if steel could flow.” The falls are described as both beautiful and menacing, their “crashing white and foam-stung air” symbolizing the raw power of nature. This grandeur is juxtaposed with the sinking “red sun of August,” which signals the inevitable passage of time and the descent into darkness. The woman accompanying the speaker retreats to the car, unable to bear the noise, leaving the speaker alone to confront the deepening void.

As the speaker gazes into the chasm, the falls take on a hypnotic quality: “Arms, white, / Wreathed upward, imploring.” This imagery, with its spectral, almost ghostly figures, suggests a confrontation with mortality or an existential pull toward the unknown. The compulsion to stare downward into the “deepening sound and white fulfill-ment” reflects the allure of nature’s terrifying beauty—a reminder of humanity’s fragility and insignificance.

The narrative takes a sharp turn with the sudden burst of “the car’s headlights.” The light reveals a creature on a “skyward-broken stratum.” The beast, described with “great shoulder / Muscles bunched separate and high” and “White glitter of fangs,” embodies primal power and predatory grace. Its “gaze of blaze” captures the speaker in a moment of terror, as if nature itself, through this creature, is holding him accountable. The beast’s “contemptuous dignity” and eventual leap into the darkness evoke a sense of untouchable majesty, a reminder of the natural world’s indifference to human presence.

This encounter leaves the speaker shaken but reflective. Back in the car, as the journey resumes, the speaker reflects on what they “had seen”—not just “Nature’s beauty” but something deeper and more unsettling: “what in the uncoiling / Of Time, Time being what it is, / We would come to see.” This line suggests that the true meaning of their experience lies not in the immediate moment but in its reverberations through time. The encounter with the beast becomes a metaphor for the truths that lie hidden beneath the surface of existence, waiting to emerge.

As the car descends into the “black maw of conifer forest,” the poem shifts into a broader philosophical inquiry. The speaker imagines “what beast might, waiting, be,” contemplating the primal forces that linger in the shadows of human experience. The beast is described as “patient / As stone in geological / Darkness,” emphasizing its eternal, almost cosmic presence. This patience contrasts with the fleeting, often frantic nature of human life, marked by “roads poor-mapped” and the “charade” of love and meaning.

The poem concludes with a reflection on the inevitability of confronting truth: “Toward what foetal, fatal truth / Our hearts had witlessly concealed.” The imagery of “foetal” truth suggests something embryonic, latent, and inescapable—truths that exist within us, waiting to emerge through moments of revelation or crisis. These truths, buried beneath the “hysterical / Or grave” performances of life, are tied to the primal forces represented by the beast and the falls. The journey, both literal and metaphorical, becomes a descent into the deeper layers of existence, where the boundaries between beauty, terror, and meaning blur.

Structurally, Warren’s use of octosyllabic lines creates a rhythmic flow that mirrors the continuous movement of the falls and the journey itself. The poem’s vivid, almost cinematic imagery immerses the reader in the physical and emotional landscape, while its philosophical reflections invite deeper contemplation. The shifts between external description and internal introspection reflect the dual nature of the experience—both immediate and timeless, personal and universal.

In conclusion, “Part of What Might Have Been a Short Story, Almost Forgotten” is a powerful meditation on the interplay between human perception, natural grandeur, and the primal truths that lie beneath the surface of existence. Through its rich imagery and reflective tone, the poem captures the tension between awe and fear, beauty and danger, and the fleeting nature of human life against the backdrop of time’s relentless unfolding. Warren suggests that in moments of confrontation with the sublime—whether through nature’s majesty or its hidden beasts—we glimpse the deeper truths that define our place in the universe.

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