Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Derek Walcott’s "North and South" is a profound exploration of exile, history, and the enduring tensions between colonized and colonizer. The poem, which contrasts the speaker’s experiences in the Caribbean with those in the northern hemisphere, examines themes of displacement, cultural alienation, and the ongoing legacies of imperialism. Through rich imagery and historical allusions, Walcott reflects on the complex intersections of personal identity, colonial history, and the persistent weight of racial and cultural memory.

The poem opens with a celestial image, "the rising of Venus—the steady star," which evokes a sense of continuity and constancy. Venus, a symbol of love and beauty, is described as "the planet that pierces us over indigo islands," connecting the speaker’s sense of place to the Caribbean. Yet, despite this beauty, the speaker quickly acknowledges his role as a "colonial upstart at the end of an empire," situating himself as part of the postcolonial experience—stranded between the remnants of empire and the uncertainties of his own cultural identity. The term "colonial upstart" conveys a sense of defiance, as if the speaker is aware of his place within the hierarchy of empire but refuses to be fully subjugated by it.

The speaker listens to the "guttural death rattle" of empire’s retreat, referencing historical empires such as the British Raj and the Nazi Reich. This metaphorical retreat of empires brings with it both relief and loss, as the speaker observes the "full moon again like a white flag rising over Fort Charlotte." The image of the moon as a "white flag" suggests surrender, symbolizing the end of imperial dominance. Yet, the speaker is ambivalent: "It's good that everything's gone, except their language, / which is everything." This acknowledgment of the survival of the colonizers' language reveals the paradox of postcolonial identity: while political independence may have been achieved, the legacy of empire persists in the language and culture that remain.

Walcott critiques the remnants of empire, even as he finds a "childish revenge" in witnessing the decay of imperial monuments and cities. The image of "the worm / gnawing their solemn columns into coral" speaks to the natural erosion of once-grand structures, hinting at the impermanence of power. The speaker’s detachment as he "snorkel[s] over Atlantis" and views "Sidon up to its windows in sand" through a glass-bottom boat suggests that history, though monumental, can become a distant and fragmented memory. The reference to ancient civilizations such as Tyre, Alexandria, and the Parthenon underscores the cyclical rise and fall of empires, while the speaker’s engagement with these ruins reflects a detached curiosity, as if imperial decay is now a spectacle for tourists.

Despite this distancing, the speaker is haunted by the specter of destruction: "Delenda est Carthago on the rose horizon," an allusion to the Roman desire to destroy Carthage. This phrase introduces a fear of further annihilation, connecting the historical violence of empires to the speaker’s present reality. The speaker reflects on the streets of Manhattan, observing that even in the heart of the modern empire, there is an impending sense of destruction—"the white glare of the white rose of inferno"—which symbolizes both the threat of nuclear war and the unraveling of civilization.

In Manhattan, the speaker experiences a profound sense of alienation. He leads a "tight life / and a cold one," describing how his "soles stiffen with ice" even through woolen socks. The harsh winter climate contrasts sharply with the warmth of the Caribbean, emphasizing the speaker’s disconnection from his home. The image of trees "with clenched teeth" enduring the February wind suggests that the speaker, like these trees, is enduring a kind of emotional winter, cut off from his roots. This sense of exile is compounded by the memories of friends "under its iron ground," likely a reference to those who have passed away, further intensifying the speaker’s isolation.

Even as spring approaches, bringing with it "soiled ice oozing into black puddles," the speaker feels no renewal: "the world will be one season older but no wiser." This line expresses a deep cynicism about the passage of time, as the speaker observes the cycles of nature without feeling any corresponding spiritual or emotional growth. The poem conveys a sense of stagnation, where neither books, work, music, nor companionship offer solace to the speaker.

Walcott contrasts the harshness of the North with the Caribbean, where "cacophonous seaports" built around statues of Queen Victoria serve as a reminder of the colonial past. The image of vultures shifting on the roof of the market, where the local patois is "brittle as slate," evokes a sense of decay and fragility. The speaker expresses a preference for the "salt freshness of that ignorance," suggesting that the raw, unrefined culture of the Caribbean, though shaped by colonialism, retains a certain vitality that the "cooked culture" of the North lacks.

The poem critiques the literary culture of the North as well, with the speaker feeling overwhelmed by the "free-verse nightingales" in bookstores, whose "various metres of asthmatic pain" seem excessive and disconnected from his own experience. The speaker’s frustration with the literary establishment, which he likens to "an old couch stuffed with fleas," reflects a weariness with the self-importance of Western intellectual traditions.

The poem’s final stanzas reflect on the speaker’s deep sense of displacement and exile, not only from his homeland but from history itself. The speaker’s encounters with remnants of European history, such as the "bronze general / of Sheridan Square," evoke a sense of estrangement, as the weight of colonial history and the Holocaust loom over his consciousness. The ghosts of history, whether the "white-robed horsemen" of the Ku Klux Klan or the swastikas evoked by the "square wheel" of a van’s brakes, continue to haunt the speaker, reinforcing his sense of being an outsider.

The poem ends on a note of melancholy, as the speaker acknowledges his identity as part of the African Diaspora, feeling both connected to and alienated from the cultures that shaped him. The image of the winter landscape, where the "veins of March will detonate the crocus" and "the olive battalions of the summer woods" will soon return, contrasts with the speaker’s internal winter, suggesting that while nature may renew itself, the speaker’s sense of exile remains unresolved.

In "North and South," Derek Walcott captures the profound sense of dislocation and cultural fragmentation experienced by those living in the aftermath of colonialism. The poem explores the tension between the speaker’s Caribbean heritage and his experiences in the North, reflecting on the weight of history, the persistence of empire, and the challenges of maintaining identity in a world shaped by exile and displacement. Through rich imagery and historical allusion, Walcott offers a meditation on the complexities of cultural survival in the face of both external and internal forces.

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