levelheaded: Beard Weaned

The “Weaned” of Jay Snodgrass’s title could refer to the speaker’s act of ditching facial hair, or his having been made accustomed to facial hair since childhood. Either way, the author’s decision to go from scruff to buff marks two notably different periods in his life. 

From the beginning, “Beard Weaned” is a dance between recollection and discovery: “Many years ago / I unsubscribed to facial hair.” The stock phrase that is the first line meets the surprising yet removed word “unsubscribed” in line two. The remainder of the stanza works similarly. We’re lulled to sleep in line three before the unexpected ugliness of the common word “protruding” shakes us back awake in line four. As a result, we never get complacent; we read on with interest.   

The speaker may surprise us, but as line four evidences, he underwhelms himself. This defeated, matter-of-fact tone allows Snodgrass to get away with what might otherwise be a cumbersome metaphor to sustain for twenty-five lines. 

Among other things, the beard of this poem is a net—a trapping for the little details that make up a person’s identity (“what my father looked like”; “my creepy uncle who covered a large mole”; “pizza grease and kisses”). He recalls who he was and in the process discovers—underwhelming himself even more—who he is. 

So who is he? Well, he’s a guy who has lost the ability to gather and measure the bits and pieces of experience that constitute a life. Sort of. As the lack of punctuation, the final line, and the whole piece’s spontaneous shape suggest, when one thing is gone, the next thing is already unfurling. 

– The Editors