History Flashcards
1
Q
Fear, uncertainty and connection
A
- “History” alludes to the September 11 terrorist attacks against the United States. The speaker is visiting the beach with his family, his mind heavy with “the news” of the attacks and distracted by uncertainty over what’s going to happen next. His mind also drifts to less obvious but still imminent dangers, such as environmental destruction and the alienation caused by an increasingly capitalistic, “virtual” world. The only real way to counter this constant hum of fear, the poem suggests, is to be deeply aware of your immediate surroundings. In other words, people should remain “attentive” to the present rather than getting so caught up in the big stuff that they overlook the “quiet, local forms of history”—the little things going on right under their noses
- Still, the poem doesn’t suggest the parents are wrong to be worried about the future. On the contrary, it suggests that people can be “afraid” and “attentive to the irredeemable” (i.e., things that can’t be saved) at the same time. Indeed, the poem implies that the world itself is “irredeemable”—all those little lives broken apart by the sea’s waves and washed to shore suggest that nothing lasts, even in the best of times. Yet there’s beauty and value in paying close attention to them. Thus, the poem illustrates that one can’t fixate entirely on big-picture stuff—life is just as much about the minutiae as anything else.
2
Q
Innocence, curiosity and vulnerability
A
- The speaker of “History” believes the central “problem” of life is “how to be alive / in all this gazed-upon and cherished world / and do no harm.” Shaken by violent events, he’s sorting out his own relationship to both “local” and global history—and wondering how to exist on this planet without contributing to humanity’s violence against other people and nature. Though the poem offers no pat solutions, it honors the gentle curiosity and openness often displayed by children. Children’s innocence, the poem suggests, encourages a meaningful connection with and respect for one’s surroundings.
- The poem suggests that this loving and protective attitude toward “living creatures” is part of any adult’s responsibility in a violent world. The speaker isn’t just concerned with protecting his “toddler,” but also with showing him how to be a caring and gentle person. He is “patient” and “attentive” to the moment they’re sharing, and “register[s]” the bodies around him—his son’s, but also those of “jellyfish and sea anemone.” These acts of care don’t exactly negate the fact that there are “war planes” flying by, but they do suggest that a more humane and caring world is possible—and that it requires getting in touch with our childlike selves: the side of us that’s innately curious about, trusting of, and respectful toward the planet.
3
Q
Humanity, identity and nature
A
- For the speaker of “History,” identity isn’t about “kinship nor our given states.” That is, it’s not about who we’re related to or where we’re born. Instead, what “makes us who we are” transcends human-made categories: it’s “something lost between the world we own / and what we dream about behind the names / on days like this.” In other words, some core of humanity exists beyond the boundaries of the society that humanity has created—beyond the “names” (like “St. Andrews West Sands”) and the property that “confine[s]” us. What ultimately connects us and makes us human, the poem suggests, involves our relationship to the earth itself, to nature: the often-ignored “book” that teaches us “who we are.”
- The family’s choice to fly kites on the beach in the wake of “the news” of the terrorist attacks isn’t arbitrary; it suggests the necessity of reconnecting to nature in times of violence and despair. Indeed, the colorful life that the poem describes—the “rose or petrol blue / of jellyfish and sea anemone”—inspires curiosity and joy. Nature “combin[es] with a child’s / first nakedness”—the vulnerability and openness of feeling small and humbled by nature—to create wonder where before there was only “dread.”
- Nature—”the book / of silt and tides”—instructs people to be amazed, delighted, and in tune with its “shifting” presence. We may get carried away by the overwhelming tides of history, but the poem suggests that to pay attention to nature is to learn how to heal our relationship with the earth—and to minimize the horrible ways we harm it and ourselves. Broadly, then, the poem presents nature’s diversity, vibrancy, and wildness—and the deep love they inspire—as a potential antidote to war and human destruction. When human history becomes chaotic, the poem suggests that renewing our relationship to nature helps ground us.
4
Q
Today …
… the golf links;
A
- “History” begins with an epigraph that establishes its setting: “St Andrews: West Sands; September 2001.” The poem takes place on a beach in Scotland sometime around the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the United States—an enormous event in world “history.” It’s possible that the poem is set on September 11 itself, with the speaker describing what he is doing as the tragedy unfolds across the ocean. Alternatively, it takes place a few days later, as the world continues to grapple with the enormity of the event and what it means for the future.
- The speaker focuses on, or at least tries to focus on, his immediate surroundings: “Today,” he says, he is flying “kites” on the beach. The sand is “spinning off in ribbons,” a reference to the patterns left by the tide, while “that gasoline smell from Leuchars”—a nearby town with a Royal Air Force base—is “gusting across” the links of the local golf course.
- The use of present participles (those “-ing” verbs) ground the poem firmly in the moment while also conveying the flow of time; this scene isn’t static but in constant motion. Enjambment adds to that sense of movement as well, pulling the reader smoothly down the page. Note, too, how the poet frequently indents lines, creating a kind of see-sawing sensation as the reader’s eye moves back and forth across the white spaces on the page.
- The sibilant alliteration of “sand spinning” evokes the quiet, peaceful beauty of this landscape, but the mention of the smell of petrol hints at the tension and danger lurking in the background. The firm /g/ alliteration of “gasoline,” “gusting,” and “golf” suggests the strength of the scent of that gas, which is certainly not what one expects to smell while walking alongside the ocean.
5
Q
the tide far …
… the morning light—
A
- The speaker continues to describe the beach. The tide is quite “far out,” meaning that it’s low, and it’s the “grey” color of a “quail,” a kind of bird. People are “jogging” along, sometimes “stopping to watch” as “war planes” (presumably from the nearby Royal Air Force base in Leuchars) fly past.
- Some people are just going about their business, it seems, but others’ eyes are fixed on the sky. The beach—normally a place of relaxation and play—is overshadowed by the recent terrorist attacks. (Although those attacks took place in the United States, across an ocean, their impact and implications were felt across the globe.) What should be a fun, peaceful day is tarnished by the reality of what’s going on in the world at large.
- Once again, enjambment fills the poem with anticipation and a sense of forward momentum, pulling readers down the page as the scene unfolds.
The smooth, rhythmic assonance of “jogging, or stopping to watch” adds to the poem’s sense of movement as well.
6
Q
today …
… what may come—
A
- Though he’s trying to focus on what’s going on in the moment (readers learn shortly that he’s at the beach with his son), he keeps getting pulled back to “the news” of the terrorist attacks. The poem only ever subtly alludes to these events, however; the speaker isn’t directly engaging with them, but instead is showing how they hover in the background.
- The muted /m/ alliteration and consonance in these (“my mind,” “muffled,” “may come”) lines echo the “muffled” nature of the speaker’s anxiety. Perhaps he’s trying to tamp down his fear and anxiety for his family’s sake, or maybe he’s just not yet able to fully process his own feelings about what might happen next. In any case, these feelings threaten to pull him away from the moment he’s sharing with his family.
7
Q
I knelt down …
… on tideworn stone.
A
- The speaker’s actions here convey his love for his child (the poem clarifies that “Lucas” is the speaker’s young son a little later). Though his mind is on “the news,” he’s trying to focus his attention on his child and the moment that they’re sharing.
- Together, they’re “gathering shells / and pebbles” from the beach, “finding evidence of life in all this / driftwork.” They find sea shells as well as marks left by seaweed and sea creatures on rocks. Note how all this “evidence,” these empty shells and “tideworn stone[s],” speak to the story of the ocean and of the creatures who have lived there. Even as the speaker’s mind is distracted by huge, world-changing events, “history” is happening all the time on this smaller scale right at the beach; creatures live and die, and stones are worn smooth by the endless motion of the tide.
- Enjambment continues to propel the reader forward through the poem. The stark indentations within these lines fill the page with blank space, forcing the reader’s eye to sweep back and forth across the page in a way that might mimic the search for “evidence of life” across the beach. These lines are also thick with sibilance, which evokes the gentle lapping of the water or a soft breeze blowing across the landscape:
8
Q
At times I …
… to the shore
A
- The speaker begins to think about identity—”what makes us who we are.” We’re not defined by “kinship nor our given states,” he says. That is, the thing that “makes us who we are” isn’t who we’re related to or where we’re born; our shared humanity transcends national borders and blood ties.
- Who we are, the speaker continues, has something to do with what gets “lost” in the gap “between the world we own / and what we dream about behind the names.” By this, the speaker might mean there some essential part of ourselves exists beyond the world we lay claim to. The “world we own” might refer to society, with all its arbitrary divisions; those “names” might refer to family names or location names (like “St. Andrews West Sands”). What makes people who they are and what connects people to each other, the poem suggests, exists “behind” these names—beyond specific markers of identity and place. Our humanity runs deeper than the labels human beings put on things.
- It’s not clear which part of the previous sentence the phrase “on days like this” refers to. The enjambment of this stanza makes the lines flow into each other, rendering their meaning somewhat ambiguous. The speaker might be saying that it’s “on days like this” that “something” gets “lost between the world we own / and what we dream about.” Perhaps the violence of the terrorist attacks has shaken some part of human identity loose, upending “the world we own.” Maybe the speaker is saying that people are defined by their shared grief, fear, and confusion “on days like this.”
9
Q
and though we …
… first nakedness.
A
- The speaker goes on to say that “though we are confined by property,” the things we own aren’t what connects us to the rest of the world—”to gravity and light.” Again, the speaker is rejecting human-imposed divisions of the world, which serve only to “confine” us—to turn us into objects and restrict our freedom.
- What really connects us to the earth, the speaker says, “has most to do with the distances and the shapes / we find in water.” In other words, human beings should look to nature, rather than our possessions, if we want to feel grounded. The speaker uses a metaphor to describe looking into the water as “reading from the book / of silt and tides.” Comparing nature to a “book” suggests that the natural world is filled with wisdom and knowledge.
- The speaker then describes some of the things contained in that “book of silt and tides.” There’s “the rose or petrol blue / of jellyfish and sea anemone,” which mix “with a child’s / first nakedness.” The speaker is probably describing his son playing in the shallow water or a tidepool. This imagery of colorful sea creatures “combining” with his “nakedness” suggests that this is how things should be; it’s a reminder that people are part of the natural world rather than separate from it. The child’s “nakedness” symbolizes his purity, innocence, and vulnerability. He hasn’t yet been hardened by the world, and he’s still ignorant of the way human beings hurt each other and the earth. His innocence, the poem suggests, is what allows him to connect so easily with nature, granting him a sense of curiosity, wonder, and openness that adults tend to lack.
10
Q
Sometimes I am …
… of other bodies
A
- The sight of an innocent child playing in the water seems to prompt the speaker’s protective instincts. He now confesses that there are times when he is “dizzy with the fear / of losing everything.” He’s frightened not just of further violence, but of total environmental collapse: the loss of “the sea, the sky, / all living creatures, forests, estuaries.” The asyndeton of this list makes the images come at the reader thick and fast, conveying the speaker’s growing panic as he considers the destruction of the earth. This might be from large-scale warfare, but also from things like modern consumerism and the demand for the cheap, mass production of goods.
- The speaker has already said that nature can teach us “who we are.” But if people destroy the planet, then there will be no “book of silt and tides” to read from; there will be no “jellyfish and sea anemone” around to spark a child’s wonder and curiosity. Destroying nature, the poem implies, destroys our ability to truly know ourselves.
- The speaker also gestures toward other harmful aspects of modernity, such as the way we “trade so much to know the virtual.” People are so plugged into “the news,” glued to televisions and computer screens, that they “scarcely register the drift and tug / of other bodies.” (Note that this poem was written before the widespread use of smartphones; the speaker’s anxiety about “the virtual” is quite prescient!) The “virtual” isolates us; even though we’re surrounded by other living creatures all the time, we feel alone and disconnected. Whereas the innocent child can fully “combine” with the sea and its creatures, adults barely register “the drift and tug / of other bodies.”
11
Q
scarcely apprehend …
… beyond the sands;
A
- In addition to barely noticing the other living beings moving all around us, we also “scarcely apprehend” (perceive or make sense of) “the moment as it happens.” In other words, we’re so caught up in what’s going on across the world or fretting about the future that we barely notice the happenings right in front of us. Diacope (the repetition of “scarcely” in lines 44 and 46) hammers home the speaker’s point, emphasizing just how little we tend to pay attention to our actual, immediate lives.
- But “the moment as it happens,” the poem suggests, is no less important than the big picture. Simple “shifts of light / and weather” are every bit as worthy of our attention. “History” isn’t just a record of life-shattering events, of wars and violence and political machinations. “History” is also “the quiet, local” things happening right under our noses—things we could easily miss by not paying attention.
- The speaker points to a “fish lodged in the tide / beyond the sands” as an example of this kind of history. Humans like to think their affairs are more important than anything else, but the speaker thinks this fish is worth noticing. The fish’s struggle certainly matters to the fish, and the fish is part of the same natural world that human beings call home.
12
Q
the long insomnia …
… hum of radio
A
- The speaker lists out other “local forms / of history”—other small-scale events that the poem suggests are no less a part of the story of the world than anything else. There are the “bright” koi fish “in public parks” that seem to never sleep. While their wild cousins swim free, these “ornamental,” or decorative, fish have been bred in “captiv[ity]” for their beautiful “gold” markings, which slowly shift and change over time.
- The speaker nods to other ways in which people take from the environment: there are those who bring empty “jamjars” to the ocean or lakes or rivers and collect “spawn / and sticklebacks,” or kids who bring home “goldfish” in plastic bags from fairs. Clearly, the earth is a source of beauty, pleasure, and delight, adding joy and meaning to people’s lives; many readers likely have happy memories of getting a goldfish or gathering up little creatures at the beach. At the same time, the poem suggests that humanity’s sense of entitlement and mindless extraction of its resources is killing that very wellspring of joy. The poem might be suggesting that people need to learn to appreciate the planet in ways that aren’t actively harmful to it; that we must “apprehend the moment as it happens” without trying to “own” it.
- Almost every other line here is heavily indented, creating a great deal of white space on the page. There’s also lots of enjambment, the speaker spreading each image out across multiple lines. The poem unfolds smoothly yet slowly; the speaker is taking his time here, granting each example space and respect.
13
Q
but this is …
… on a shell
A
- The speaker wonders how to best exist in this “cherished,” or precious, world without hurting it. Keeping carp captive in “public parks” or putting goldfish in jars might make people happy, but this isn’t exactly fun for those creatures. People should delight in the beauty of the world, the poem suggests, but that delight shouldn’t come at the cost of “harm[ing]” the earth or each other. It’s not enough just to pay attention to the “quiet, local forms of history”; treating the world with loving, gentle care, the poem argues, is a difficult yet noble aspiration.
- The speaker then looks to his son as an example of what this might look like, watching him “sifting wood and dried weed from the sand” and appearing “puzzled by the pattern on a shell.” The child is completely fascinated by the world in front of him; he’s not thinking about “the news” that’s distracting his father, nor does he seem worried about the future. He’s existing in the moment, attentive to his surroundings without doing them any “harm.”
14
Q
his parents on …
… to the irredeemable.
A
- The poem juxtaposes the toddler’s position with that of his parents, in turn contrasting the child’s innocence and curiosity with his parents’ anxiety and awareness.
- While this toddler is down in the sand, carefully poking through bits of driftwood and seaweed, his parents are standing in the depressions between the sand dunes. They’re flying a kite, which the speaker metaphorically describes as being “plugged into the sky.” This phrasing might as easily apply to the parents themselves, who are perhaps “plugged into the sky” in that they’re staring up at the passing “war planes” or just in the sense that they’re so caught in what’s happening across the world that they overlook the wonders of the beach beneath their feet. The phrase “all nerve and line” again can apply to both the kite and the parents: the kite’s string is pulled taught in the wind, but the parents, too, are perhaps rigid with attention and anxiety.
- The speaker is also wondering “how to be […] patient” and how to “be afraid” without giving up hope. It’s not that people should remain ignorant of world events or that it never makes sense to be anxious and afraid. Instead, the poem is saying that people must try to patiently balance such understandable fear with their attention toward “the irredeemable.” Regardless of what is happening around us—and maybe even because of it—we must pay attention to those things that cannot be saved. The speaker doesn’t know if the earth can be saved or protected; he doesn’t know if human beings as a whole can learn to stop killing each other. But he does believe that staying grounded and present, loving and appreciating what is here now and may not be tomorrow, is a worthy endeavor.
15
Q
The Child’s nakedness
A
- The speaker describes a toddler (who might be the speaker’s son Lucas, or perhaps another child at the beach) playing in water that’s filled with pink jellyfish and greenish-blue sea anemones. The speaker says that these creatures are “combining with the child’s first nakedness.” This nakedness symbolizes the child’s innocence, purity, and vulnerability. These qualities, the poem implies, are what allow the child to essentially become one with nature in this scene. And it’s the loss of this innocence, the poem suggests, that later separates people from their surroundings and from each other.
- For now, the child isn’t distracted by what’s going on in the news but instead is focusing on the world in front of him. He’s also quite vulnerable in this state, of course; both sea anemones and jellyfish can sting. Yet the child doesn’t seem to worry about that. He isn’t yet aware, perhaps, of how the world can hurt him, and this grants him a sense of openness and curiosity that adults often lack.
16
Q
The kites
A
- The speaker is flying kites at the beach, attempting to enjoy the day with his son even as earth-shaking “history” is unfolding across the globe. Throughout the poem, the speaker begins to blur the lines between the kite and his own body, and the kites ultimately seem to symbolize the tug that people feel between remaining present in the moment and tuned in to world events.
- The speaker describes “our lines raised in the wind / our bodies fixed and anchored to the shore.” Those “lines” literally refer to the kite’s strings, but they might also reflect the idea that though the speaker is in Scotland, his mind is “raised in the wind” like the kite—soaring well past his immediate surroundings. Later, the speaker describes “parents on the dune slacks with a kite / plugged into the sky / all nerve and line.” The phrase “plugged into the sky” seems to refer to both the kite, high above in the sky, and to the parents, who are “plugged into” the news (and perhaps watching for more “war planes” to fly past). Likewise, “all nerve and line” could describe both the kites’ taught strings and the parents’ rigid, brave, anxious bodies.
- Finally, those “lines” might also represent human beings’ links to other people; the shared web of humanity, the poem suggests, transcends both our physical bodies and the artificial borders we’ve imposed on the earth.
17
Q
Form
A
The poem also uses a great deal of white space: many of its lines are indented, often beginning halfway across the page. This pulls readers’ eyes back and forth, perhaps mimicking the way the speaker and his son survey the beach for “evidence of life.” The poem’s shifting appearance might further evoke the speaker’s uncertainty about the future as well as the sensation of being tugged between two realities: the speaker is pulled between his immediate surroundings on the beach and the world of “the news” that fills his “mind.” He’s trying to remain present with his son but can’t entirely ignore the “muffled dread of what may come.”
18
Q
Rhyme Scheme
A
“History” doesn’t use a rhyme scheme, instead turning to subtler alliteration and assonance to add pops of musicality and sonic interest. The lack of a steady rhyme scheme keeps the poem sounding both contemporary and conversational rather than performative.
