Thomas+Lux

Thomas Lux

Thomas Lux was born on December 10, 1946 in Northampton, Massachusetts, where he grew up on a dairy farm. After high school, Lux attended Emerson College in Boston; his first full-length book, //Memory’s Handgrenade//, was first published shortly after he graduated. (It was preceded by a chapbook titled //the land sighted.)//

Since then, Lux has joined the writing faculty at Sarah Lawrence College and the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers, been a visiting professor at UC Irvine, been named a Guggenheim Fellow, and received three grants from the National Endowment for the Arts. Lux has also received the Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award. Currently, he holds the Margaret T. and Henry C. Bourne, Jr. Chair in Poetry at Georgia Tech. Lux also runs the Poetry at Tech program there. **Pedestrian** Thomas Lux

Tottering and elastic, middle name of Groan, ramfeezled after a hard nightat the corpse-polishing plant, slope-shouldered, a half loafof bread, even his hair tired, famished, fingering the diminished beansin his pocket—you meet him.On a thousand street corners you meet him, emerging from the subway, emerging from your own chest—this sight’s shrill, metallic vapors pass into you.His fear is of being broken,of becoming too dexterous in stripping the last few shoelaces of meatfrom a chicken’s carcass, of being moved by nothing short of the Fall of Rome, of being stooped in the cranium over some loss he’s forgotten the anniversary of.... You meet him, know his defeat, though properand inevitable, is not yours, although yours also is proper and inevitable: so many defeats queer and insignificant (as illustration: the first time you lay awake all nightwaiting for dawn—and were disappointed), so many no-hope exhaustions hidden,their gaze dully glazed inward.—And yet we all fix our binoculars on the horizon’s hazy fear-heaps and cruise toward them, fat sailsforward.... You meet him on the corners, in bus stations, on the blind avenuesleading neither innor out of hell, you meet himand with him you walk. The poem begins with the narrator describing a mysterious "him." The image we get is of someone supremely haggard. There is a touch of the surreal in the beginning -- beans in pockets, jobs at "corpse-polishing plants," tired hair, he is "a half loaf of bread" -- that make the experience feel dream-like. As we continue to read, we discover we have met him, and that he is everywhere. It seems that Lux is suggesting that not only is this a person we know, it is a person we cannot escape. He emerges from our own chest; in addition to adding to the surreal mood, we are forced to see him inside of us as well as around us -- is he me? As the poem goes on to describe his fears, it seems "he" feels things that are universal, like brokenness. The reader can't help but see part of himself in "him;" this creates a more visceral connection between reader and poem. (Lux goes on to more explicitly state that the reader identifies with "him.") The image of waiting for the sunrise only to be disappointed is a very powerful one, and inspires real emotion inside of the reader, further connecting the reader to "him," despite the fact, as Lux says, his defeat is not ours. As the reader referred to in second person interacts with "him," so does the very real reader. The poem as a whole is a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy; as the fate of "him" is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Despite the fact we have our eyes on the horizon and are marching onward towards a bright and nameless vision, we walk beside "him," and are reminded what we may become, and what we may already be. **Tarantulas on the Lifebuoy ** Thomas Lux For some semitropical reason when the rains fall relentlessly they fall into swimming pools, these otherwise bright and scaryarachnids. They can swima little, but not for long and they can’t climb the ladder out.They usually drown—but if you want their favor,if you believe there is justice, a reward for not loving the death of uglyand even dangerous (the eel, hog snake, rats) creatures, if you believe these things, then you would leave a lifebuoyor two in your swimming pool at night. And in the morning you would haul ashorethe huddled, hairy survivors and escort themback to the bush, and know,be assured that at least these saved, as individuals, would not turn up again somedayin your hat, drawer,or the tangled underworld of your socks, and that even—when your belief in justicemerges with your belief in dreams—they may tell the others in a sign language four times as subtleand complicated as man’s that you are good, that you love them,that you would save them again. ====Tarantulas on the Lifebuoy by Thomas Lux begins with vagueness – we don’t know who is falling, but someone does. Someone semitropical. At first glance, this brings to mind a Paradise-Lost-style Satan, fallen from grace. With “relentlessly,” Lux creates a mood of a lack of control. “They” can’t control the fall, and “we” can’t do anything but watch as they fall as far and frequently as rain. The next stanza, we discover that these mysterious somethings are falling into swimming pools, and that these somethings are “bright and scary arachnids.” We can surmise that these are the titular tarantulas. With “they can swim / a little, but not for long,” we understand that these spiders are in mortal peril. This phrase also contributes to a dark tone, and furthers the feeling of helplessness – the arachnids can’t help but fall, and can’t help but drown. This feeling of helplessness and a lack of control is something the reader can relate to. The third stanza continues the discussion of the helplessness of the spiders, but appeals to the reader, appealing for justice and to the desire to win the spider’s favor; this is continued into the fourth stanza. This is somewhat ironic; usually doesn’t think about justice for spiders or where their favor lies. It seems that Lux isn’t only talking about the spiders here, but the spider as a symbol for those which society ignores or attacks, the symbolic tarantula. The fifth stanza offers a way to seek justice and prove loyalty to the spider, and essentially asks the reader to practice as they preach. One doesn’t usually want to save spiders, but that is what the reader is commanded to do. With the beginning of the sixth stanza, the speaker relates what would happen should the reader act. The image of “huddled, hairy survivors” is particularly powerful. We usually see spiders as antagonists, but we imagine here the tarantula as a helpless survivor, a victim of circumstance, tired, and wet, and saved by our hand. In the seventh stanza, the tone shifts somewhat. Through the eighth stanza, the sense of hopelessness has abated somewhat. We still are victim to the spider’s wants, but we acted. The spider is saved. However, the reader knows that what lux is saying isn’t true; spiders have no loyalties. Yet, these very human emotions are successfully assigned to this arachnid – perhaps the furthest from human one can get. Lux points this out more explicitly with “when your belief in justice merges with your belief in dreams.” That the spider will remember its savior, that the spider believes in justice, and, in the later stanzas, that the spider will somehow communicate this is nothing more than a daydream. The irony of this creates a sort of irony throughout the end of the poem tinges the words with a feeling that saving the spider was foolish, and the hopeless tone becomes almost condemnatory. Perhaps, Lux argues with irony, the reader should have let the spiders drown, and that by letting feelings get in the way, the reader chose poorly, as the only way to ensure the spiders wont to these things is to have let them drown. Perhaps, lux argues, hopelessness is sometimes a good thing. This, however, runs counter to the way Lux carefully humanized the spiders, portraying them as in need of saving.====



= And Still It Comes = BY [|THOMAS LUX] like a downhill brakes-burned freight trainfull of pig iron ingots, full of lead life-size statues of Richard Nixon,like an avalanche of smoke and black fog lashed by bent pins, the broken-off tipsof switchblade knives, the dust of dried offal,remorseless, it comes, faster when you turn your back, faster when you turn to face it, like a fine rain, then colder showers, then downpour to razor sleet, then egg-size hail,fist-size, then jaggedlaser, shrapnel hailthudding and tearing like footsteps of drunk gods or fathers; it comes polite, loutish, assured, suave, breathing through its mouth (which is a hole eaten by a cave), it comes like an elephant annoyed, like a black mamba terrified, it slides down the valley, grease on grease, like fire eating birds’ nests,like fire melting the fuzzoff a baby’s skull, still it comes: mute and gorging, neverto cease, insatiable, gorgingand mute.

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Like the other works I have chosen, this poem begins with exquisite vagueness. The image of a brakes-burned freight train is powerful, and conjures a vision of an absolute loss of control, the intensity of which is augmented by the string of stressed syllables at the end of line one. The literal weight piled on with the lead and pig iron adds figurative weight; the sense of intensity increases with every pound added. The touch of the surreal typical of Lux is accounted for in the life-sized statues of Richard Nixon. The image presented next is a bot hard to wrap one's head around -- how can an avalanche of black smoke be lashed by bent pins? -- but it seems that the literal image is less important that the mood it creates. The feeling of frantic inevitability that the first three lines create is intensified by the next three. Next, the mysterious, malevolent force described so far is personified, and its malevolence is further emphasized. While we still don't know what this force is -- death perhaps? it seems the passage of time is as inevitable and destructive -- the sense of its weight and inertia is clear and being further emphasized; it feels as if the reader is preparing for an impact. The sentiment of an intensifying, unstoppable, destructive force is furthered in lines 9-12. The image of "drunk gods or fathers" is compelling; both are call to mind a sort of haphazard malevolence. The self-contradictory string of adjectives in line 14 is interesting, because though it is self-contradictory, it doesn't feel impossible, or even unnatural. The thread of the surreal is still present here; at this point, the poem feels almost like a nightmare that is too vivid to be called such while still asleep. Line 16 must be another manifestation of the surreal, serving to further characterize the mysterious force. (while i have no idea how a hole can be eaten by a cave, I am fairly certain it isn't good.) The remainder of the poem serves essentially the same purpose as that which came before: characterizing this force as mysterious, malevolent, and utterly unstoppable. ===== **The Bitterness of Childhood** BY THOMAS LUX

Foreseeing typographical errors on their gravestones, the children from infancy—are bitter. Little clairvoyants, blond, in terror.

Foreseeing the black and yellow room behind the eyelids, the children are bitter—from infancy. The blue egg of thirst: say hello.

Foreseeing the lower lips of glaciers sliding toward their own lips, the children from infancy—are bitter. Them, rats, snakes: the chased and chasers.

Foreseeing a dust-filled matchbox, the heart, the temples’ temples closing, the children are bitter—from infancy. From the marrow in the marrow: the start.

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From the beginning of this poem, there is a sense of condemnation of and condescension to toe "little clairvoyants." The repetition of "foreseeing" suggests that the children live in an imagined future, not the real present. As usual, the surrealism in Lux's work is omnipresent, though I'm not sure to what end. Perhaps Lux hopes that in facing a dream, we will see into our own subconcious, and see the children in ourselves, like a literary Rorschach test. Perhaps the most effective images are "forseeing the lower lips of glaciers" with its sense of dream-world destruction, or "them, rats, snakes: the chased and the chasers." The idea of these bitter clairvoyants being chased and being a chaser is compelling. Perhaps they are being chased by their own imaginings, yet simultaneously chasing a future they can't envision.====== For some semitropical reason when the rains fall relentlessly they fall into swimming pools, these otherwise bright and scaryarachnids. They can swima little, but not for long and they can’t climb the ladder out.They usually drown—but if you want their favor,if you believe there is justice, a reward for not loving the death of uglyand even dangerous (the eel, hog snake, rats) creatures, if you believe these things, then you would leave a lifebuoyor two in your swimming pool at night. And in the morning you would haul ashorethe huddled, hairy survivors and escort themback to the bush, and know,be assured that at least these saved, as individuals, would not turn up again somedayin your hat, drawer,or the tangled underworld of your socks, and that even—when your belief in justicemerges with your belief in dreams—they may tell the others in a sign language four times as subtleand complicated as man’s that you are good, that you love them,that you would save them again.