Documente Academic
Documente Profesional
Documente Cultură
Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at
http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp
JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content
in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship.
For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.
The University of Chicago Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Critical Inquiry.
http://www.jstor.org
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
The Poems of Elizabeth Bishop
Helen Vendler
My eyes bulge and hurt.... They see too much, above, below,
and yet there is not much to see.... I feel my colors changing
now, my pigments gradually shudder and shift over....
[I bear] sacs of poison ... almost unused poison ... my burden
and my great responsibility.
825
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
826 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
That toad was too big, too, like me.... Our proportions horrify
our neighbors....
Ah, but I know my shell is beautiful, and high, and glazed, and
shining.... Inside, it is as smooth as silk, and I, I fill it to perfection.
My wide wake shines, now it is growing dark. I leave a lovely
opalescent ribbon: I know this.
But O! I am too big. I feel it. Pity me.'
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Critical Inquiry Summer1987 827
Christian use of the dewdrop to represent the soul, the tear is meant not
for God but, somewhat obliquely, for an audience:
2. Adrienne Rich, "The Eye of the Outsider: The Poetry of Elizabeth Bishop," Boston
Review 8 (Mar./Apr. 1983): 16.
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
828 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
one the permanent place of her displaced childhood, the other the per-
manent place of her middle age-continued to be the repositories of
Bishop's deepest feelings, at least of those successfully brought into the
light of art. More superficial feelings were all too easily dismissed by
Bishop's habitual irony: when she was only sixteen, she saw herself im-
patiently as "full of my tiny tragedies and grotesque grieves" ("To a
Tree").
Bishop was both fully at home in, and fully estranged from, Nova
Scotia and Brazil. In Nova Scotia, after Bishop's father had died, her
mother went insane; Bishop lived there with her grandparents from the
age of three to the age of six. She then left to be raised by an aunt in
Massachusetts, but spent summers in Nova Scotia till she was thirteen.
Subsequent adult visits north produced poems like "Cape Breton," "At
the Fishhouses," and "The Moose"; and Bishop responded eagerly to
other poets, like John Brinnin and Mark Strand, who knew that landscape.
Nova Scotia represented a harsh pastoral to which, though she was rooted
in it, she could not return. Brazil, on the other hand, was a place of adult
choice, where she bought and restored a beautiful eighteenth-century
house in Ouro Preto. It was yet another pastoral, harsh in a different,
tropical way-a pastoral exotic enough to interest her noticing eye but
one barred to her by language and culture (though she made efforts to
learn and translate Portuguese and was influenced by the Brazilian poet
Carlos Drummond de Andrade). Foreign abroad, foreign at home, Bishop
appointed herself a poet of foreignness, which (as Rich justly says) is,
far more than "travel,"her subject. Three of her books have geographical
names-"North and South," "Questions of Travel," and "Geography
III"-and she feels a geographer's compulsions precisely because she is
a foreigner, not a native. Her early metaphor for a poem is a map, and
she scrutinized that metaphor, we may imagine, because even as a child
she had had to become acquainted through maps with the different
territories she lived in and traveled back and forth between. In the poem
"Crusoe in England," Bishop's Robinson Crusoe, shipwrecked on his
island, has nightmares of having to explore more and more new islands
and of being required to be their geographer:
I'd have
nightmares of other islands
stretching away from mine, infinities
of islands, islands spawning islands,
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Critical Inquiry Summer1987 829
This recurrent anxiety marks the end of one of Bishop's earlier dreams-
that one could go home, or find a place that felt like home. In "A Cold
Spring," a book recording chiefly some unhappy years preceding her
move to Brazil, there had yet survived the dream of going home, in a
poem using the Prodigal Son as surrogate. He deludes himself, by drinking,
that he can be happy away, but finally his evening horrors in exile determine
him to return:
The poem (except for the drinking and the "shuddering insights," which
recall the toad's shuddering pigments) is not believable, because it cannot
envisage any home for the Prodigal to return to. Bishop's mother, confined
for life in a hospital for the insane (Bishop never saw her after her
departure), remained the inaccessible blank at the center of all Bishop's
travel. A foreigner everywhere, and perhaps with everyone, Bishop ac-
quired the optic clarity of the anthropologist, to whom the local gods
are not sacred, the local customs not second nature.
What Bishop said she admired in her favorite poet, George Herbert,
was his "absolute naturalness of tone": of course, a foreigner tries unfailingly
for this effect so that he will not be convicted of oddness or of being a
spy: one suspects a long history in childhood of Bishop's affecting to be
a child like other children, while knowing herself shamefully unlike,
unable to answer those questions about parents that other children pryingly
put. Bishop could taste for herself, each time she found another envi-
ronment, her own chilling difference from it. Into no territory could she
subside gratefully and grip down into native soil. Instead, she was a cold
current washing above the native stones; her thoughts, like the ocean,
coursed over and against the land without ever being joined, eroticized
in an endogamous way, put at rest:
I have seen it over and over, the same sea, the same,
slightly, indifferently swinging above the stones,
icily free above the stones,
above the stones and then the world.
["At the Fishhouses"]
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
830 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
Our myths about such displaced persons have tended to create male
theatrical characterizations like the Ancient Mariner, the WanderingJew,
or Robinson Crusoe. Bishop repudiates (after "The Prodigal Son") that
stereotype, lightening the portrait of the exile. In refusing melodrama
and aiming for that "naturalness of tone" that she often succeeded in
finding, Bishop was helped by her humor. Even in the dark poem I have
been quoting, "At the Fishhouses," she can divert herself at the ocean's
edge with a companionable seal:
And yet the curious seal is at home in the water; perhaps (Bishop's humor
suggests) one can get used to total immersion. The seal is, one might
say, Bishop's characteristic "signature" here; her radical isolation and
skepticism are rarely presented without such a moment of self-detachment
and self-irony. At her best, she is never entirely solemn. Even the elegy
for Lowell mocks, although gently, his compulsive revising of his poems:
-you've left
for good. You can't derange, or re-arrange,
your poems again. (But the Sparrows can their song.)
The words won't change again. Sad friend, you cannot change.
["North Haven"]
As any quotation from Bishop will suggest, one of her formal aims
was to write in monosyllables for a substantial amount of the time. (In
this she was imitating Herbert's great successes in this mode.) She became
an expert not only in the short monosyllables every poet loves ("cold
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Critical Inquiry Summer1987 831
dark deep and absolutely clear," she says of water, rivaling Frost's account
of the woods "lovely, dark and deep") but also in what we might call
"long" monosyllables-past participles, like "bleached" or "peaked"; con-
sonantally "thick" adjectives, like "sparse" or "brown"; and interestingly
shaped, quasi-symmetrical nouns, like "scales"or "thumb." The advantage
of using monosyllables is that they sound true; the occasionally polysyl-
labic grace notes (like Bishop's "absolutely" and "immediately" in "At the
Fishhouses") set the monosyllables in musical boldface by contrast.
Against the monosyllables (a legacy from Bishop's dissenting Prot-
estantism) we may set her polysyllabic passages, the province of the eye-
as though, compared with the plainness of truth, the world of appearance
were treacherously plural:
And the old man at the fishhouses, scraping off herring scales with his
knife, is the hermit-in-nature we know chiefly from Wordsworth (who
inherited him from Milton). He has to be old, since he is experience
itself:
From him, and the complex organic beauty and decay of the ancient
fishhouses, the poem withdraws to the shore and the seal; then, leaving
even the seal behind (and with him the human and animal community
alike), it immerses itself totally into the icy waters of the sea, saying,
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
832 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
and since
our knowledge is historical, flowing, and flown.
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Critical Inquiry Summer1987 833
To the foreigner, the tropical scene and its inhabitants are a scrim behind
which there lies another scrim, and so on forever:
The notion of poetry as a tidal river that can welcome the inrush of
the undrinkable sea and yet exhale it, preserving a freshwater sweetness
in which its flora and fauna can live, is a late hope in Bishop, contradicted
perhaps by the unsuccessful but revealing 1979 poem about a naked
female "pink" dog, hairless, with scabies, that runs the streets of Rio.
Warning the dog that society kills its outsiders, Bishop tells it to don a
carnival costume as a concealment: "Dress up! Dress up and dance at
Carnival!" Otherwise, the dog will meet the fate of other pariahs:
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
834 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
This mordant poem implies that Bishop's poems may be her life preservers,
her carnival dress: would society have accepted her without them? The
physical self-loathing of the giant snail is reproduced in more candidly
female terms here, but, perhaps because of its very outspokenness of
social protest, the poem rings hollow. The tidal river here can do nothing
for the pariahs thrown into its current; they cannot find its silt "sweet"
or "enchanted." Poetry makes nothing happen, not at this level, whatever
it can do for the soul that creates it.
Because of Bishop's dislike for the explicitly "confessional" and her
equal dislike for the sectarian of any description, her poetry resists easy
classification. She always refused to be included in any anthology containing
only poems by women: she did not want to be a "poetess" (the old-
fashioned term) or a "woman writer" (the current term). Equally (though
her landscapes come from North and South America) she resists the label
"American poet": there is in her work no self-conscious rebellion against
English genres, or even English attitudes, of the sort we find in our
poetry from Whitman and Dickinson on. As far as she was concerned,
she was happy to be in the company of Herbert, Wordsworth, Keats,
and Hopkins.
But in one crucial way she is not of their company; she is a creature
of her own century, and her poetry represents one of the attempts made
in our era to write a poetry no longer dependent on religious or nationalist
feeling-a poetry purely human, refusing even Keats' mythological re-
sources. Religious nostalgia was, of course, still present in Bishop:
The opposite pole to this wishfulness must be, in the nature of things,
death unredeemed by any meaning:
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Critical Inquiry Summer1987 835
as scattered cattle-teeth;
half-filled with dust, not even the dust
of the poor prophet paynim who once lay there.
The open grave, vacant even of its proper dust, owes something to
Herbert's "Church-monuments": it was, I think, the echo of Herbert that
called up the Nativity that ends this poem, perhaps Bishop's best. The
wish for the Nativity concludes a succession of scenes, the disparate
experience afforded to this solitary poet by a life of travel-a scene in
Nova Scotia, a scene in Rome, a scene in Mexico, a scene at the ancient
North African ruins at Volubilis, a scene in Ireland, and then, directly
after a lesbian brothel near Marrakesh, the open grave. "Everything only
connected by 'and' and 'and.'" So much for experience. If meaning
cannot be sought in experience itself ("the pilgrimage of life," "a citizen's
life," or some other formula affording a ready-made pattern to which
one subscribes), then one is left with the mind and the shapes it can
confer upon the chain of "ands."
As far as we can gather from the poetry, Bishop began at a very
early age to try to connect the "ands," not so much from deliberate choice
as from sheer fear. There is a curious poem, frail and steely at once,
called "First Death in Nova Scotia" (published when Bishop was fifty-
four) that concerns itself with the death of her "little cousin Arthur," but
we may guess that it deals implicitly with the earlier death of Bishop's
father and with the very idea of death as the principle of disconnection.
The poem is written out of a sensibility in shock, that of a child unable
to take in the reality of death and unable, in consequence, to subordinate
or blot out apparently irrelevant perceptual "noise." The "noise" consists
of all the things in the family parlor surrounding the coffined corpse:
the chromographs of the royal family, the lily in little Arthur's hand,
and a grotesque stuffed loon with red glass eyes, shot by the father of
dead little Arthur. The poem goes steadily, but crazily, from little Arthur
in his coffin to the royal pictures to the loon to Arthur to the child-
speaker to the loon to Arthur to the royal pictures. This structure, which
follows the bewildered eye of the gazing child trying to put together all
her information-sense data, stories of an afterlife, and the rituals of
mourning-is a picture of the mind at work. It will not change, in its
essentials, throughout Bishop's poetry. The frightened child makes up
three helpless fictions, trying to unite items of the scene into a gestalt.
In the first, she fears that the loon might want to eat up Arthur and his
coffin together, because the loon must share her metaphor for the coffin,
brown wood topped off with white lace:
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
836 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
The second fiction tries to account for little Arthur's fearful pallor by
conjecturing that Jack Frost had started to paint him, got as far as his
red hair, but then "had dropped the brush / and left him white, forever."
The third fiction is an attempted consolation, making up an afterlife
more agreeable than the Christian heaven of which the child has been
told; Arthur will join the royal couples in a place warmer than the freezing
parlor:
But this childish invention of a fictive paradise for little Arthur is itself
immediately questioned, as Bishop replicates for us that skepticism that
was a natural motion of her mind (at least, so the poem implies) even
in her earliest years:
Wherever Arthur (or perhaps Bishop's father) has to go, the child feels
terrible apprehension and confusion, displaced onto her mute observation
of the parlor and its awful central object, and displaced as well onto her
helpless social obedience ("I was lifted up and given / one lily of the
valley / to put in Arthur's hand"). A poem of this sort suggests that
Bishop's habit of observing and connecting was initially a defense invented
against ghastly moments of disconnection and that it was practiced
throughout childhood even before it found a structure in poetry.
Abstracting from particulars to make a coherent sketch of social
reality seems to Bishop very like what mapmakers do when they rise
above the ups and downs of physical terrain in order to represent the
earth. Though Rich says that she found "The Map" (the first poem in
Bishop's first book) "intellectualized to the point of obliquity," in it Bishop
is simply describing her idea of what a poem must do to make experience
accessible. In the map, experience is held still for inspection, and rendered
palpable to the touch (though under glass); names are given to towns
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
Critical Inquiry Summer1987 837
and cities. However, the printer of the map betrays the excitement of
creation:
One can see in this praise Bishop's own early disparagement of "histori-
cal" poetry-verse that deals with a social or personal chronicle unelevated
into the abstract topographical status of a map. The fact that her own
last book allowed for more personal chronicling than had been her habit
earlier perhaps means that as Lowell learned from her, so she learned
from him.
The attitudes in Bishop that I have dwelt on here-her sense of
deformity, her cold capacity for detachment, her foreignness in human
society, her suspicion that truth has something annihilating about it, her
self-representation as observer of meaninglessly additive experience, her
repugnance for social or political or religious association, her preference
for mapping and abstraction-are those that are particularlywell-sustained,
thematically and formally, in the CompletePoems. Each of these attitudes
had consequences. They led Bishop toward certain genres (landscape
poetry, poetry about sky and ocean, travel poetry) and away from others
(historical poetry, religious poetry, poetry of social enumeration). They
led her as well to certain moments that recur in her verse: the moment
of existential loneliness ("The Waiting Room"), the moment of episte-
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions
838 Helen Vendler Poems of ElizabethBishop
This content downloaded from 78.80.29.90 on Mon, 18 Aug 2014 06:33:20 UTC
All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions