B.H. Fairchild
Born in 1942 in Houston, Texas, B.H. Fairchild grew up in various towns in Texas and Kansas. Fairchild attended the University of Tulsa and the University of Kansas. Fairchild is often described as a poet of the “sacred,” and manages to combine both high and low culture and art. Fairchild’s books of poetry include The Arrival of the Future (1985), The Art of the Lathe (1998), Early Occult Memory Systems of the Lower Midwest (2004), Local Knowledge (2005), and Usher: Poems (2009). David Ulin, an editor in the Los Angeles Times describes Fairchild as “one of those poets prose readers love: Meaty, maximalist, driven by narrative, he stakes out an American mythos in which the personal and the collective blur.” For his various works, Fairchild has been awarded fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation, the William Carlos Williams award, Kingsley Tufts Poetry Award, Aiken Taylor Award, Arthur Rense Prize from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and the PEN Center USA West Poetry Award.
Flight |
Analysis |
Outside my window the wasps
are making their slow circle, dizzy flights of forage and return, hovering among azaleas (5) that bob in a sluggish breeze this humid, sun-torn morning. Yesterday my wife held me here as I thrashed and moaned, her hand in my foaming mouth, and my son (10) saw what he was warned he might. Last night dreams stormed my brain in thick swirls of shame and fear. Behind a white garage a locked shed full of wide-eyed dolls burned, (15) yellow smoke boiling up in huge clumps as I watched, feet nailed to the ground. In dining cars white table cloths unfolded wings and flew like gulls. An old German in a green Homburg (20) sang "lieder, Mein Herz ist müde"*. In a garden in Pasadena my father posed in Navy whites while overhead silver dirigibles moved like great whales. And in the narrowing tunnel (25) of the dream’s end I flew down onto the iron red road of my grandfather’s farm. There was a white rail fence. In the green meadow beyond, (30) a small boy walked toward me. His smile was the moon’s rim. Across his egg-shell eyes ran scenes from my future life, and he embraced me like a son (35) or father or my lost brother. * "songs of my heart being tired" |
Wasps outside of the window (lines 1-6)
remind the author of an unfortunate event that happened the day before. Here, the tone and the setting combined foreshadow an unfortunate event occurring, or having already happened. Yesterday, the character suffered from what may have been a seizure or stroke (lines 6-10). The character's wife had been trying to help, while the son had been warned, and possibly traumatized. That night, the character had a nightmare that instilled fear and shame within. In this dream, a locked shed full of dolls burned behind a white garage. (lines 13-14) The character could do nothing but watch as the yellow smoke rose while ash and soot fell to the ground. (lines 15-16) After this, the character finds his father in a Navy uniform while airships fly overhead. (lines 21-23) This may signify a war, which is a common fear. After this, the dream had ended, and the character found himself at his grandfather's farm. (lines 25-28) Here, a small boy walks toward the character, and embraces him as if he is family. During this, the character sees images of events yet to come. (lines 30-35) Overall, we see two potentially different fears in this poem: the fear that occurred during the dream with the burning dolls, and the fear of war, The fear that was attached to the scene of the burning dolls can be seen as the fear of not knowing whats going on. Furthermore, Fairchild paints a visceral picture in this portion of the poem: "behind a white garage a locked shed full of wide-eyed dolls burned, yellow smoke boiling up in huge clumps as I watched, feet nailed to the ground." (lines 13-16) As the dolls stared into the eyes of the character, it is no doubt that fear was instilled. The fear associated with war can easily be related to. Everybody fears war in some shape or form; whether it be losing a loved one or losing yourself, war instills fear in everyone. |