So I give you the first written work I am posting here - it was the final essay for my Intro Literature class in college this past semester (a class which I can proudly say I slept through). It's a few pages long so obviously read it when you can and have time.
First thing's first, a copy of the poem itself:
Quote
Celestial Music
I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks
to god,
she thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth, she's unusually competent.
Brave, too, able to face unpleasantness.
We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling
over it.
I'm always moved by weakness, by disaster, always eager to
oppose vitality.
But timid, also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
according to nature. For my sake, she intervened,
brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down across
the road.
My friend says I shut my eyes to god, that nothing else
explains
my aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who buries
her head in the pillow
so as not to see, the child who tells herself
that light causes sadness—
My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me
to wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person—
In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking
on the same road, except it's winter now;
she's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial
music:
look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.
Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees
like brides leaping to a great height—
Then I'm afraid for her; I see her
caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth—
In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;
from time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.
It's this moment we're both trying to explain, the fact
that we're at ease with death, with solitude.
My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar
doesn't move.
She's always trying to make something whole, something
beautiful, an image
capable of life apart from her.
We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, the
composition
fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air
going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering—
it's this stillness that we both love.
The love of form is a love of endings.
- Louise Gluck
I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks
to god,
she thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth, she's unusually competent.
Brave, too, able to face unpleasantness.
We found a caterpillar dying in the dirt, greedy ants crawling
over it.
I'm always moved by weakness, by disaster, always eager to
oppose vitality.
But timid, also, quick to shut my eyes.
Whereas my friend was able to watch, to let events play out
according to nature. For my sake, she intervened,
brushing a few ants off the torn thing, and set it down across
the road.
My friend says I shut my eyes to god, that nothing else
explains
my aversion to reality. She says I'm like the child who buries
her head in the pillow
so as not to see, the child who tells herself
that light causes sadness—
My friend is like the mother. Patient, urging me
to wake up an adult like herself, a courageous person—
In my dreams, my friend reproaches me. We're walking
on the same road, except it's winter now;
she's telling me that when you love the world you hear celestial
music:
look up, she says. When I look up, nothing.
Only clouds, snow, a white business in the trees
like brides leaping to a great height—
Then I'm afraid for her; I see her
caught in a net deliberately cast over the earth—
In reality, we sit by the side of the road, watching the sun set;
from time to time, the silence pierced by a birdcall.
It's this moment we're both trying to explain, the fact
that we're at ease with death, with solitude.
My friend draws a circle in the dirt; inside, the caterpillar
doesn't move.
She's always trying to make something whole, something
beautiful, an image
capable of life apart from her.
We're very quiet. It's peaceful sitting here, not speaking, the
composition
fixed, the road turning suddenly dark, the air
going cool, here and there the rocks shining and glittering—
it's this stillness that we both love.
The love of form is a love of endings.
- Louise Gluck
I suggest reading through the poem an additional time just to have a better sense of it, and the context and source material for my essay.
And here is my carefully crafted literary argument, at last!
Quote
The poem “Celestial Music” by Louise Gluck is a tribute to the different philosophies that exist about what life should be, and how it should be lived. The poem is structured around the contrast of the speaker’s character and beliefs with that of her friend; their interactions with nature, perspectives on worldly events, and overall view of the lives they have are critically different; yet, as Gluck is ultimately able to show us, there is a definite common ground that exists between the two characters; the speaker comes to realize that life is in fact an amalgamation of these different fragments, and they all come together (however different they may be) into a simple, harmonious entity.
Gluck presents the speaker in the poem as a firm believer in nature. She is an atheist and is reluctant to accept any divine meaning in life – for the speaker, life is simply about the human being’s physical presence on Earth. Indeed, the speaker readily admits that as a result of her belief, she becomes vulnerable to earthly afflictions and pain. Gluck presents the notion of the speaker being weak in the face of physical hardship in the second paragraph, with the image of the unfortunate caterpillar in the dirt – dying, the creature is swarmed with ants crawling over it. The speaker cannot help but be “moved by weakness, by [this] disaster…timid, also, quick to shut my eyes”. This is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of both the speaker and the “physical” notion of life – that is, when physical vitality is what one’s life is based on, even the simplest of bodily pain or sights becomes heart-riveting. The speaker, when she sees the caterpillar in the dirt, is reminded that she is a mortal – a mortal whose entire existence is based on eating, breathing, just simply living, without any greater purpose or meaning. When that is the case, as the poem goes on to show, such a person loses absolutely everything when their physical presence is threatened, because that is all they have.
The perception of the speaker’s beliefs and traits is enhanced further when contrasted against the other predominant figure in the poem – her friend is as firm a believer in God as the speaker is a diehard atheist. For the friend, life is about how each event can be placed in some greater, divine sense. Indeed, even troubled times and bad experiences in life seem to be handled with a lot more care by the friend; this can be clearly seen when she directly confronts the scene of the caterpillar dying in the ground – while the speaker is visibly shaken and terrified at the sight, her friend is not only able to watch and “let events play out according to nature”, she also takes a surprising initiative; for the speaker’s sake, she brushes the ants off of the creature and sets it down. The speaker’s description of her being “unusually competent [and] brave, too” is clearly justified.
However, here the poem presents an interesting idea, perhaps even a paradox of sorts; the speaker, being so grounded in the idea of life being simply a physical progression, is moved by the very sight of something as small as a caterpillar experiencing turmoil, whereas the religiously devout friend of hers copes with the image in a direct way, and even goes out of her way to comfort the speaker. It is an irony that Gluck presents from the very first lines of the poem, when the speaker talks of her friend who believes in heaven, and suggests a certain ignorance on her part with the lines “[she’s] not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God”. She goes as far to say that no one “listens” to her religious pleas, and implies that having faith in general is a sign of weakness, a sign of resorting to a divine creator to explain life’s events. Despite this, the reader is left with no doubt as to who is truly confident and in control of their lives.
To rectify this, the friend extends her hand out to the speaker and invites her to embrace her philosophy; metaphorically, her friend describes the speaker’s aversion of reality as that of a “child who buries her head in the pillow”, seeking to escape the truth and live in ignorance. In this, the speaker can admire her friend for her almost motherly affection towards the speaker, desiring nothing more than for her to wake up an adult – in following her ideology, the speaker readily admits, she might end up a more “courageous person”. Here the poem presents a newer twist on the contrast between the atheist, purely physical belief and the religious, heavenly belief; in continuing with the aforementioned metaphor of the child burying her head in the pillow, the friend further suggests that such a person would hide herself so that she would not see that “light causes sadness” – a brief phrase but with a powerful hidden meaning. The cause-effect relationship illustrated here is used to apply to life in a wider sense – that even life in its most joyous moments (“light”) can end up in loss and misery (“sadness”). The divide here is in who chooses to embrace that and accept it for what its worth. Once again, it is clear to the reader who is and isn’t able to do so – the speaker cannot bear to accept the fact anymore than she was able to accept the death of the caterpillar, while the friend has already recognized that life will inevitably let itself down and has already moved on. The caterpillar is also, ironically, the perfect creature to embody that belief, as it holds within it the potential to develop into a beautiful creature, but it instead ends up downtrodden in the dirt.
The poem reaches a significant climax in detailing the separation of the two characters (and their corresponding beliefs) with the image of walking down the same road in the freezing winter. The friend attempts to again to convince her friend of the divine existence of life – she suggests to the speaker that loving the world leads itself to being able to sense the greater “celestial music”, the poem’s namesake. The simple phrase embodies everything that the friend acknowledges and believes in; that every action, every event, every breath of air of every living creature feeds back into the greater purpose, the greater whole. There are no divisions, but instead the single majestic entity that all things are embedded in, the flow of life’s good and bad occurrences being a part of a harmony that touches everything, that is everything. Shockingly, however, the speaker is unable to sense any of it; when she looks up, there is no “celestial music” to be had. There are the clouds, the snow, the bare trees, and the lack of anything morally substantial to unite them all.
Where does it all come together? The poem solidly presents the duality of contrast in character and belief, but where Gluck succeeds as a poet is revealing where they intersect. The speaker and friend find an unusual solace when sitting side by side, in simple silence. This stillness of life, the calm that exudes over them, is the common ground they are able to find. Perhaps when not trying to challenge or compare one another’s ideas, it is then that they come to realize life progresses naturally for both of them. Regardless of how they may define it or choose to live, life is real, and real enough for everyone to experience their share of it. The speaker’s friend draws a circle around the caterpillar – at one point they had coped with its loss very differently. However, it now lays before them the same in both of their eyes – unmoving. The gripping reality is that life is inevitable with its conclusion, to be experienced one and the same with every living being. What “Celestial Music” ultimately shows is that even the harshest of dualities – the speaker and the friend, the physical and the divine, the secular and the sacred – are truly one; they are whole.
Gluck presents the speaker in the poem as a firm believer in nature. She is an atheist and is reluctant to accept any divine meaning in life – for the speaker, life is simply about the human being’s physical presence on Earth. Indeed, the speaker readily admits that as a result of her belief, she becomes vulnerable to earthly afflictions and pain. Gluck presents the notion of the speaker being weak in the face of physical hardship in the second paragraph, with the image of the unfortunate caterpillar in the dirt – dying, the creature is swarmed with ants crawling over it. The speaker cannot help but be “moved by weakness, by [this] disaster…timid, also, quick to shut my eyes”. This is one of the most distinguishing characteristics of both the speaker and the “physical” notion of life – that is, when physical vitality is what one’s life is based on, even the simplest of bodily pain or sights becomes heart-riveting. The speaker, when she sees the caterpillar in the dirt, is reminded that she is a mortal – a mortal whose entire existence is based on eating, breathing, just simply living, without any greater purpose or meaning. When that is the case, as the poem goes on to show, such a person loses absolutely everything when their physical presence is threatened, because that is all they have.
The perception of the speaker’s beliefs and traits is enhanced further when contrasted against the other predominant figure in the poem – her friend is as firm a believer in God as the speaker is a diehard atheist. For the friend, life is about how each event can be placed in some greater, divine sense. Indeed, even troubled times and bad experiences in life seem to be handled with a lot more care by the friend; this can be clearly seen when she directly confronts the scene of the caterpillar dying in the ground – while the speaker is visibly shaken and terrified at the sight, her friend is not only able to watch and “let events play out according to nature”, she also takes a surprising initiative; for the speaker’s sake, she brushes the ants off of the creature and sets it down. The speaker’s description of her being “unusually competent [and] brave, too” is clearly justified.
However, here the poem presents an interesting idea, perhaps even a paradox of sorts; the speaker, being so grounded in the idea of life being simply a physical progression, is moved by the very sight of something as small as a caterpillar experiencing turmoil, whereas the religiously devout friend of hers copes with the image in a direct way, and even goes out of her way to comfort the speaker. It is an irony that Gluck presents from the very first lines of the poem, when the speaker talks of her friend who believes in heaven, and suggests a certain ignorance on her part with the lines “[she’s] not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God”. She goes as far to say that no one “listens” to her religious pleas, and implies that having faith in general is a sign of weakness, a sign of resorting to a divine creator to explain life’s events. Despite this, the reader is left with no doubt as to who is truly confident and in control of their lives.
To rectify this, the friend extends her hand out to the speaker and invites her to embrace her philosophy; metaphorically, her friend describes the speaker’s aversion of reality as that of a “child who buries her head in the pillow”, seeking to escape the truth and live in ignorance. In this, the speaker can admire her friend for her almost motherly affection towards the speaker, desiring nothing more than for her to wake up an adult – in following her ideology, the speaker readily admits, she might end up a more “courageous person”. Here the poem presents a newer twist on the contrast between the atheist, purely physical belief and the religious, heavenly belief; in continuing with the aforementioned metaphor of the child burying her head in the pillow, the friend further suggests that such a person would hide herself so that she would not see that “light causes sadness” – a brief phrase but with a powerful hidden meaning. The cause-effect relationship illustrated here is used to apply to life in a wider sense – that even life in its most joyous moments (“light”) can end up in loss and misery (“sadness”). The divide here is in who chooses to embrace that and accept it for what its worth. Once again, it is clear to the reader who is and isn’t able to do so – the speaker cannot bear to accept the fact anymore than she was able to accept the death of the caterpillar, while the friend has already recognized that life will inevitably let itself down and has already moved on. The caterpillar is also, ironically, the perfect creature to embody that belief, as it holds within it the potential to develop into a beautiful creature, but it instead ends up downtrodden in the dirt.
The poem reaches a significant climax in detailing the separation of the two characters (and their corresponding beliefs) with the image of walking down the same road in the freezing winter. The friend attempts to again to convince her friend of the divine existence of life – she suggests to the speaker that loving the world leads itself to being able to sense the greater “celestial music”, the poem’s namesake. The simple phrase embodies everything that the friend acknowledges and believes in; that every action, every event, every breath of air of every living creature feeds back into the greater purpose, the greater whole. There are no divisions, but instead the single majestic entity that all things are embedded in, the flow of life’s good and bad occurrences being a part of a harmony that touches everything, that is everything. Shockingly, however, the speaker is unable to sense any of it; when she looks up, there is no “celestial music” to be had. There are the clouds, the snow, the bare trees, and the lack of anything morally substantial to unite them all.
Where does it all come together? The poem solidly presents the duality of contrast in character and belief, but where Gluck succeeds as a poet is revealing where they intersect. The speaker and friend find an unusual solace when sitting side by side, in simple silence. This stillness of life, the calm that exudes over them, is the common ground they are able to find. Perhaps when not trying to challenge or compare one another’s ideas, it is then that they come to realize life progresses naturally for both of them. Regardless of how they may define it or choose to live, life is real, and real enough for everyone to experience their share of it. The speaker’s friend draws a circle around the caterpillar – at one point they had coped with its loss very differently. However, it now lays before them the same in both of their eyes – unmoving. The gripping reality is that life is inevitable with its conclusion, to be experienced one and the same with every living being. What “Celestial Music” ultimately shows is that even the harshest of dualities – the speaker and the friend, the physical and the divine, the secular and the sacred – are truly one; they are whole.
Thoughts, comment, feedback, all appreciated. Thanks all!
