My favorite poet of late is Carl Dennis, whose collection Practical Gods won the 2002 Pulitzer Prize for poetry. I recently finished the book and want to share a favorite poem from the collection with you, as well as a few reflections of my own.
Here it is. Take your time.
In precise, unassuming language, Practical Gods probes a surprising array of philosophical and theological questions through the lens of ordinary experience. Its poems spring from the collision of everyday scenes—like sanding a bookcase or loading groceries in a car trunk—with various “gods” or existential reflections.
The speaker of this collection is no religious zealot, though; he addresses his fictive gods with, if not criticism, then agnostic concerns over divine efficacy in human affairs, as well as ambivalence regarding traditional religious expression.
On the other hand, Dennis shows himself open to (and perhaps hopeful for) transcendent experiences in this life, experiences of ultimate significance and beauty. The possibility of a beautiful life—this at least Dennis believes in.
Enter: “Not the Idle,” a poem seemingly interested in the ancient tensions between human freedom and fate. Though, that’s something of an extravagant claim. More basically, the poem profiles those rare individuals we sometimes meet who seem perfectly content with their lives.
It’s not the idle who move us but the few
Often confused with the idle, those who define
Their project in life in terms so ample
Nothing they ever do is a digression
From the start, we get the sense that the speaker of this poem wants to remind not only his readers but himself that idleness does not “move” anyone. Idleness means inaction, neglect. The inspirational self-assured characters Dennis here observes might appear idle but know they are always exactly where they should be. Thus, they are the “few who refuse to live for the plot’s sake.” For these—let’s call them “the Content”—even chores like weeding aren’t seen as a detour from life’s plot. If life gives you weeds, so what? “The day rests on the grass.” In each task, the Content accomplish every task.
After a couple additional examples of how the Content “move us,” Dennis concludes the poem with a scenic dinner party with friends. Here, even the most banal of human activities—small talk!—is no digression for the Content.
The topic they happen to hit on
Isn’t a ferry to carry them over the interval
Between soup and salad. It’s a raft drifting downstream
Where the banks widen to embrace a lake
And birds rise from the reeds in many colors.
It’s not only that these individuals seem to remain content at all times; they also perceive the latent potential of every moment which, if probed, continually opens up to richer dimensions of reality. When we live for the sake of some predetermined plot about how our lives should play out, we risk getting derailed, distracted. In “Not the Idle” Dennis ponders what it would mean to define one’s life project in more ample terms, such that no moment, day, or season gets lost on our way.
Simply being in the presence of such people can enrich our lives. Speaking of the aforementioned birds, the poem concludes: “Everyone tries to name them and fails / For an hour no one considers idle.” They do not consider the hour idle, perhaps, because they lost track of time altogether; they have become engrossed in one another’s company. Such is the Good Life Dennis wants to believe in, and wants us to believe in.
Thanks for reading, and have a great weekend.
Cameron