Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

"Last Month" by John Ashbery is a masterclass in the subversion of traditional narrative and thematic expectations. The poem seems to traverse a melancholy landscape, imbued with transient images and emotions that, while disparate, seem to weave a coherent emotional texture. The poem resists linear narration but allows its images, feelings, and ideas to stand as markers of an ineffable psychological landscape.

The opening lines set the stage for an atmosphere steeped in change and absence: "No changes of support-only / Patches of gray, here where sunlight fell." It seems that a significant shift has occurred, marked by the heaviness of an emptied house. Ashbery's choice of the word "heavier" to describe the house "Now that they have gone away" paradoxically captures the weight of absence. The house didn't just become empty; it became "heavier," filled with the gravity of what's no longer there.

Interestingly, the poem quickly moves from this intimate domestic setting to a more abstract domain: "The academy of the future is / Opening its doors and willing." This line suggests a transition, maybe even an evolution, albeit one that is cryptic. Are we to view this 'academy of the future' as a beacon of new beginnings or as a sanctuary for what has been lost? This vagueness is part of the poem's complexity and allure.

"The sedate one is this month's skittish one" conveys the idea that change is not just inevitable but rapid, even within the same entity. This could be seen as a commentary on human mood, personality, or even societal norms that are constantly in flux. A "timeless value" has changed hands, but is it a financial transaction, a shift in moral compass, or an alteration in emotional states? Ashbery leaves that deliberately unclear, giving readers the latitude to imprint their own meanings.

One of the poem's most striking lines is, "Stole everything like a miracle." Theft is usually considered a negative action, but the use of "like a miracle" complicates this understanding. It prompts the reader to question what kind of loss could be so transformative that it resembles a miracle. Perhaps it's the type of loss that, in its sheer totality, leaves nothing behind but a fresh slate-a destructive creation, so to speak.

Towards the end, the poem mentions "a picture of treason only / And in the garden, cries and colors." These lines evoke a mood more than a concrete scenario, and they're unsettling in their lack of specificity. What does treason look like, and why is it framed in a book? Why are there "cries and colors" in the garden? It's as if Ashbery captures the snapshots of a dream, refusing to provide the links that could turn them into a coherent narrative.

"Last Month" stands as a testament to Ashbery's unique ability to make poetry out of elusive emotional states and fractured images. It asks us to sit with uncertainty, with the weight of what's not there, and with the perpetual fluidity of all things. As we navigate through its lines, we don't find answers so much as we encounter questions that deepen our sense of the world's complexity. And perhaps, in the end, that is the poem's greatest gift: it leaves us pondering, contemplating the intricacies that lie in the spaces between words, and the emotions that surge in the gaps between departures and arrivals.

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