I must admit, I like the idea of Wallace Stevens more than his poetry. He was another poet with a day job, like me, though he was much more successful in the business world, being a vice president at The Hartford insurance company. He lived in Hartford, Connecticut, for most of his life, not far from where I lived for a couple of years before moving out to the suburbs. Apparently Stevens would compose his poetry while he walked to the office every morning then do his revisions in the evening, which was something I would do before I started working from home.
So, returning to Hartford to visit his grave in Cedar Hill Cemetery was very nostalgic. I also drove past several of my old haunts, had brunch at one of my favorite little diners and was even served by the same waiter who took care of me twenty years ago.
My favorite poem of Stevens is The Emperor of Ice-Cream. Who couldn’t love that title? I find the poem itself rather cryptic but sometimes that’s part of the fun of poetry— puzzling it out.
I call out the Emperor of Ice-Cream (and allude to another poem by Ted Kooser whose grave I haven’t yet visited mostly because he’s still alive) in something I wrote a couple of years ago where I was reacting to poets who assert that the best time to write poetry is early in the morning. This is obviously, blatantly false. If you want to read my Early Birds poem, it was published on Susi Bocks’ blog as part of her Short of It series.
Bartholomew Barker, Poet 
I love “holding on” 👍💚
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Thanks. That one had nothing to do with Wallace Stevens!
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I am glad 🤣
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That’s one of my favorites too, but all of them hide a good story!
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Thanks, Susi!
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You’re welcome, dear!
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I think the best part of “The Emperor of Chocolate” is the title.
And of course, I heartily agree that poetry is best written at night. I’m glad you posted the link to your “The Short of It” page. I’d forgotten how good “Early Birds” is.
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Thanks! Maybe I should bring that poem back into the open mic rotation.
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By now you probably have enough poems referencing other poets that you could do a themed reading. It’s an idea. I don’t know if it’s a good one but I’m always ready to offer an opinion.
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I think it’s a good idea. I’ll have to put together a set list.
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First thought – Wallace Stevens – who?
Next thought – ‘cryptic’ yes indeed. It reads like it’s about laying someone out for a funeral – but – ice-cream? Eh?
I am a simple soul – this confuses me.
I like the tree though – trees don’t confuse me.
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I’m sure folks have written whole dissertations on this poem. It’s worth the confusion.
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Regarding graves…….
‘MY SPIRIT WILL NOT HAUNT THE MOUND’
My spirit will not haunt the mound
Above my breast,
But travel, memory-possessed,
To where my tremulous being found
Life largest, best.
My phantom-footed shape will go
When nightfall grays
Hither and thither along the ways
I and another used to know
In backward days.
And there you’ll find me, if a jot
You still should care
For me, and for my curious air;
If otherwise, then I shall not,
For you, be there.
Thomas Hardy
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I’ve been to his grave too, at Poets’ Corner, Westminster Abbey, though apparently his heart is buried in Stinsford. You’re a lot closer to Dorset than I so I’ll leave that to you.
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You’ll know about what happened to his heart? I’ve never been clear about why his heart was being removed in the first place, but in the process of removing Thomas Hardy’s heart, the doctor was called away. When he got back to his grisly task, the cat had eaten a bit of the heart. The story goes that the cat was then killed and buried with the heart – which I think is very unfair – a cat’s gotta eat – and cat’s…is cats.
The likelyhood of my going to Dorset again ( Mike’s family used to live there) are slim – I really am knackered – not sure if I’ll go off-island again – meaning Orkney.
I visit friends graves here – that’s about it.
And the cairns of the ancestors……
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Poor kitty! I’m fine with having my body eaten by other animals after my mind flickers off. Seems natural.
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The ancient peoples here in Orkney, and in other places and cultures, were quite happy to have the bodies of their people taken to pieces and even maybe some bits lost or eaten by animals and birds. Once the ‘person’ has gone, it was fine for the bones to be separated.
There is a book, ‘Sky Burial’ by Xinran, in which she writes of the traditional Tibetan method of disposing of the dead by ‘sky burial’, which may seem strange to non-Tibetans, but was entirely accepted in that nation – until China stepped in.
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Wallace Stevens is unforgettable. His phrases mean more than whatever they mean, if you get what I mean. “I am the Emperor of Ice Cream”: Does he mean for this statement to ring hollow and ironic or was he expressing a paramatrix sense of the absurd. Or, does it just sound cool?
Sometimes his words occur to me, unbidden: “concupiscent curds”
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Agreed. The concupiscent curds is the most memorable line from his most memorable poem.
Which of his other poems would you recommend I read?
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LIke everyone else, I read one other poem by him but this is the one I know. I thought the poem was more whimsical and uplifting but in a way, The Emperor of Ice Cream is as embittered, pessimistic, nihilistic, cynical, disillusioned, realistic (choose your word) as T. S. Elliot’s “The Waste Land.”
Both were published in 1922, which makes me think there was some heavy shit going on in the years preceding the poem. World War II and the Spanish flu pandemic were among such events.
Given certain political parallels, we are due two great poems by two great poets expressing our collective angst and trauma we’ve endured the past couple years. And don’t let me started on inflation.
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Don’t forget Yeats’ The Second Coming was also about 100 years ago. We’re definitely hitting the same sort of “turning of the age” as they did with this rise of these new authoritarians.
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