Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Carolyn Kizer's "Final Meeting; For James Wright" is a deeply emotional and intimate elegy for a dear friend, the poet James Wright. Through a narrative infused with vivid imagery and personal reflection, Kizer captures the poignancy of their final encounter, blending memories of their past with the stark reality of Wright's impending death.

The poem begins with the speaker meticulously preparing for her visit: "Old friend, I dressed in my very best, / Wore the furs I never wear, / Hair done at Bloomingdales, / Even a manicure; splashed on the good perfume." This ritualistic preparation signifies the importance of the occasion, as she wants to present herself with dignity and care for her friend’s sake. The contrast between her outward appearance and the somber setting of the hospital underscores the gravity of the situation.

Kizer describes the journey to Wright's bedside, traversing "corridors underground / Where orderlies in green wheeled metal carts / Piled with soiled linen, bottles pans and tubes." This imagery conveys the clinical, almost dehumanizing environment of the hospital, starkly contrasting with the warmth and personal connection she hopes to bring. The encounter with Wright's wife, "pale, having wept for weeks, / Worn out with your care," adds another layer of emotional weight, highlighting the toll his illness has taken on those closest to him.

When Kizer reaches Wright's bedside, she envelops him in the sensory comforts of her presence: "Wrapped you in fur, censed you with my perfume." This act of wrapping and anointing him is almost ceremonial, a way of providing solace and dignity in his final days. Wright, described as "jaunty and thin, with the fine eyes and pursy lips / Of one of Holbein's Unknown Gentlemen," is depicted with an air of frailty and refinement, a transformation brought on by his suffering.

The poem shifts to a recollection of their shared past in Seattle, studying under the poet Theodore Roethke. Kizer reminisces about a moment when Wright expressed his insecurity about being loved by beautiful women, to which she prophetically replied, "One day / You're going to be a famous poet, / And you'll be pursued by lovely women." This memory serves to affirm Wright's journey and achievements, bringing a sense of closure and validation to his life’s work.

As Kizer continues her monologue, she observes how "pain has made you beautiful." This transformation is poignantly illustrated by comparing Wright to Li Po, a poet he admired, with his "shapely thin grey beard" and the "black satin domino / To shade your eyes when you nap." The visual resemblance underscores the profound impact of his illness on his physical appearance and how it has imbued him with an almost ethereal quality.

Despite the gravity of the visit, Kizer maintains a stream of "jokes and reminiscences," trying to keep the mood light and comforting. Wright, unable to speak, responds by scribbling notes, maintaining a semblance of their intellectual and emotional connection. The line "Grief is not permitted till it's over" encapsulates the stoic resolve to hold back sorrow until the inevitable moment of parting.

The poem’s conclusion is marked by Kizer’s departure from the hospital, stepping into the "fierce cold of January" on Fifth Avenue. It is here, outside the hospital, that she finally allows herself to confront the full weight of her grief, saying a "last goodbye" and expressing gratitude for the poems Wright wrote to her when they were young. The final image of her walking along the "soiled pavement of the Avenue / Banked in the gutters with old snow" underscores the desolation and continuation of life amidst the backdrop of loss.

"Final Meeting; For James Wright" is a testament to the enduring bonds of friendship and the complex emotions surrounding death and remembrance. Through her meticulous and heartfelt narrative, Kizer pays tribute to Wright's legacy as a poet and the personal connection they shared, offering a moving meditation on love, memory, and the passage of time.