{"id":255,"date":"2025-09-24T21:51:34","date_gmt":"2025-09-24T21:51:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=255"},"modified":"2026-01-28T19:24:23","modified_gmt":"2026-01-28T19:24:23","slug":"the-poems-of-our-climate","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/?p=255","title":{"rendered":"The Poems of Our Climate\u00a0"},"content":{"rendered":"

This poem describes a simple arrangement of pink and white carnations in a white bowl.\u00a0 Perhaps this image was based on an actual centerpiece that Stevens\u2019s wife, Elsie, had placed on their dining room table.\u00a0 As the poet contemplates this centerpiece, his attention focuses on its striking simplicity.<\/em><\/p>\n

Sometimes our lives can be so complicated that we are happy to escape into a simpler, more perfect world like this one of \u201cwhite and snowy scents.\u201d\u00a0 But such an artificial perfection can never satisfy us for long.\u00a0 We get bored: \u201cone desires \/ So much more than that.\u201d\u00a0 Unlike the world of art (the carefully arranged flowers), the real world is messy and ever-changing; in that sense, the mixed-up world we live in is perfectly suited to our restless minds.\u00a0 \u201cThe imperfect is our paradise.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

For Stevens, this human taste for imperfection explains his own delight in what the poem calls \u201cflawed words and stubborn sounds.\u201d\u00a0 He once wrote, \u201cPersonally, I like words to sound wrong\u201d and \u201cmany lines exist because I enjoy their clickety-clack in contrast with the more decorous pom-pom-pom that people expect\u201d (L 340, 485).\u00a0 Can you find examples of such \u201cstubborn sounds\u201d in other poems?\u00a0 (Try, for instance, \u201cThe Emperor of Ice-Cream\u201d or \u201cDisillusionment of Ten O\u2019Clock.\u201d)\u00a0 How do these odd-sounding phrases make you feel?<\/em><\/p>\n

The Poems of Our Climate<\/strong><\/h2>\n

by Wallace Stevens<\/strong><\/p>\n

I<\/strong><\/p>\n

Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
\nPink and white carnations. The light
\nIn the room more like a snowy air,
\nReflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
\nAt the end of winter when afternoons return.
\nPink and white carnations–one desires
\nSo much more than that. The day itself
\nIs simplified: a bowl of white,
\nCold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
\nWith nothing more than the carnations there.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

II<\/strong><\/p>\n

Say even that this complete simplicity
\nStripped one of all one’s torments, concealed
\nThe evilly compounded, vital I
\nAnd made it fresh in a world of white,
\nA world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
\nStill one would want more, one would need more,
\nMore than a world of white and snowy scents.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

III<\/strong><\/p>\n

There would still remain the never-resting mind,
\nSo that one would want to escape, come back
\nTo what had been so long composed.
\nThe imperfect is our paradise.
\nNote that, in this bitterness, delight,
\nSince the imperfect is so hot in us,
\nLies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe Poems of Our Climate.\u201d Copyright 1942 by Wallace Stevens, copyright \u00a9 renewed 1970 by Holly Stevens. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This poem describes a simple arrangement of pink and white carnations in a white bowl.\u00a0 Perhaps this image was based on an actual centerpiece that Stevens\u2019s wife, Elsie, had placed on their dining room table.\u00a0 As the poet contemplates this centerpiece, his attention focuses on its striking simplicity.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71],"tags":[72,32,31],"class_list":["post-255","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-wallace-stevens","tag-metaphysics","tag-poem","tag-poetry"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=255"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/255\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=255"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=255"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/hartfordlit.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=255"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}