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Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

AMEN, by                 Poet's Biography

"Amen" by Norman Dubie is a poignant exploration of mortality, loss, and the primal, sometimes violent reactions that these elements can provoke in humans. The poem weaves together personal tragedy with broader historical and societal reflections, creating a complex tapestry of human experience and emotion.

The poem begins with a deeply personal and traumatic incident: the speaker's fawn Great Dane, Duchess, is struck by a car. This moment is depicted with brutal immediacy, "she rolls / And then gaining her legs / Runs into the field of goldenrod where my father / Finds her." The image of the father pressing a handkerchief against the dog's wound only for it to vanish "along with his forearm" powerfully conveys the severity of the injury and the helplessness felt in trying to staunch such a grievous wound. The phrase "She was months dying" is stark, emphasizing a prolonged suffering that extends the initial moment of impact into a drawn-out period of pain and decline, reflecting how some traumas linger and deteriorate over time.

The poem then shifts to another scene, one that connects personal loss to a broader cultural context. The family witnesses a procession of cars "Coming down out of the first snow, down / Out of the mountains, returning to Connecticut," with dead deer "Roped to the hoods and bumpers." This juxtaposition of the family's recent experience with the violent human interaction with nature illustrates a grim tableau of death as both a spectacle and a routine part of human existence.

The interaction between the speaker's father and another man who honks his horn at them introduces a moment of human conflict. The father's reaction—getting out of the car and speaking in a "voice that was frightening / Even for a man with a horn"—demonstrates the raw, visceral response that grief and stress can elicit. The open car door and the family sitting in the dome light, wrapped in silence, encapsulate a moment of vulnerability and exposure, highlighting the isolation that often accompanies grief.

Dubie then introduces a broader philosophical reflection through the speaker's thoughts, which connect the immediate scene to the larger human condition. The mention of "squatting cavemen, sparks flying / From flints into dry yellow lichen" evokes humanity's ancient and ongoing struggle for survival and mastery over nature. This image starkly contrasts with the modern scene of the road but suggests a continuity of human violence and conquest.

The final image in the poem, "white smoke / Rising from Ethel Rosenberg’s hair," is a powerful invocation of one of the most notorious moments in American history—the execution of Ethel Rosenberg during the Red Scare. This reference serves as a metaphor for the destructive capabilities of human fear and paranoia, linking personal loss and societal violence. The mention of Ethel Rosenberg introduces themes of injustice and the irreversible consequences of human actions, whether they are motivated by fear, ignorance, or cruelty.

Overall, "Amen" is a reflective piece that delves into the harsh realities of life and death, the natural and societal forces that shape human reactions to these inevitabilities, and the personal and collective memories that intertwine with historical consciousness. Through its vivid imagery and emotional depth, the poem offers a meditation on the ways in which we cope with, react to, and reflect on loss and the human capacity for both compassion and cruelty.

POEM TEXT:

Someone calls Duchess, our fawn Great Dane, back

Across the dusty road: she’s nearly to the lawn

When the Buick hits her, she rolls

And then gaining her legs

Runs into the field of goldenrod where my father

Finds her; when he presses

The large folded handkerchief against the wound, it vanishes

Along with his forearm. She was months dying.

One night returning from my aunt’s house, we stopped

At a light and watched a procession of cars

Coming down out of the first snow, down

Out of the mountains, returning to Connecticut. Everywhere

Roped to the hoods and bumpers were dead deer.

The man behind us honked

His horn. My father waved him on. He hit

The horn again. My father got out and spoke

With him in a voice that was frightening

Even for a man with a horn. We left the door open

And the four of us sat there in the dome light

In silence. Wanting to be fair,

I thought of squatting cavemen, sparks flying

From flints into dry yellow lichen and white smoke

Rising from Ethel Rosenberg’s hair.


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