levelheaded: Desire for an Object Almost Always Implies This

 

Let’s state the obvious. This poem’s short – two lines if we count the title. These two lines fit together into a strange, fragmented statement that begins with a weighty, abstract noun (“Desire”) and fades off into the not-so-distance with an easy ellipsis. Mystery is built into the poem. The poem seeks out enigma. It’s what we’d like to read when we crack open a fortune cookie.

 

But a few important moments make clear something purposeful and direct is pushing out against the poem’s mystery. As mentioned, it begins with “Desire” – a nice big concept that casts a long shadow over the rest of the poem. The poem takes its job seriously. It doesn’t start with “Bananas” or “Puppies,” for instance. No, in this poem, we’re immediately pushed into the deep end. And “Desire for an Object” sets us thinking more specifically about materialism. It introduces a particular, contemporary strain of desire.

 

The phrase “Almost Always” plays a different role. It deflates the title’s initial confidence. The speaker is either unwilling to commit to a grand statement on desire, or she is beholden to a truth that precludes the absolute. Whatever the case, “Almost” is a key word in the development of the poem’s mystery. Another key word: “This.” “This” stands in for what could be the poem’s clarifying noun. Replace “This” with “A Mountain,” and you have a poem with an ecological message. Replace it with “Feminism,” and you have a sociopolitical statement. Replace it with “Your Marriage,” and you introduce something potently emotional to the mix. Point being, “This” is the missing link, which is fitting since, along with “is,” it’s also the literal link between the beginning and end of the poem.

 

The second part of the poem – its body! – is set apart from the first in a couple ways. First, it’s typed out in all lowercase letters. Second, it is grammatically incomplete. While we think it works best with its counterpart, the first line could stand alone as a sentence. The second line cannot. These immediate differences make the second line feel tacked-on to the title, like it’s of secondary importance. (It also comes second).

 

And the content of the second line feels smaller. As the poem moves from “Desire” to “knives” it becomes increasingly specific and slighter. The poem equalizes “human relation” and “set of knives” by presenting them as the only two options in its grammatical equation. “[H]uman relation” is another big concept (like “Desire”), but “set of knives” is suddenly and surprisingly small. The “set of knives” feels domestic. There is some threat inherent in the “knives,” but in a “set” they mostly feel like a wedding gift from your Aunt Mona.

 

With all this combined – a “human relation” compared to a “set of knives” in the context of materialism – the poem seems critical of a certain sort of human relationship. Particularly, it seems critical of relationships defined by objectification – not objectification as it’s sometimes used in the context of gender inequality, but a broader objectification that highlights the unfortunate necessity of all our separateness.

 

Then there’s the ellipsis there at the end. Geez, we dunno…

 

 

-The Editors